Barcelona: Day One

Because of the hassle from the taxi/metro strike and the long day of traveling for all of us, the camelridingcowgirl and I decided to keep our first night in Barcelona simple.  We let her jet-lagging parents rest a bit at the hotel while we walked downtown to pick up the Barcelona Cards that we'd purchased online a few days earlier.  (Note to future Barcelona travelers: In retrospect, if you're time-crunched, skip the card and purchase tickets online ahead of time to avoid the lines.  Otherwise, the discounts from the card are a small perk.)

If someone would have told me back in 2001 (when I went to Spain for the first time) that Barcelona would become one of my favorite cities in Europe, I would have been shocked.  In fact, if someone would have told me a few years ago that I would fall in love with architecture, I would have been surprised.  But a few short days proved both of these facts to be true.  I love Barcelona and I love its architecture.  I just walked around in loveatfirstsight awe.  

We went to a restaurant recommended by the hotel, and as always when we do so, it was a delicious treat.  We had gazpacho as a starter.  Then I had rabbit.  As a bunnykiller, it only seemed appropriate to eat rabbit.  I finished off the meal with Catalonian orange mousse.  If this meal was a clue to how the rest of the food would be for the entire journey...we were in for some good eating!

Getting to Barcelona

          Approximately two days before we left for Barcelona, I began to feel nervous.  You see, I am incapable of packing light.  (Did you just hear my dad cough?  I think he said “understatement” in that cough.)  So for this 10 week trip to the US, I packed one duffle bag backpack full of gifts, one ginormous suitcase with all the clothes for the cruise AND winter, and an overnight bag that included my computer.  Oh, and of course I had my purse as well.

            So the idea of getting onto the train, making the two switches, and then to a taxi made me nervous.  I have a policy that I will not pack more than I can carry/move myself on a trip, and so well, I needed to be able to move these suitcases.  But when you have no weight limit on the train nor the boat, well…it gets easy to start packing densely! 

            Woody came on Sunday and got the two big bags so that he had them in his car already to take the train station.  The Body Builder came to help us get everything onto the train.  (Barney and the Artist came cause they’re sweet!)  We got all loaded onto the train no problem. 

            From Marseille to Montpellier, I kept thinking, I just need to get to the taxi.  Just to the taxi.  From there, it’s smooth sailing…literally.

            In Montpellier, we got everything off the train without a hitch.  We had an hour and a half layover, and so it seemed like we’d have plenty of time to get to our train and board again with all the bags.  Well, something I’ve learned in France is that anytime something seems logical…it probably won’t work the way you’d think.

            The entire hour and a half, there was an announcement played over and over that due to a “perturbance” in Sete, many trains were delayed.  Our train was still listed as on time, so we figured it must not be passing through Sete.  Well, when it was 20 minutes to our train departure and still no platform was listed, we began to wonder. 

            15 minutes till…nothing.

            13 minutes till…nothing.

            09 minutes till…the screen changed to say that our train was delayed by a possibility of 30 minutes.  Since the transfer after Montpellier was only a 20 minute connection, we knew we were going to miss our connecting train to Barcelona.  I pulled out my phone and began looking up what time the next train to Barcelona would be.  Just when we found the website, another announcement came on.

            “The train to Figueres is now boarding on platform B.  It will leave on time, at 12:41.”  I looked at my watch.  It was 12:35.  I told thecamelridingcowgirl that we had six minutes.  I’ve run for trains before yall…but never when strapped down like a packed mule. 

            I thunk, thunk, thunk’d that big blue suitcase down the stairs and took off moving as fast as I possibly could go down the platform.  (Let’s be honest: No one would call what I did today “running.”)  There were all sorts of passengers standing all along the platform getting in one last smoke before boarding, and thus…blocking my way.  I kid you not that I knocked one out of my way. 

            We found our car, got those crazy suitcases up on board, and the door shut behind us within the next minute.  I thought to myself, “Why do I do this?  I am a crazy woman.”  My knees were shaking weakly to let me know that they would NOT do that again.  

            We discussed our plan of attack for when we arrived to Figueres, since we would only have the 20 minute layover.  Thecamelridingcowgirl prayed that not only would there be an elevator, but that it would be right outside our car of the train.  I prayed that we wouldn’t even have to go down or up…that our train would be on just the other half of the platform. 

            Isn’t our God good?  He answered both our prayers!  The elevator was right there, but it turned out that we didn’t even need it, because our train was sitting right there on the platform across from the train we pulled up in.  We hopped off the one, hopped onto the other, and breathed easy.  We thought the worst was over.

            We were wrong.

            On that train, thecamelridingcowgirl said to me, “We did it!  The hard part is over!”  I said… “Once those bags are in the taxi, I’ll relax.  Until then, I still have to move them more.”  Little did we know…

            We arrived in Barcelona to a metro and TAXI strike.  The strikers were playing ugly.  The taxi drivers would shame the taxis who were still trying to pick up customers until the working one would apologize and drive off, leaving the tourist (us and others) stranded with all their bags at the train station. 

            What to do?  The metro was on strike and not only that, there was no way we could manage all that luggage on public transport.  We knew which bus to take, but not what direction or where to pick it up.  We needed a taxi.

            Two women who have lived in the Arab world (taxis) as well as France (strikes) were not about to be shown up in this battle!  Thecamelridingcowgirl returned the shaming effort on the striking taxi drivers by telling them “shame shame” in Arabic and wagging her finger at them.  It was quite the sight.  We headed to the other side of the train station to get away from them and see if we couldn’t flag down one of the working drivers.  As I was crossing a crosswalk (pushing all our luggage on a cart), I spotted a taxi…with a female driver.  I pushed the cart in front of her so she couldn’t drive past us while thecamelridingcowgirl pleaded for mercy from her.  It worked.

            Never did I imagine that there would be a taxi strike on the day I arrived in Barcelona with 8000 pounds of junk.  Oh man.  And honestly…that mad dash for the train in Montpellier was worse than trying to figure out how to get a taxi on a strike day.  But we made it.  Praise God. 

            When you get a gift from me in the US, know that it had quite the adventure getting its way to you! 

The Itinerary

Dear any potential burglers: My house is not empty.  You don't know when Day Anchors Away is.  Don't think because some undisclosed person is on a BIG WHITE BOAT that you can come for a visit.  The Bodybuilder will take you out.

Day ANCHORS AWAY: Barcelona
1: Barcelona
2: Barcelona (flamenco dancing!)
3: BIG WHITE BOAT!!!
4: Cartegena, Spain
5: Alhambra, Spain
6: Passing through the straight of Gibraltar (hello monkeys and big rock!)
7: Tenerife, Canary Islands (climbing a volcano!  what?!)
8:  Sailing
9:  Sailing
10:  Sailing
11:  Sailing
12:  Sailing
13:  Sailing
14: Nassau, Bahamas
15: Avoiding pirates in the Caribbean
16: Still looking for Jack Sparrow
17:  Hello America!!!  New Orleans
18: New Orleans
19: New Orleans
20: HELLO MOM AND DAD!!!

Coin Conveyor Belt

The other day, I was at a store that uses self-check-out machines.  I know these are common in the US, and they are becoming way more common here.  That doesn't mean that I am used to them.  (Okay, maybe at Ikea, I am.)  The one I went to the other day had the neatest little contraption for putting your change into the machine.

Now, before I show you my silly little video, let me say something.  If this thing is normal in America, you will probably watch this and think, "Poor little expatriate living in backwards overseas country.  She was so amazed by the coin conveyor belt she took a photo!  I wonder how in the world she'll survive upon her return to the amazing, brilliant, forward-thinking United States of America?"  Please don't tell me you thought that.  I'm already worried enough about how silly I'm going to across in just a few weeks when I can't remember how to say something in English, when I forget that you're allowed to go right on red, when I can't find eggs or lotion in Wal-Mart, and more.  

So...at this machine, you put your coins on a conveyor belt, and it sucks the coins up!!!  Yes, I'm so silly I took a video of it.  

I mean, at first glance, it looks like a little toilet, doesn't it?  I wondered if it was going to flush the coins.  The first few that I put in moved slowly along the conveyor, but it just sucked up that penny!  Maybe because it was lighter?  Master Yoda asked if I could put a bunch of coins in at once and I realized...I didn't even think about that!  I was so enthralled with the conveyor that I wanted to just do one at a time!  Was there a point for the conveyor?  I have no idea.  Haha.

Preparing for Re-Entry

I wrote once about what one does during a 10-day trip to the US.  With my approaching stateside, I've begun to try and mentally prepare myself for 10 weeks away from France in the US.  People ask me often what I want to eat while I'm home.  I realized recently, as I've been thinking through leaving and coming, that maybe what I want to eat isn't the right question.

Here are some thoughts.

This term was 31 months long.  In that time, I lived in Tunisia, then Besançon, then with a French family, then in Paris, then finally arrived to Marseille, where I also moved again into a different apartment after 8 months.  The Arab Spring happened.  My boss's wife almost died and then they later resigned and returned to America.  I got a new boss.  Several of my best friends have moved overseas and aren't in the US anymore.  My brother got married.  Three of our short-term interns came and have left again, making my life feel like it's just a series of goodbyes.  This term was 31 months long, and it was certainly long.  A year ago, when I decided to take my stateside break at this time, I didn't think I would need it yet...but now I am so ready for the break.  Two months ago, I said that I wasn't sure I'd be able to get back on the plane to come back to France come January.  By the grace of God, that is no longer true.  I'm ready for the break, and will enjoy the 10 weeks of mostly-rest, but I'm already looking forward to getting back in January to keep on with the awesome job I get to work here.

All that said...I don't think about American food much.  Someone asked me recently what restaurants I wanted to eat at while I'm home, and I couldn't even think of one answer.  (I finally found one: Five Guys Burgers and Fries.)  A week later, out of nowhere, I thought: Sunchips!  I want to eat Sunchips!

The thing is: I like cooking.  I enjoy eating out here in France, but it's all at local ma and pa shops where everything you order tastes unique and not streamlined and assembly-lined like franchise restaurants in the US.  So it might be, for awhile anyway, upon arrival, that I don't want to eat out a restaurant, but that I want to cook.

Someone was recently telling me about the movies she'd seen and enjoyed in the past few months, and I thought, "I've never even heard of a single one of those."  In fact, I haven't been to the movies since summer of 2011.  I am looking forward to going to the movies in the US, and having no sub-titles!, and seeing Les Miserables and The Hobbit.  How's that for you?  I leave France and look forward to seeing a cinematic version of the most famous French story in history.

Honestly, I don't know what I'm looking forward to (besides my family) in the US except to be out of France for a bit.  As much as I love those Frogs, I need just a little space.  Like when they send me a card telling me that my current foreigner's card (ie, visa), is ready to be picked up...but when I go to get it they tell me I have to wait until the old expires before they can give me the new one.  Or when the construction in front of my apartment starts at 6am and is a jackhammer directly below my living room window.  Or when stores are closed during business hours with no explanation for why or when they will be open again.  Or when homeless people sleep in my lobby.  Or when...oh well, you get the drift.

Here's one final example of French culture that I am ready to escape for a few weeks that you might enjoy:

When Pantene left, she had to close out her electricity (EDF) account.  After she'd closed the account, EDF sent a new bill for after they'd read the meter...and the bill was for 48 cents!  So we went to the post office, and purchased a 4.50euro money order to pay a 48 cent bill.  Yes, the woman at the post office laughed at us.

Vive la France!

So...in America, I want: no bureaucracy, no construction, no crazy people, no city noise, no couscous, no protests nor strikes.  I do want: Sunchips, to play miniature golf, to go to the movies, to read all the live long day, to hear rain and thunder, to enjoy the quiet of suburbia, to buy jeans that fit, to just relax for weeks on end.  I will probably: not know what someone is talking about more than once, accidently say French words often, not remember how to say something in English, mess up English idioms, get fed up with all the choices and thus decisions I'll have to make (which milk to buy? ack, I'm stressed just thinking about it), cry every single week at church (worship in English!), enjoy Christmas season a little too much, and marvel at TV commercials.

Two more weeks until the Big White Boat (BWB!)

Ramatuelle

As yall know, one of my favorite things to do in France is to go to small villages and just wander around.  This past weekend, I went with Mr. and Mrs. X to the town of Ramatuelle, which is about two hours east of Marseille near St. Tropez.  There's not much to tell about it.  It was small, quaint, peaceful.

 We took the following picture as a souvenir...because all the souvenir shops (including this one) were all closed!  On a Saturday!  The entire town was shut up for winter already.

 The view looking out away from town.  That's the Med off in the distance.

 There was a sundial.

 The town as we left.

 From up above looking down...

And...that's Ramatuelle.

Fire in My Building

For those of you who have not been reading my blog for forever, you may not have read about the time that my building in Paris caught on fire.  Well, you know what they say...history repeats itself.

I was sitting in my apartment for a few quick minutes to regain my composure between various French activities, when all of a sudden, I heard a noise that completely freaked me out.  It was a moving vroom, such as is made when a rocket flies overhead, or a low flying plane directly overhead.  I flew off my couch, threw open the windows and shutters and immediately looked up into the sky.  Above my building, perpendicular with the street, and headed toward the port was a long line of red smoke.  I held my breath waiting for a boom, thinking, "France is under attack!"

Nothing happened.

I looked down to the street, and for a moment, everyone was looking up.  But when no boom happened, they all went back to normal.  The camelridingcowgirl later asked me, "Who would attack France?"  to which I responded, "Libya.  Algeria.  Syria.  Iran.  Pick one."  Anyway, the red line of smoke has absolutely nothing to do with the fire in my building except that it happened a few minutes before the fire, and had me on edge.

So a few minutes later, while walking down the hall of my apartment, I smelled smoke.  I walked back to the front room, where I couldn't smell it at all, and then returned back to the hallway.  As I approached the front door, it grew stronger.  I opened my front door, to be hit by the strong distinct odor of smoke, and my neighbor standing in the hall with the same look on her face that I imagine I had  on mine.  "You smell it too?" she asked.  I nodded yes.

She told me to search the lower floors while she searched the upper floors, and we'd see if we could find where it was coming from.  I found nothing downstairs, while she thought it seemed much stronger on the floors above us.  She called the pompiers (firemen) because well, I can never keep straight all the various emergency numbers in France.  (Rabbit trail: this is one area where I will proudly be ethnocentric and say that America does emergency numbers right.  Even a young toddler can be trained to call 911 in an emergency and can remember those numbers when distraught.  In a moment of crisis, how is one supposed to remember to call one number for firemen, one for ambulances, one for police, etc?  Good golly.)

She told me that she'd knock on my door when they arrived.  When I went back to my apartment, my throat was parched from the strong smoke smell (even though we had yet to see any smoke or flames).  I entered my kitchen and had a panic.  The smell was so strong there that my eyes began to water.  I threw open the windows and found the smoke!  It was out in the inner corridor between my building and the one next door.  I shut the windows and went back to tell the neighbor.

When the firemen arrived, they found the fire (on the second floor, two flights below mine) and put it out rather quickly.  Apparently, someone had thrown away a cigarette off the terrace into the corridor, and it hit a pile of paper trash, which lit up, and caused the huge amount of smoke without much flames.

Slightly anticlimatic, but I'd rather be anticlimatic than terribly climatic and burn my whole 150-year-old building down!

Strike Season (as usual)

Well, strike season has arrived once again.  (You're not familiar with strike season?  Look back in the archives of this blog at Oct/Nov 2007, or when I got back to France in 2010 and was welcomed by THIS strike, or the time I tried to fly to American and my flight was cancelled due to a strike.)  So last week, I was sitting in my living room wondering why in the world was it so quiet--were the construction workers on strike?--sure enough... I heard some noise.  I threw open the shutters and looked out the window, and was greeted by this:

This was just the beginning.  You can see that the protesters filed all the way down to the far end of the street I live on, and they kept coming for a good hour or so.  

 They were protesting plenty of things (as usual), but especially unemployment in France.  Also...for the (already low) age of retirement to be lowered from 62...back to 60...and then down to 55.  For a country that already only works a 35-hour work week, has five weeks of vacation a year, (plus holidays and strike days), I wanted to yell out the window for them to go back to work!  Gah.  First they gripe that there is no employment, then they gripe that they want to finish their employment early.

 I was wondering where all the smoke was coming from, and then I saw this guy.  He was using some sort of blow torch that enabled him to spray paint the name of his labor union on the road.  The truck in front of him was throwing hundreds of papers with the labor union's logo into the wind, to be blown all over the city.

I later received a security level warning from the um, state department, people who send security warnings, (I should know this, what with my master's degree and all...), that this protest turned a little violent in other cities in France.  Here in Marseille, it was just a normal manifestation, which means party parade, protest.

Doit au But!!!

Well, the season of goodbyes continues, and thus, Pantene flies back to America this coming Friday.  Honestly, I'm trying really hard to just not think about it.  She's been here three years, and I just can't imagine Marseille without her.  As a bunch of us were discussing what to give her as a going-away gift,  we kept hitting a wall.  Her suitcase is full and we don't want to overload it.  But how do you give something sentimental and memorable that doesn't take up space?

She'd mentioned two things she'd like to have/do, and so I threw those ideas into the mix, and somehow, everyone agreed!  She'd said on more than one occasion that she wanted some sort of Marseille t-shirt/sweatshirt/something, and then once, she threw out there that going to an Olympique de Marseille soccer match was on her bucket list of things to do.

During my two years in Paris, I never once heard anyone mention soccer (futbol).  I suppose they like it up there, too, but I just didn't hang around people who talked about it.  I heard about other sports, but never fut.  Here in Marseille, it's another story.  Olympique de Marseille (OM) is practically a cult down here.  In fact, it's such a popular team that I saw stuff supporting them in Tunisia when I lived there!  

Tickets can be purchased in groups of six, so five of us bought our tickets and then everyone pitched in to cover Pantene's.  We had to work out a cover story for the night so that she wouldn't plan something else to do.  Barney and Woody invited her, the Artist, and the Crazy Cajun over to their place for dinner (I had to work, and came straight from there once I was done).  

I handed her a wrapped box and told her that everyone had pitched in money for the gift at this past weekend's party...which is why we couldn't give it to her then when everyone was together.  She shook and shook it, trying to figure out what it was.

 I think her face says, "Really?  Three years in France and all you give me is an OM rain jacket?"

 (Just kidding...she really liked it.)

 Then I said, "We had money left over, so here's what we did with the rest," and handed her an envelope.  You can tell from her face that she knew at that point game tickets were coming.  She TORE into that envelope.  Once she saw the tickets, she asked, "When are we going?!"  "TONIGHT!" everyone yelled!

 Pantene just giggled and laughed with joy for the next five hours.  She was so excited, and I was so thrilled that we pulled off the surprise so well.  She'd had NO idea!

 Then Barney and Woody gave her an OM scarf (a must-have at a game!) and the laughing continued.  She was ready to be decked out like the legit fan that she is!

 Here we are all at the game, getting pumped and excited for some serious fun!

 We were seated directly at center field.  The sections behind the goal posts were where the crazy (manfolk) fans sat.  You can barely see it, but there is a red, green, and white flag waving just above Bob Marley's head.  It's a Morocco, Alergia, and Tunisia flag sewn all together.  Pretty cool.  (And why Bob Marley?  I have no idea.)

 Then, the All Nations flag came out!!!  SO COOL!!!

 I didn't really take many photos during the game, because, well, I was watching it.  But here you can see how centerfield and up close we were!!!  One thing we didn't understand: OM's colors are baby blue and white, but the players were wearing navy blue and orange.  I guess the War Eagle spirit is world wide.  :)

The fans of the opposing team were directly across from us.  They were very organized in their cheers, and Pantene and I found ourselves tempting to sing along with their catchy chants.  The rowdy sections for OM, where all the cheering people were, were on both ends of the stadium behind the goal posts...and were filled with all men.  I suppose I'll always be sitting in the quiet, calm, Frenchy section.

The opposing team scored the first goal, and there was this small unrest in my mind of, "What if OM loses?  That'll put a damper on our awesome gift of a fun night for Pantene."  No worries, though...OM came back with a vengeance!  They scored not 1, not 2, not 3, but 5 (five!) goals!!!  That's crazy!  The video below shows one of them.  The goal is in the very first second, so if you blink, you'll miss it.

Just to show how prim and proper our section was...look at all these older gentlemen in suits on their cell phones during the break.  Haha.  One thing I loved about the game was listening to the Peanut Gallery behind us throughout the game.  French just does not seem like the right language to yell at a ref, or to groan at a missed kick, or to cheer in victory.  We joined in, though, and yelled out plenty of "Allez!" (Literally, "go!", because French doesn't have the verb "to kick," and "shoot" just doesn't quite work either.)  We threw our hands up in the very French style with "ay!" and "oh!" and plenty of disgruntled "oh la la's."  My absolute favorite statement of the whole night was when the Peanut Gallery yelled at the ref, "Il faut les lunettes!" (You need glasses!)

Alas, Marseille stomped all over those Greeks.  5-1.  Who's ever heard of that in a soccer match?  I suppose someone has, but I sure haven't.  It sure did make for a super fun evening.

Pantene, glad you got to scratch this one off your bucket list!!!  Marseille loves you, (and so do I!), and they made sure to let you know during this game.  Maybe you should head over to the stadium tonight to help them win against their rival, Paris, as a bit of good luck...?

Building a Kitchen

When I first looked at this apartment, I was assured (three times by different people and in front of witnesses) that the building technician could remove the counter top in the kitchen so that I could have my oven installed.  You may remember from this post that, after I moved in, he absolutely refused to do it.  Lots of kitchens in France are set up to have a separate boxed-in oven (the space in the bottom left of this photo), and a flat stove top placard that is placed into a whole cut in the counter specifically for it.  So...this is what the kitchen looked like when I moved in.

Once I got a little settled, this is what the same space looked like over the summer.  Toaster oven on the left, coffee machine behind it, spice rack where the dishwasher will someday go, and a whole bunch of mess in the oven drawer, exposed for all to see since I have no oven.  You may not be able to tell, but my silverware was in coffee mugs on the counter (center, directly above the spice rack/cart), because I had no drawer in which to put them.

Well, it was driving me crazy.  I couldn't handle it anymore, and felt like I had to do something about it before I left for the US.  So, I went to the madeforsmallspaces, no, everyoneinthewholeworldhasthesamekitchenasme, no, Ikea store and got what I needed to make my kitchen look a little more put together.  As much as I do not love that shiny modern looking cabinet door (it's even called Abstrak at Ikea!), I bought a cabinet door to match the others, and some shelves to fill the oven-hole.  If I'm going to have a country kitchen, it's going to have to be on the other side of the kitchen, because I, even in my quirkiness, need at least the cabinet doors on each side to match themselves.  

First step: move the drawer that's supposed to go under the stove up to be a silverware drawer.  It seemed like it would be an easy enough task.

 Until I couldn't get the drawer to come up off the tracks at all.  The Artist laid down on the floor to look underneath and found it to be slightly complicated.

 The Body Builder came in and was oh-so-amused by us women being stumped on how to remove a drawer from its tracks.

 He, too, had to lay down to look underneath.  He did get it out and moved the drawer up for me.

 Then I put the shelves in.  We installed the door, but have no photos of that, since my camera battery died at this point.

Here's the final product.  Unfortunately, there is a small gap of space between the bottom of the drawer and top of the door, but I'm already used to it.  Also, you need a drill to install the door handle, and I don't have a drill...so that'll have to wait.  I also bought a small stand to put into the dishwasher-hole so that I could get a bunch of stuff off the counter top.  (Back in August, I bought a small double hotplate to use until I get a real stove, so you can see that over on the left.)

 Yes, I plan on some day getting a dishwasher.  But that day is so far away that it seemed silly to not use that space until then.  What will I do with the stand in its space then?  Who knows?  I'll cross that bridge when the day of the dishwasher joyfully arrives.

 This is the other side of the kitchen.  The tall black shelf is my "pantry."  One day, I will have a stove/oven that will go in front of the radiator (no, I don't use the radiator).  Then I'll go back to Ikea and buy the necessary things to make two more cabinets with counterspace to go on each side.  The shelf will move elsewhere and my food will be hidden, which will make me so happy.  The Asia mugs are on the radiator.

 The fridge and the door of doors.  If your child draws/colors me a picture, it WILL end up on my fridge.  Promise.

 And since I'm showing off the place, once again, here's the latest of the living room, with the table now in it's happy spot.

 Lack of bookshelf thatcanholdbooks means I have stacks of books all around the house.  I kind of like it, actually.  The America mugs are on the radiator.

 The bug bookshelf is in the hallway, on tile floors, as a precaution.  (I think all the wood-eating insects have been massacred by my quadruple bug treatment I did in the spring, but until its been years of no-more-evidence of them, the bug bookshelf stays on tile instead of hardwood floors, away from my other wood furniture, and with no books on it.)

 The North Africa/Middle East mugs are on the Arab bookshelf, of course.

 Here's the table with no chairs, so you can see the pretty pretty ironwork.  I just love it, in case you didn't know...

 A close up of the chairs.  Incredibly soft and comfortable.  Ready to be sat in for hours of eating, game playing, and conversation.

 The bug bookshelf.  It just has knickknacks on it.

 On the top: the Europe mugs, the Paris plate, the fan, and the mirror.  Top shelf: teas.

 Next shelf: Coffee station!  The top right is an Arab teapot.  The bottom left is an antique coffee roaster.  Middle item that says cafe is a French antique coffee grinder.  The tall gold item to its right is a Turkish antique coffee grinder.  Coffee and sugar cubes in the bins to the right.

 Bottom shelves: knicknacks.  Tunisian bowl and plate and vase.  Egyptian alabaster candle holder.  Arab letter carrier (the long, skinny pink thing on the bottom right), a Camargue cross (bottom right thing that looks like an anchor, heart, and cross altogether), a Venetian Carnival mask, a Persian box, Moroccan candle holders, and Turkish tea glasses.  I don't put anything in the drawers, because the bugs used to live down there.

There you have it.  Home sweet home.  I leave it one month from today for the Big White Boat!!!