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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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Room For Two | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: After a long weekend at the Denver Comic-Con, you were just looking for a quiet evening. That plan is out the window when all the planes are grounded at the airport and Tom arrives at your door. With no other rooms available in the city, Tom asks to share your room for the night. Just one problem, there is only a king bed in the room.

Warnings: fluff

“Finally.“

The hotel door slammed behind you as you let a sigh go. The past three days had been a whirlwind of panels, interviews, and autographs. It was only through multiple cups of coffee you were still standing. The Denver Comic-Con was the latest stop in the unending promotional tour.

You throw your shoes off and flopped onto the king bed in your room. You contemplate what to do first, a hot shower or order food as you massage your sore feet. The growl from your stomach decided for you and you lean towards the nightstand to pick up the phone.

“Room Service,” a cheery male voice answered as you hit the auto dial button.

“Hi, can I get the grass-fed burger, Caesar salad, and the Caprese pizza, please?”

“Charged to Room 1415?”

“Yes, please.”

“It will be 30 to 40 minutes.”

“Thank you.”

You hung up the phone and allow your head to sink into the pillows. You seriously contemplated falling asleep right now and hope you wake up when room service knocks. But you decided to wash the layer of the day off your body.

As you head to the bathroom, you shed your clothes piece by piece, tossing them on the floor along your way. You make a mental note to make sure you pick it up before room service gets there. You flicked the shower water on and turned it up as hot as tolerable. Once the water warmed up, you stepped in and let the near scalding water pour over your body. The tension left your shoulders and neck and the grime of the day, both literal and figurative, washed away. You wanted to stay under that hot water for an eternity but after about ten minutes you turned the water off and stepped into a fluffy bathrobe. As you exited the bathroom, you got an insistent knock on the door.

“That can’t possible be room service,” you muttered as you look through the peephole.

Instead of your food, you see a lanky ginger-haired gentleman rocking from side to side in front of your door.

“Tom?” you questioned as you open the door.

Tom turned on that smile.

“I hope I am not interrupting your evening. Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

“Yes, come on in,” you stepped aside to allow him entry to the room. You noticed he was carrying a small duffel bag with him. “I thought you were flying out tonight.”

He pivoted around to face you.

“Funny thing. They grounded the flights. Someone thought flying drones in the air space was a good idea. After four hours, they sent everyone away.”

“Didn’t that same thing happen at Heathrow in December?”

“The same thing. They are calling it a copycat.”

“I am so sorry. If I can help, just say the word,” you commented as you turn to let him out the door. Tom does not follow.

“Well, that is the other funny thing. Because of the comic-con and the big education convention, there is not a spare room in the entire city.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“I am serious. Not even my original room was available. I thought about sleeping at the airport when I remembered you were staying a few days…”

Your eyes widened, realizing what Tom was asking.

“You want to stay… HERE?!”

Tom looked at the ground, scuffling his feet on the carpet.

“If you don’t mind.”

You looked to the single king bed in the room. Tom followed your gaze and then both of your faces reddened.

“I could sleep in the chair.” Tom gestured towards the armchair in the corner.

It was at least half his size and looked uncomfortable.

“No, that is not fair… We can…”

A knock interrupted your thought.

“SHIT!” you hissed as you pulled the bathrobe around your body, “that is room service.”

Tom held up his hands.

“I will handle it. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and make yourself decent?”

He made the last remark with a slight smirk on his face as his eyes raked over your still robed body. You throw him a dirty look as you grabbed your pajamas and shut the bathroom door.

Tom thanked the person who brought the food as you pulled a comic book t-shirt and well-worn pajama pants.

“Were you expecting company?” Tom yelled through the bathroom door.

You remembered your hunger induced over ordering.

“Are you judging me?” you retorted as you opened the door, smiling.

“Nope. I have always appreciated people with a healthy appetite. I must admit I am famished myself. Airport food is not my favorite.”

You suppressed a giggle as Tom eyed the burger. You gestured for him to dig in. Tom dug into the burger without a second thought and moans of satisfaction escaped his lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” you mumbled as you shove a forkful of salad in your own mouth, “I also appreciate a man with a joy for food, even such a high esteemed actor as yourself.”

Tom rolled his eyes. This was an ongoing joke between you two throughout filming. You mention his fame and him shutting you down every time.

“Please. None of that tonight. I am far too hungry and weary to fight you off.”

“Fair enough.”

***

The two of you eat the rest of the food in relative silence. Tom regal the tale of his ill-fated trip to the Denver airport and you shared crazy fan stories from the con. After every morsel and you bellies were full, the matter of sleeping arrangements came up once.

“So…” Tom started, looking once again towards the bed. “I am taking the chair.”

Your face once again reddened. You screwed up your courage to be an adult rather a hormone raging teenager.

“No, that is silly. You are like twice the size of that chair and it looks uncomfortable,” you wrinkled your nose, “Plus it is not like you and I have never shared a bed before.”

Tom had been a perfect gentleman and did everything in his power to make you comfortable during your first ever love scene. At the end of the day, the scene had made the film a hit. After that, you harbored a crush on the dashing Tom Hiddleston.

“True. So sharing the bed.”

You swallowed and nodded your head as if solidify your decision.

“Yep,” you get up and move the empty dishes to the door, “do you need to use the shower? You are more than welcome to use any of my toiletries. I promise there is nothing too girly smelling in there.”

“Thank you.”

Tom headed into the bathroom, taking his bag with him and the shower started soon after. You attempted to contain the mess of clothes on the bed. Not that it mattered.

You shoved all the clothes into the drawers and when the water stopped, you jumped underneath the covers. Tom strolled out. His shaggy locks were wet, and he was wearing pajama bottoms with a plain white tee. You could smell your soap wafting off of him. It was intoxicating.

“I took the right side. Is okay?” you commented, while playing with the edge of the sheet.

Tom laughed. “It’s fine, it is your room and I am the interloper.”

Tom slid into the bed on the left side and adjusted the pillows behind him.

“Would you like to watch a movie or something?” you picked up the remote.

“No thanks, darling. I am tired from the day. I bet you must be too. This is your first comic-con circuit, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I am tired too,” you lied.

You leaned over and switched off the light and plunged the room into darkness. You settled yourself into a night of sleeping. You arranged the pillows behind your head and then took one of the extra pillows and tucked off to one side to lie on. You turned towards Tom’s side to see him propped up on an elbow, taking in your sleep ritual.

“What in earth are you doing, Y/N?”

“I am getting ready for bed. What are you doing?”

“Watching you getting ready for bed. Do you always hug a pillow while sleeping?”

You made out a hint of a smile on his face.

“It is not hugging, it is for support,” you huffed down and wrap your arms around the pillow.

“For emotional support?” Tom countered.

“No.” you said, “I thought you were tired.”

“I am. But I am not too tired to watch this ritual. It is adorable. If you need to snuggle something, I am available.”

You reached over and smacked Tom in the chest.

“You are incorrigible. I’m fine. Go.. to.. sleep, Tom.”

“Suit yourself.”

Your sleep was fitful that night, tossing and turning all night. Around midnight, you threw the pillow to the ground and the comforter off your feet. Tom breathed heavy next to you. Tempted to elbow him in the ribs and wake him, you decided against it.

***

You woke the next morning to something warm and solid pressed up against the entire back side of your body. You attempted to roll over, but you realized something pinned your legs to the mattress. Craning your neck around, you see Tom pressed up against your back and his legs intertwined with yours.

Tom’s body was radiating heat, and you snuggled close to his body. You could feel his breath on your neck and you sighed to yourself.

If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.

As you continued to sink into his body, you inadvertently ground your ass into Tom’s crotch. You feel his erection through his thin pajama pants. Not even the great Tom Hiddleston was immune to morning wood. A soft moan escaped Tom’s lips, and he reached around your waist, pulling you in closer. Tom’s chin nuzzled into the crook on your neck and his hot breath tickled your skin.

You tried to extract yourself from his grip but only turned yourself around and now you were face to face with a sleeping Tom. His long lashes threatened to touch his cheeks and you let a sigh out at the sight of him.

Damn, why does he have to be so handsome!

The change of position caused Tom to stir and you see his eyes flutter open. With sleepy eyes, Tom noticed the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you and smirked.

“Morning, darling.”

“Morning, Tom.”

“I see you abandoned your pillow and went for something more satisfying.”

You scoffed, attempting to pull away from his grip but not trying too hard.

“I woke up with you wrapped around me. Perhaps you have a crush on me,” you joked.

Tom looked you dead in the eye.

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I have been hiding away a secret torch for you since you first walked onto set. And perhaps I fear you would not reciprocate my feelings.”

You lied there in disbelief. Was Tom confessing his affections towards you? You didn’t know how to react.

“Perhaps you are wrong.” you parroted him, “Perhaps I would reciprocate your feelings. Perhaps I have been hiding a secret crush for you since the day of that bedroom scene.”

You looked up at him, again attempting to wriggle away. This time with more effort. Tom yanked you forward until the two of you were chest to chest.

“Perhaps I will just kiss you and see what happens.”

You opened your mouth to come back with a snappy comment but Tom leaned in and his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you had imagined, but better. A warmth flowed through your body and you snaked your arms around Tom’s neck and pulled him closer. The two of you parted, breathing heavy.

“Wow,” Tom smiled with pride, “your breath smells.”

Both of you burst out into laughing.

“Your breath isn’t minty fresh either, darling,” Tom placed a quick peck on your lips. “Let’s get up, get dressed, and head downstairs for breakfast, Y/N.”

“Okay but you get ready first. I am not ready to get up.”

“Fair enough.”

Tom bounded out of bed and rustled through his bag before finding clean clothes. Just as he reached the bathroom door, his phone buzzed.

“Do you mind checking that, darling?”

You nodded, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

You picked up the phone and saw a text from Luke.

Tom?! Where are you? You didn’t answer your phone last night. It took some persuading, but I got your suite back at the Hyatt. Please call me back. I hope you didn’t end up sleeping in the airport.

That little liar! Tom had manipulated you to spend the night. What a sneak! Your initial anger gave way to mischief and joy. If not for Tom’s little subterfuge, the two of you may have never gotten together. Still, you couldn’t let him get away with his little scheme scot-free.

You seated yourself at the edge of the bed, legs crossed and his phone in your hand. Tom came out in jeans and a shirt, a toothbrush in his mouth. He looked at you confused.

“Who was it?” he questioned, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth.

You smirked, “Oh just Luke.”

“What did he want, love,” he came over and placed a minty kiss on your forehead, “everything all right?”

“Yeah,” you wiped the remnants of toothpaste off your face, “he was just worried you slept in the airport, instead of your old suite in the hotel.”

Tom’s smile fell from his face.

“I can explain…”

You stood up and walked until you were toe to toe.

“Oh? And what is your explanation for lying about your sleeping arrangements?”

You suppressed a smirk and giggle and you can see Tom scrambling to come up with the right words.

“Well..” Tom held his hands up in defense and then sighed, shoulders slumping, “I couldn’t think of any other way to get you into bed with me.”

His blue eyes sparkled back you, hopeful. You let a Cheshire cat grin spread across your face and you pulled up onto your toes to place a kiss on his lips.

“You are lucky you are so charming, otherwise I might be more mad. Besides, we need to discuss this.” you waved your hands between the two of you.

“We are?”

“Yes. Now excuse me but I have to get dressed…”

Tom settled onto the bed as though you would strip off your pajamas right in front of him.

“… in the bathroom.”

Tom’s face fell.

“You wound me.”

“You lied.” “I promise I will never make that mistake again, darling.”

“Good, now call Luke back while I get dressed.”

You closed the door and got ready. Tom dialed in Luke’s number.

“I’m fine, Luke. I promise. No, I didn’t end sleeping in the airport; I stayed with a friend. No, a female friend. Yes it is her, if you must know. Yes, Luke. I understand. Oh by the way, I will spend a few days in Denver, clear my schedule.”

Tom could hear Luke grumbling through the conversation. He couldn’t resist send him into a tailspin before re-engaging in radio silence.

“Oh and Luke, if you hear any rumors about me, they are true. The photos too.”

With that, he turned his phone off. The next few days were for you and you alone.

#tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine

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speciesofleastconcern · 3 years ago

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What would happen if the southern United States declared their secession from the union and created a Confederacy 2.0 in 2021 and they declared that Donald Trump was their president?

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE THIRTY HOURS’ WAR (slightly updated)

9:27 AM: Governor Greg Abbott announces a surprise press conference to be held at noon. The Texas State Capitol is a whirlwind of activity, but no one will explain. Journalists stationed in the capitol buildings of several other Southern states notice a sudden fever of activity, but again, no word on what is taking place.

12:07 PM: Abbott enters the press room, faces the cameras, and delivers a speech televised around the world—a speech that makes the assembled journalists gasp.

“I have been in private communication with the governors of several other Southern states for the past few weeks, and we have an announcement of great consequence. I may announce that we are of one accord, united in our purpose, not without sorrow, and yet filled with pride and determination at the step we are undertaking this day. We are a free people, we Texans, and we wish only to live according to our traditional laws and the laws of a just and righteous God. For too long have we put up with abuse and threats from the Federal government in Washington, that hotbed of liberal elites and so-called “experts” who believe that they know better than we know what freedom truly consists of. It has gone on for too long, and we shall not continue any further. President Trump fought for our rights; the lies of the liberal media brought him down; but when one man lets the stainless banner fall, other hands must take it up, as we have done this day.

“The Lone Star State is the first star in the heavens of a new constellation of freedom and liberty—the first of the New Confederated States of America. We hereby announce the severing of all ties to the Washington government, and ask only to be allowed to depart in peace to seek our own liberty and prosperity.

“We are the first, but not alone. Governor Asa Hutchinson of Arkansas, Governor Tate Reeves of Mississippi, Governor Kevin Stitt of Oklahoma, and Governor Ron DeSantis of Florida have joined with me in forming a new nation, conceived in liberty with God as our vindicator, with each State acting in its sovereign and independent character. The governors of Louisiana, Missouri, Tennessee, Alabama, and South Carolina are considering our proposal now, but a great groundswell of support is coming from the citizens of these states. We trust that they will soon join us.

“We hereby announce that all Federal property within the boundaries of our state, including all national parks and forests, Indian reservations, and military bases, is forfeit to our state government. Orders have gone out to the Texas State Guard and State Police to secure these properties, and they are backed by thousands of citizen militia forces who have mobilized have taken up arms to secure what is rightfully ours. For freedom and justice for ourselves and our descendants, invoking the favor and guidance of Almighty God, we pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”

12:17 PM: The President of the United States is whisked from a routine meeting with the Department of Agriculture to an emergency meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

12:31 PM: Emergency orders are issued to cancel all civilian flights to the states of Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and Mississippi. All inbound flights are ordered to divert immediately, leading to crowded and difficult scenes at airports such as Wichita, Albuquerque, Denver, St. Louis, and Cleveland.

1:47 PM: Chaos reigns on Interstates 10 and 40 and smaller highways, as thousands of Texas motorists flee for the New Mexico border, only to be stopped by armored New Mexico National Guard units, reinforced by heavily armed troops from Fort Bliss. Motorists fleeing eastward are stopped by the Louisiana National Guard, backed up with troops from Fort Polk. Motorists heading north towards Kansas or east through Arkansas also report blockades.

3:12 PM: There are reports of rioting in Austin and Houston, as columns of unregulated militia march or ride through urban neighborhoods where protests are expected. No one knows or will admit who shot first, but neighborhoods are soon ablaze, and fire trucks that attempt to reach the fires report being shot at. In other cities and towns, a watchful, tense quiet prevails as everyone awaits the next announcement. Footage of the riots and attacks is widely disseminated on social media.

4:29 PM: A column of militia in assorted vehicles approaches Fort Hood to demand its surrender. Seeing the main gates deserted, the lead vehicle drives onto the fort, and the driver, 47-year-old Braxton Beauregard, hoists the Lone Star Confederate flag over the guardhouse.

4:29:17 PM: The guardhouse, the flag, and the first ten vehicles of the convoy are simultaneously obliterated by Hellfire missiles. The remaining vehicles beat a hasty retreat to Killeen, although not before seven more vehicles are wiped out. That evening at the local Whataburger, one of the traumatized survivors is heard to mumble, “well, shit, this may be tougher than we thought.”

5:25 PM: The President emerges from his meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and gives a brief address to the nation. It’s short on details. He says only that he has been fully briefed on the situation and is deeply troubled, but is considering his legal options, and will provide a full reply to Governor Abbott’s announcement tomorrow morning. He pleads for calm and prays for peace and unity. The country remains on edge.

1:37 AM: Fort Hood’s gates open.

2:12 AM: A lone C-17 Globemaster III makes a pass over Austin, Texas, at 30,000 feet. Similar aircraft pass over Little Rock, Arkansas; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; and Jackson, Mississippi. Their flight paths are later traced to Fort Benning.

6:48 AM: Journalists based in Austin report seeing a huge column of tanks and trucks moving into the city on Interstate 35, as helicopters fly cover.

7:24 AM: Tanks have surrounded the Texas State Capitol. The skies are torn by noise as F-15s and F-18Es fly combat air patrols over the city; they hold their fire for now. Heavily armored infantry patrols deploy onto the streets, although they, too, hold their fire and simply observe.

7:37 AM: A unit of unorganized militia patrolling the streets of Austin encounters soldiers from III Corps Special Troops Battalion on the corner of 14th and Guadalupe Street. One of the militiamen raises his AR-15 and fires at the troops, slightly wounding one soldier.

7:37:15 AM: Six militia members are killed or wounded in the ensuing firefight. Survivors are spotted fleeing towards the 7–11 convenience store on 15th Street, where it seems their commander has set up his base.

7:42:37 AM: The 7–11 convenience store on 15th Street is struck by multiple Hellfire missiles. Scenes like this play out all day throughout the capital city, with minor variations. By noon, few militia are willing to advertise their presence; discarded weapons and body armor can be found on the streets as erstwhile militiamen try to blend back into the general population.

8:31 AM: A group of Army Rangers exit the Texas Governor’s Mansion, escorting a handcuffed Governor Greg Abbott to a waiting flight of HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopters that have materialized on the lawn.

9:17 AM: Several other Texas state officials are removed from the State Capitol or other government buildings by Rangers and escorted to waiting helicopters. Similar scenes are playing out in Oklahoma City and Little Rock and Jackson.

9:19 AM: An emergency press conference is held in Houston. The Hon. Sherry Radack, Chief Justice for the 1st District Court of Appeals in Houston, announces that under the line of succession as spelled out in the Texas state constitution, it appears that she is now the governor. Choking back tears, she announces the immediate cessation of hostilities, pleads for citizens to put down their weapons, orders the surrender of all State Guard forces, and expresses eagerness to remain a part of the United States.

11:10 AM: The governors of Louisiana, Missouri, and Tennessee deny any knowledge of Texas's plan, announce that their states will not be joining Texas, and pledge their states’ loyalty to the Federal government. At about the same time, the governor of Florida announces that his state’s inclusion in the list of seceding states was entirely the fault of unnamed “liberal agitators,” that he never agreed to leave the Union, and that despite all their differences of opinion he has pledged his state’s loyalty to the Federal government. Rumors that Navy SEALS were aiming at him from concealed firing positions as he was making this profession of loyalty were never substantiated.

12:37 PM: The President appears again on TV, thanking the loyal units of the US military, who have executed “a textbook counterinsurgency mission with minimal loss of life and destruction of property.” He assures the people that order will be restored and life will return to normal as soon as possible, and states that steps are already underway to restore the state governments. He promises to bring the rebels who actually took up arms to justice, while proposing that Congress immediately establish a bipartisan Truth and Reconciliation Commission to reintegrate the rebel states into the US as smoothly as possible. (He does not say this, but commentators note that with the sudden disappearance of Congressional delegations from the rebel states, he should have the votes to get what he wants.) He ends his speech by pleading once again for peace, adding that “I understand the despair and anger and paranoia that many Americans feel—but this is not the way to express those. Let us come together as one nation, one people, united by our devotion to the principles of democracy and liberty, from sea to shining sea. God bless America!” (Fun fanfic from quora)

#alternate history #mess with texas

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fructuyeux · 3 years ago

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CANADA-20 (xxx) COVID-19

3/13/2020 - 3/22/2020

By: Rayce R. Rayos

This undertaking was planned as a daringly creative escape from mounting internally & externally placed workloads, & was slated to take place during the UNLV 2020 Spring Break. In concurrence with the vacation was the ever-increasing, ever-diversifying socioeconomic fallout, mandates, & obstacles associated with the first global pandemic that I have experienced in my lifetime. I’d be remiss to not admit that the cheapened airline, lodging, & transportation prices were viewed as a silver lining in an otherwise hysteric & strange time in human history. The following account of the trip is intended to recount the experiences & knowledge gained (from what is remembered), and aid in the recollection of the associated photo-documentation conducted during.

DAY 1 - 3/14 - 7.5 miles

The outgoing flight 1224 from McCarran International Airport to the eventual destination of Niagara Falls, New York was delayed, unbeknownst to me, & so the trip began with a frantic drive to the airport with a hastened goodbye to my roommate & lovely daughter (who wanted dearly to join her father in Canada). The flight was delayed by an hour, & I made it on the plane.

A quick stop in Denver, CO was followed by a landing in Fort Lauderdale, FL. Upon landing, the Spirit Airlines attendant notified me that my flight to Niagara Falls had already left (to the complete fault of their flight coordination), & that I’d have to spend the night & following day in Broward County, 15 miles North of Miami. I was frazzled & upset to have started my trip with such a complication, but after the airline was able to change my ticket free of charge, I decided to extend my trip an extra day. So, I asked them to book my returning flight for a day later (3/20 → 3/21), to which they agreed to do for free, utilizing a COVID-19 flight disruption program. I booked a room at the Vacation Inn in the middle of the night, & recalibrated my trip schedule.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day in South Florida, & after resting my luggage at the motel for the day (for a fee), I skateboarded to SE 17th Street, hung a right, & breezed through a few miles of million-dollar homes & yachts, over the Causeway Bridge, to what would eventually become Fort Lauderdale Beach Park. Full of families & largely free of fear, the beach was warm, sunlit, & vivacious. The locals were out in near-full effect, & I spent the entire day with the rays on my back, the water at my waist, & a respite of relaxation before ensuing madness. I even struck up a conversation with some fellow beachgoers as a result of my Kobe Bryant tattoo, & learned a good deal about quotidian life down there. I got a workout in on the beach equipment, & some peaceful serenity as I stared down the horizon beyond the Atlantic. I returned to my motel to acquire my bags & make my way to the airport en route to New York… Little did I know that a bar, Bimini Bay to be exact, neighbored my motel. I found myself entrenched in an environment eerily similar to that of the Huntridge Tavern, although this spot was half the size with raunchy anal porn playing on multiple screens throughout all of the 5 walls. Throwing brews back & chain-smoking with the locals to country music was a familiar feeling, & instilled in me further the universal nature of letting loose. That being said, I lost track of time & had to hightail it out of there via a gentleman’s Uber to the airport. Another flight ran after & barely boarded in the nick of time… My time in South Florida was as serendipitous as flight disruptions can be. The most lingering aspect of my time spent there was, indubitably, the sunburn that would come to stick with/on me for the remainder of the vacation. Perhaps the worst case of the sun’s kiss I’ve come to bare. Before fully coming to this realization, I’m on a plane to New York.

DAY 2 - 3/15 - 10.47 miles

Upon being alive on arrival in New York state at 2 AM in the morning, I resolved to sleep in the IAG airport for the night, especially considering my phone charger at the time had been severely out of whack. There I lay, curled on an airport bench in Niagara Falls for the night with blistering skin & a scent of fresh tobacco smoke (& ass). I distinctly recall wrestling with the time I should render myself awake, eventually settling upon 9:30 AM. It was at this time that I found myself the only visible individual in the airport terminal; no staff, no bags, no patrons, nothing. The unexpected isolation harkened memories of the film 28 Days Later. Once the drool was free from my chin, I hailed a Lyft to the American-Canadian border, specifically the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge; it was along this ride that my driver informed me that the American dollar was fairly strong against the Canadian dollar to the tune of 1 USD = 1.33 CAD (roughly). This would come to be an extremely welcomed caveat to the remainder of the trip, as most every purchase converted to about 75% of all prices quoted in Canada.

When the border was reached, there I stood as a man with his spirit & belongings intact, & began my trek over the bridge to a foreign land. With frequent pause, the majesty of the falling water on a brisk Spring day will play in my mind for years to come. Pictures were taken, deep thought was attempted, & it was a stark moment of gratefulness for the life I have been given. Next was passing through Canadian Customs at the north end of the bridge, & after being grilled for a moment as to my intentions for entering, the officer pointed me in the direction of the bus stop from which my Greyhound was leaving in less than an hour. From the Rainbow Bridge to the Whistleblower bridge 2.5 miles north, I was blessed with a walk of forced clarity as I hugged Niagara’s riverway with 75+ pounds of much needed possessions. I found myself doubting my ability to invite others with me on trips in the future out of a fear for unintentionally inflicting similar tasks upon them. Nevertheless, I made it to my Greyhound in time and rested on the ride to Toronto.

The recuperation was much needed. When I awoke I found myself in Canada’s largest city (& the 9th-largest in North America), Toronto, Ontario. Excitement coursed through my capillaries & once departing from the bus on foot, it was straight to my ‘Chinatown Guest House’ to set down my things & get on the go… this was not the case. A whole fiasco followed where I was unable to contact the host, thereby unable to access the place I had paid to stay for the night (& the night before, despite Spirit having different plans on DAY 1). The first two Torontonian hours were spent in a Chinatown chicken spot (Gdou’s) where I struggled to gain the cellular abilities necessary to overcome this debacle; I bought a new charger & charger port at the market center across Spadina. I grappled with frustration in a very real sense, but was utterly appeased to find that I had been sent an email containing the entry instructions from Booking.com. Relief rushed over me. I grabbed my bags, & hunkered down in a room with a wooden balcony & stunning view of Downtown Toronto to boot. I showered, shat, & escaped into the city heading South on Spadina. A brief stop at the famed ‘Graffiti Alley’ along with a trip to the marijuana grocer located me in the heart of the Fashion District, a sector largely reminiscent of Williamsburg, BK (as hip, although much smaller). After a lovely skate to the harbourfront I was able to catch the sun set behind a vast array of monolithic condos & headquarters. The sun was able to get quite low, however, after having nestled between two skyscrapers, & that shared scene on the pier between myself & just a handful of individuals was quite a sight. Heading south afterwards, I rolled by the Toronto Music Gardens, through Coronation Park, & through a series of railway tracks amidst arenas (BMO Arena), Centennial Park, Lakeshore Boulevard, & an array educational campuses. Once Dufferin Street was reached, I headed toward Little Portugal. On the way there I stopped short (per the advice of a local) & turned north up King Street. Halfway home I stopped at the restaurant Thai Place Too & enjoyed some steaming seafood Tom Yum fit with stimulating conversation from the waitress. I paid my bill, thanked those there, & pushed onward on King Street traversing a barrage of tunnels, city folk, & shopping centers. At this juncture I recall being bummed by the lack of nighttime activities, & decided to stop at a bar near my place for the night called Wide Open.

What was to begin & end as a night of the all-evasive ‘one brew’ quickly accelerated into a merry time of mutual drunkenness & fun. A couple dental hygienists befriended me at the bar, & not far to follow were a West Indian techy working for Google & an Irishwoman on her way out of town. My memories of what exactly transpired are quite shaky, but an unflinching enjoyment of that particular night at the bar lasts. I got home at an ungodly hour & crash-land in my bed.

DAY 3 - 3/16 - 7.53 miles

Similar to popping out of bed due to a frightening nightmare, “Where’s my fucking board?!” was the thought & simultaneous phrase that opened my eyes that morning. I was still drunk, so a hangover wasn’t an issue, but discovered a damn large lump on my right posterior parietal bone & a pool of blood in the sheets where I slumbered. I racked what was left of my brain as to where/how/why this injury came to be sustained, but to no avail. In hindsight, it’s consistent with braceless backwards fall, & vaguely recall attempting to ride my skateboard back home equipped with a BAC of full-blown ‘no bueno’. Nevertheless, the pain wasn’t of serious concern (although I had plenty of time to reflect on the very real possibility of me now having to operate in a concussed state). What was of concern was my skateboard, my iPod, & my eighth of weed that I had yet to dip into. I began retracing my steps and was welcomed with open arms by my beautiful black, four-wheeled bride waiting for me at the front doorstep- Check 1. I scooped up my board, got dressed & readied for the (likely music-less) day ahead, had a solid conversation with my father, & cleared my stuff from the house just in time to be 4 hours late for checkout.

In one of the more daring tactics employed on the trip, I stashed my big purple duffle bag (containing clothes & other non-essentials) & my backpack (containing my laptop, passport & other very-essentials) in the empty garbage bin to the side of the front door. This was a huge gamble, & one that would weigh somewhat on my conscience for the coming hours, despite heavy medication- re-upped on weed, Check 2. During my second trip to Graffiti Alley I encountered a bum in mid-tweak repeatedly pulling his pants up & down amidst a backdrop of beautiful art, & naturally this struck me as microcosmic of the whole of Toronto. The bar I had chanced upon the night prior didn’t resume service until 4 in the evening, & so I had a few hours to kill which were spent speaking with various loved ones & contemplating last night’s events as I bobbed & weaved a hangover. 4 o’clock rolls around & I walk into the bar greeted by a smiling bartender with an unclaimed red iPod. THIS WAS A PERSONAL WIN OF GREAT PROPORTIONS, & solidified my successful navigation through mindless debauchery abroad- Check 3. I felt the proverbial wind was once again behind my back, & opted to knock out the city’s landmarks North of Spadina Avenue, largely via Adelaide & King Streets until Yonge.

Post-modern magnificence a la architecture kept my chin up as I managed to dodge pedestrian after pothole after Porsche. Sundown was not far off & the gleaming beams reflected softly off the mirrored panels some seventy-five plus stories on all sides. A real embodiment of the term ‘hustle & bustle’ was laid out in front of me, complete with a citizenry whose diversity mimicked that of my own home a world away. The gritty attitude that I’ve come to associate with East coast cities (specifically the colder ones) was alive & well here, evidenced in reluctance to help guide tourists or even tell the time of day. I loved it, & judged it as genuine more so than anything else. It should also be noted that the music playing in my ears throughout my time in the ‘Six’ was exclusive to the stylings of Drake, a rapper native of the city with references to its contents (streets, sides of town where the pretty girls sleep, subpopulations, parks, etc.) found abundantly in his lyrics.

When Yonge was reached, I peered west to a ton of things going on, but elected to go east. This turned out to be a wise decision. After a few blocks I was greeted by the area of town most closely associated with the Toronto skyline & its historical foundations on the illustrious Front Street. Here is where I stood mouth agape with the enormity & incomprehensible complexity of the city on full view. I touched the base of the CN tower & spent a good amount of time in awe as it registered (despite the Stratosphere being superior in my eyes), traversed the Railway museum set just outside of Olympic Park, gazed upon the Rogers Center where the Blue Jays come to bat, & ended at the water of Lake Ontario at the sandy Harbour Square Park where some solid skating took place. After some time, the thought of my possessions having lasted (or not) in the trash receptacle all this time prompted me to retrieve them, & so back to Chinatown I booked it. The moment of truth arrived when I got off my board at 83 W. Sullivan Street, & lo & behold, my stuff was nestled just as I had left it some 5 hours before. Feeling giddy from the travel-savvy risks taken, I was on to grab dinner with an old colleague of mine who happened to be doing her post-baccalaureate studies there. T. & I, a former classmate at Valley High, met at what we would come to find as nothing more than another closed restaurant with a COVID-19 newsletter plastered on the door. We deliberated playfully on what we should now do, & after having happened upon the ‘T O R O N T O’ sign & all of its illuminated glory, a 6-pack of Stella Artois from the rather hidden LCBO in the mega-commercial Eaton Center became the night’s main entree. Polite exchanges with exceedingly conversational locals made for a nice segue as we awaited our second Lyft ride to the Harbourfront.

The Harbourfront Centre was largely uncrowded as temperatures dipped below zero (Celsius, of course), & after a brew-cigarette combo, it was in an instance that snow began falling from the blackened sky & onto everything in sight… including our unsheltered selves. It was as surprising as it was splendid (at least for a desert cactus like me) to have been outdoors somewhere prior to snowfall & then to behold its beginning. A few days prior, I had been notified that the ski lift an hour North of Ottawa whose mountain I intended to shred had been closed, & so, I found myself with a decision to make: stay in the Toronto area an extra night or board the bus I had booked & crashing in a twin-sized bus seat for the night & do who knows what in Ottawa… Motivated by the phrase, “What the hell are you going to do in Ottawa?” I chose the former & began searching for a nearby hotel room. My homegirl, sitting beside me, of course overheard, & more-than-kindly offered a guest room in her condo as a suitable place to rest my head for the evening. I accepted, & we whisked ourselves out of the snow to a 12th-story condo in the 95+% Chinese suburb of Markham, ON. An once-schoolmate was changed into a dear friend after having exhibited flawless hospitality in the form of whiskey, toast, toothpaste, a bed & sublime conversation. We jabbed & joked in Francais (with hers being superior to my own), & this was a much-needed introduction to everyday dialogue in the different tongue of the Quebecois whom I would spend most of the days to follow with.

DAY 4 - 3/17 - 4.38 miles

I awoke early in the morning after not being able to sleep too much due to my skin’s incessant irritation, as well as a pseudo-insomnia I’ve come to expect from myself when on vacation. To fill the time between my awakening & my host’s, I read as much of The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz as I could retain, ending with the last chapter left unread. As a result, the mantras prompted by the book that one is to agree with from within his/herself resonated with me. They are ‘be impeccable with your word,’ ‘don’t take anything personally,’ ‘don’t make any assumptions,’ & ‘always do your best.’ Fondly, I looked to these statements as a source of my second wind around this time, as the physical toll of my endeavors began somewhat to present themselves.

When T awoke, we engaged in parley for another hour or so before trudging to the neighborhood bus/rail station where she purchased my ticket & we ran goofily to make the train before the doors swiftly shut. During the train ride back to Downtown Toronto I was able to sit quietly in my thoughts, as well as get some business dealings out of the way via phone. The walls flanking the tracks were riddled in graffiti of both very high- & very low-quality pieces on fleeting displays. We were headed to Union Station, the hub for all non-automobile commutes in the metropolitan area, & second-largest transportation facility in North America, servicing some seventy-two million humans yearly. A stunning structure of Greco-Roman design with pristine pillars, it was a treat to walk the halls of such an obviously integral establishment. Soon we said our brief farewell & parted ways so that she could go to school & I could purchase a rail ticket to Ottawa, ON- set to leave later in the day.

I purchased my rail ticket to Ottawa for 6:30 PM & stashed my luggage at the bagging station inside the terminal, leaving me with 3 ½ hours to get the last of my rocks off in a city unique to itself. I went straight for Yonge-Dundas square after having caught a glimpse of the scene days prior, & once in the center I felt a likening to Times Square, both personally & perceivably. There was no better wayward idea at the time than to bust off some skate tricks in the center of such commotion, & was able to have a solid 15-20 minutes on the board before security (much like their American counterparts) gave me the good ol’ boot. Onto St. Lawrence Market I dashed, the bayside market most closely associated with Canadian grub. Here I tried peameal for the first time, & was left affirmed of Canadian courtesy, although the meal itself wasn’t anything to write home about. Yet another stop at Tim Horton’s for some pastries seemed in order before heading back to Union Station. Back at the staging port for my bus it was revealed to passengers that there was a 50-minute delay- just the break I needed to step out & smoke a potent bowl. When I did finally step outside after a few lefts & maybe a right, there in front of me stood the Scotiabank Arena where the Toronto Raptors (reigning NBA Champions) play their home games. To be frank, I was at the rear of the practice court, but nevertheless, happy to happen to be there. The train boards, takes off, & a long list of Canadian towns were slept through & bypassed in the dead of night. I hailed a lift from the Ottawa Train Station to my hostel for the night. The place served as the first jail in city, & had since been neatly converted into a hostel with guests sleeping in tight-fitting ‘jail cells.’ I was on floor 6 in cell number 613, the quarters of a long-gone inmate by the name of Angelo Villamino. I relished this opportunity to mix the excitement of historicism with the usually lull nature of lodging. The rest itself was subpar as my skin had begun peeling profusely during the day, & remained red hot during the night.

DAY 5 - 3/18 - 16.24 miles

Morning comes quickly & I am tasked to clear my cell of my things in a playful return to freedom. Breakfast was held in the dining hall of the jailhouse, aptly ascribed the ‘oldest dining hall in Ottawa.’ After replenishing my body, I held my bags at the front desk, & hurled myself into the city; I had a little over one hour to squeeze as much of the country’s capital into my memory banks as possible. I began by searching for the Parliament building (more like a castle) where the bulk of legislation for the world’s second-largest country (in landmass) largely transpires. No Prime Minister Trudeau or politicians in sight, as the effects of the Coronavirus pandemic amplified by the day. I believe this is the day that the Prime Minister of Canada closed the southern border to incoming Americans, followed swiftly by our President’s mutual refusal of incoming foreign travelers at the border. Admittedly, this was not of concern to me, as I figured (& thankfully was later proven correct) that a U.S. citizen would be permitted to come home. In hindsight, I perhaps predicted such measures being taken & allowed them to expedite my plans of getting to Canada before being unable to enter as an American.

Anyway… by Parliament I glided taking whatever pauses necessary to piece together how things came to be as they are up there from an academic perspective, but carefully preserving the right to take the utmost tourist-y photos (much like others do at 1600 Pennsylvania). A breathtaking building it was indeed, & that was just the view from the street! I continued along my path, circumnavigating the center of the city which took me to Victoria Island & into the province of Quebec for a brief moment (although I was not aware of the provincial border at the time). Like my time in Niagara, I elected to skate from a southern bridge to a northern one, the latter being Alexandra bridge over the Ottawa River. What a special moment this turned out to be as my wheels clanked over the wooden boards of the bridge, seemingly to the dismay of the townspeople. I was not the least bit concerned for this harmless transgression, as I had been otherwise captivated by my backside view of Parliament sitting atop its hill. It felt as if I had been transported to Transylvania, & the Victorian edifice gave me a sense of passion for human ingenuity. I made it back to the HI Ottawa Jail Hostel, aligned my belongings, & requested a ride to the Ottawa Greyhound terminal to catch my bus to Montreal. Here is precisely where Francais surpassed English as the primary mode of communication for the foreseeable future. The beloved Quebecois are very proud of their Francophone heritage, as it is the written language on road signs & nearly all signage everywhere (with a distinctive lower regard for English).

Arrival in Montreal occurred after the couple-hour bus ride. Immediately I was made aware of the foothold in normalcy that the French language commanded there, mainly because everything was in French (& not always in English). Outside the bus station, during my coordination with my Airbnb host, multiple homeless individuals approached me in search of loose change or a cigarette. This would be otherwise unworthy of mention had it not been for their guttural requests being in a language outside of English; I remember finding it striking to conceive a natively French-speaking bum whose domain I was now a guest in. My stuff & I made yet another march to the place I would come to call a temporary home- the apartment of Alix & Marion. I was mid-toke when my host, Alix, motioned to me to come to the stairs at the foot of the door & take my entry. A simple ‘bonjour,’ we greeted each other with, & I demonstrated to her that I would prefer to speak in her primary language in an effort to sharpen my own ear & mouth, to which she gladly agreed. The remainder of our exchanges over roughly the next 48 hours took place in Francais, with varying degrees of contextual & vernacular depth. The common Montrealaise person is a French-speaker with a veritable accent when they switch to English. As the old addage goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I met this challenge to navigate a new cityscape & probe its peoples in an embracing way with occasional angst, constant excitement, & most profoundly with a thirst for knowledge.

My goods were locked away in my room, I had just showered, so I grabbed my board & set sail in search of the city’s lifebloods. Beginning in Chinatown (which usually tends to be either exactly or nearby places I stay in cities), I opted to head west in search of Le Plateau & Mile’s End, sections of the town celebrated for the globality & execution of their cuisinieres. Some poutine boeuf hache from Main Deli on Rue Ste. Laurent seemed the right call, & turned out better than my imagination had guessed. From Mile’s End southward I was bound, seeking to lay eyes upon L’Universite de Montreal. Little did I know it was set atop one of the many tiers of Mt. Royal at the city’s center. Getting there was rather trying, but the views of Quebec’s largest city at night from the campus, coupled with the exhilaration of board-bombing down the occasional hill, left little to be desired & much to be remembered. Further south of the University lied L’Oratoire de St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Oratory), a Catholic-driven destination featuring towering stained-glass windows, a gathering hall for services that rivaled the most Mormon of Tabernacles, along with a balcony’s viewpoint all its own. After struggling to find the exit from the Oratory, I found it in my best interest to begin the journey back to my bed. A complete encircling of Mt. Royal park was supposed to cap the day’s adventure as night had already befallen hours before. Perhaps fate had other plans in mind.

My phone had been rendered useless at this point, & I had little more than my intelligence to rely on to get me back home. Unfortunately, my mental capacity had waned significantly over the course of the day’s doings, & over the next 2 or 3 hours I could be plainly seen wandering somewhat aimlessly from roadside map to roadside map. The outcome of being well off-track was spectacular, however. I cannot help but feel I got to experience the city in a different & daring light. Half of me wanted to return home, & the other half wanted to investigate each eye-catching facet; more often than not, I let the need to investigate prevail & tacked some formidable mileage onto the invisible odometer of my skateboard throughout the night. After some much-needed guidance from a man walking & a bus driver, I was able to piece together just enough of my surroundings to locate 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth. Before heading home, I stopped into an Indian restaurant called SpiceBoys, where I requested tandoori chicken with curry rolled into naan bread. The only problem was that their card terminal was unable to accept any of my debit or credit cards, & so, with one stroke of effortless Indian-Canadian kindness, I was gifted a hearty dinner for the night free of charge. With the help of daylight, the next day I uncovered that I had thoroughly explored Downtown Montreal (via Rue Ste. Catherine), the Red-Light District, the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), & the Quartier des Spectacles (Entertainment District). I crept back into the apartment, which creaked with every floorboard, into my room & resigned to fatigue.

DAY 6 - 3/19 - 8.64 miles

I remained asleep in my quarters for the morning’s entirety, having groveled thirteen hours through the mandatory regeneration of my body & mind. Near this time I had an extended conversation with my hostess in which I requested to place my bags there after check-out the following day & attached reasoning to the request… completely in Francais! She was more than accommodating. Awakened & thoughts of the night prior still scrambling my brain, I showered (peeling skin off myself for the vast majority of time in the water), clothed myself in some hot shit, & set out to cross the St. Lawrence River. The cartographic struggles that were now in the past (plus a charged phone) helped me immensely in getting to my desired destinations in the coming days. I set out southward on Boulevard Rene-Levesque seeking to hit Griffintown & St. Henri before taking the Wellington Street bridge over to the L’isle de Ste. Helene (St. Helen Island). The riverfront at Sq. St. Patrick was an intoxicating mixture of sights & sounds; inlaid with a frozen stream, industrious (sometimes abandoned) infrastructure, & graffiti/street art that seamlessly colorized a scene already full of vibrance made for a quite memorable portion. At the point where most individuals had turned back due to the icy paths & an increasingly disinviting ambience, I progressed under Highway 10. On a route I was positive few or none had taken before, I stood roadside at dusk having to think intensely upon my next move & if it was the correct one. Wrong ones were made, gloves were dropped, but in time & effort I was able to find Avenue Pierre-Dupuy.

For a handful of kilometers, I skated along the shipyard gazing upon the city that I had been so immersed in & with. I was trying to practice kicking & pushing in the ‘goofy’ stance, so that I could face the spectacles & not apartment complexes (to mild avail). Before I knew it, I reached Parc Dieppe (Dieppe Park), a park on the north tip of the Cite du Havre & the starting point of the Pont de la Concorde (Concord Bridge). I would begin crossing without giving myself the time to let fear fester. Cars sped by at a half-meter’s length as my wheels rolled over tidbits of gravel, & more present in my mind, over a large body of water. I recall taking a few moments of pause at the bridge’s midpoint to survey my surroundings, & beautifully dominating they were. Humbled I felt, truly. As if my existence equated to a ripple in the river below, & with my individual ripple I can become a hurricane, or mud. The end of the bridge was a comforting sight.

To reach L’isle de Ste. Helene was the goal for the day & having gotten off the east end of the Pont de la Concorde, I was finally there. A long walk up the eastern coast of the island awaited me & was met with a heart teeming with adventure. Here I had time alone. With no other humans nearby, I let my mind run wild with thoughts of the trip to this point & how, in the grand scheme of things, I felt I was at where I should be; perhaps not geographically as one’s physical station is usually inconsequential. But in my mental state I was home, & home alone at that. Onward & northward I strode through the Parc Jean-Drapeau, laying eyes upon the ‘Biosphere’- a spherical structure on the island meant to champion ecology. Trees & ice accompanied me on the brisk walk to the north end of the island. There, Pont Jacques-Cartier (Jacques Cartier Bridge) awaited me in all of its steel beam splendor. Thankfully, the lanes of traffic & the pedestrian walkway had a divider between them, as well as a protective gate on the side where one might otherwise go overboard. This was all I needed to hop back on my board & skate my weathered boots over the St. Lawrence for the last time. On the bridge there were workers toiling away & the dazzling light sequence of the bridge itself made for a surreal experience. In the distance I could see the bridge, lit in rainbow colors, that I had crossed merely an hour or two before this new bridge that served as my current vantage point. Thoughts on the ephemerality of my existence at large (exemplified by having been way over yonder ‘then’ & here ‘now’) & the absolute need for self-belief against a vacuum of chance pervaded my tiny brain. The Pont Jacques-Cartier provided a special moment in my life that I can attest to having been rarely duplicated before. For reasons beyond me, I shed a tear & smoked a bowl before getting off.

Once off, I felt my way through Gay Village & back down into the Quartier Latin where I stopped for dinner at a quaint, but busy, Napoli Pizzeria. The owner was Italian. The waiter too. Both spoke Italian, English, & French, but after a while a Mexican family of 6 on vacation from Monterrey was seated, & the working duo displayed their aptitude in the Spanish language as well, going so far as to tell jokes anecdotally. I grinned & shared in the aura of the exchange, although I likely resembled a dirty drifter in the corner. Coming from such worldly humans, naturally the smoked salmon pizza topped with capers & onions was not lacking in the least bit. So, I ordered a large box for take-out after munching away the smaller portion & took my leave. On the way home, I stopped at a Second Cup Coffee Co. location & had a brief verbal volley with the barista in request of a cheesecake. He complimented my accent when speaking French, & even likened it to that of a French person (maybe meaning not Quebecois), despite glaring difficulties in my comprehension & rebuttals. Riding an emotional (& literal) high during the descent of a simply remarkable day of jam-packed novelty & sensation in all forms (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, introspection), I returned to the apartment for my last full night in the region.

DAY 7 - 3/20 - 2.42 miles

My time in Montreal was now nearing an end, & I began to hold thoughts of coming home in high regard. When the sluggishness of sleep washed away in the shower (insert skin peeling of the largest proportions here), I readied my luggage & cleaned my temporary room as best as I could to eliminate all signs of a horrific sunburn & accompanying cranial gash. With the green light from my hostesses to store my luggage in the apartment until the night’s 10:50 bus ride to Plattsburgh, NY, I was intent upon checking off the last few Montreal-bound goals that remained. This came chiefly in the form of a desire to reach the Mt. Royal lookout in order to take in the city-sphere from its namesake mountain. Originally, I had intended to skateboard there from the apartment, but after a few blocks of dousing rain, I called an Uber to scoop me up (after finding out that Lyft doesn’t yet operate in Quebec) & take me. The friendly Uber driver, Vincent, let me out at the drivable point closest to the Chateau Mont Royal, & didn’t hesitate to call me crazy for being there in such ferocious conditions. He pointed me in the proper direction which was aided by a fellow human headed toward the same spot as myself. Precipitation worsened as the half-mile March was underway, but it was worth every goosebump & raindrop once I reached the outlook.

A dreary backdrop of low-hanging, gray clouds & the smell of rain caressed the skyline’s perimeter in a way that rang true & imprinted upon me a stunningly naked Montreal. An intimate version of the city it was, gripped by the unknown like the rest of the world, yet resilient enough for entrepreneurialism to survive in pockets. Having already been to many of the places now set in my sight made the moment all the more fulfilling & full circle. A naive feeling of having ‘conquered’ the city laid bare before me was soon supplanted by the revelation of the realer self-conquest. Half-frozen water panging my face & wind gusts pulling & pushing without cease proved no match for the firmness I had found, in feet & fortitude. This was the quintessential culmination of the week I endured, & one one-hundred percent befitting of such a voyage.

I made my escape of Mount Royal with haste before my inadequate (but stylish) clothing proved a fatal error. Originally, I had the notion to return to Main Deli because my last meal there was so damn good, but in the moment I opted for Schwartz’s Deli across the street in the name of variety. A heaping steak sandwich slatted between two tiny slices of wheat with mustard proved to be the house specialty, & was served less than a minute after being ordered… It was alright. Homeward bound with a full stomach, I decided to walk into a store that I had held in the back of my mind after passing by my first day there, Cul-de-Sac. This place was happening! The owner of the store was gracious in her conversation as I browsed. I eventually confessed my inspiration(s) gained from her shop (& plans to recreate in a respectful, homage-paying manner). We spoke at length about various topics, from our being of parents, to our being of owners of similar retail operations, to her allegiance to Quebec & not the whole of Canada. In fact, she was the foremost messenger of the separatist mentality that the people of the Quebec province displayed, on their countenance & in their conduct. I purchased a few of the items in her shop, she threw me some good stuff for free, & we wished well upon each other at my exit. That was the last recreational stop in Montreal, & soon thereafter I retreated to the Quartier des Spectacles to acquire my things. I was graced with the time to charge my phone & rest my bones for about 45 minutes. It was during this time that a cherished exchange between myself, Alix, & Marion (a hostess with whom I’d only spoken with via Airbnb messaging up to this point) occurred. It had become expected that I was asked what I did with my day, & that is how the chat began. I explained the day’s travels, thanked the duo for being a source of comfort & ease at the beginnings & ends of trying days. I also thanked them for putting up with my butchering of their language (as each inhabitant of the apartment was from France) for the sake of practice, which they met befuddled & were quick to praise my ability to communicate/intonate in their complicated speech. They even went so far as to say that my speaking has a native’s accent & were super appreciative of my having taught myself over the last couple years. A mutual encounter I cannot help but feel it was, & I remain grateful for their pleasant & inviting demeanors. I climbed down the long stairwell of 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth once & for all & signaled for Uber to take me to the Longueil Metro.

I had arrived at the bus station with plenty of time to spare, having somewhat learned the errors of my ways. I was serious about not wanting to cut anything close with such little time left for my returning flight home. I waited patiently at my gate for my bus to arrive & whisk me away back to the states for my 2:59 AM flight out of Plattsburgh, New York (Upstate). Sadly, the bus’s arrival time came & went, & at the mention of the ticketing booth agent, I waited another 45 minutes for it. Having received no notification of cancellation from the bussing company, no accurate updates on the whereabouts of the bus, & minute after minute shaving away from takeoff time, I was forced to call an Uber to pick me up from the metro station & take me to the border- this cost one-hundred Canadian dollars. We stopped at an ATM, grabbed some snacks, & finally Ridaha & I were on our way. A fruitful & insightful chat aided us along the drive, & I was able to disentangle much French from this nice Tunisian man. An hour passed & we arrived at the U.S. border.

As the car pulled up to the border, U.S. Customs agents ordered repeatedly for my driver’s documentation. A brief argument between an unsuspecting Ridaha & an extremely serious officer took place. The very odd circumstances were eventually explained, Ridaha was directed to make a U-turn & head home while I exited the vehicle, grabbed my bags, & headed to the border patrol substation. It was there that I was informed that I would need to call a cab (as Uber wasn’t functioning in this particular location), but to complicate matters drastically, the taxi services weren’t doing the ‘border run’ that night. My heart fell into my stomach, & I had entered a phase of worry that I had yet to reach at any point along the trip. Thankfully, one Officer Burdette walked me to the West Service Road behind the U.S. Border Patrol & Customs Champlain Station & pointed in the direction of the nearest place still open- a Peterbilt truck stop about a half mile down a pitch-black road. He also made it a point to mention that if I attempted to hitchhike on main Highway 87, I would be arrested. This oh so tangible road brought with it intangible emotion after emotion as I grappled with triumph & failure, each still hanging in the balance. It had become very important outside of my own ambitions for me to make the plane & get home, & I was purely keen to not have loved ones worry about my wellbeing any longer. A frantic mixture of skating & speed-walking got me to the Peterbilt stop, & by the grace of God, the taxi company agreed to send out a driver for me & get me to the airport from this largely equidistant pick-up point. While I waited in freezing temperatures in an Eddie Bauer peacoat on the side of the road at the smallest hour, another group of U.S. Customs agents spotted me & sought to question my being there. They asked for identification & reasoning to which I was forthcoming. They wished me well & left.

Thirty minutes later, a portly man of sound intelligence & world view taxied me to the Plattsburgh International Airport (after having stopped at an ATM for cash to pay him). I entered the empty airport at 2:30 AM for my 2:59 AM flight with the driver’s assurance that I’ll be able to get right through TSA & onto the plane. More than sadly, he was mistaken. The Spirit Airlines attendant had vacated his post thirty minutes before takeoff to aid the onboarding crew, as per policy, of course. I rushed up to the barren TSA line & inquired about my chances of getting on the plane. They responded that the flight door had already been closed, & that it was now an impossibility for me to board. Needless to say, it was now impossible for me to get home on time, too. I felt I had fallen just short of a buzzer-beating victory that I had already affirmed to those who had expressed concern. I had begun to list the many variables that could have gone differently to get me on to that flight: 1) why didn’t my bus in Longueil show up or even notify me of cancellation? 2) why didn’t I deem the bus ride a lost cause sooner & get an Uber sooner? 3) why did we have to stop at an ATM so off-route when leaving Montreal? 4) Couldn’t they have held me & my driver up a bit less at the border? 5) Why couldn’t the taxi agency send someone a half-mile further than where they would eventually come to pick me up? 6) Why did this portly man with a good view of the world have to drive the speed limit? Would he have driven faster if I didn’t entertain his subjects? 7) Why the fuck does the agent at the airline counter leave the counter thirty minutes before a flight is scheduled to take off?

When the airline attendant did return, he was sympathetic to my cause & willing to help find a solution. Employing a similar program to the one used at the beginning of the trip, he was able to book the exact flight for the following day free of charge. This eased me greatly. Questions & doubt lingered, but I soon picked my chin up & hopped in another cab headed for the America’s Best Value Inn. This would be my impromptu safe haven on this frigid Friday night, & I checked in at 3:30 AM.

DAY 8 - 3/21 - 0 miles

Today is my sister’s & my aunt’s shared birthday. I wished dearly to be home by now next to my daughter, & to begin decompressing the week’s peaks & valleys. Yet, here I sit in the lobby of the cheap motel I spent last night in. I’ve been in the same chair since 1:15 PM, & it is now 12:49 AM (with the exception of a few bathroom/water breaks & a brief standing up to accept ordered wings & garlic bread). This unexpected & obligation-less window in time was spent formulating this transcript of a vacation I can confidently say will come to prove formative as life presses on. One not soon to be forgotten, nor the lessons gained therein forsaken. My flight to Las Vegas via Fort Lauderdale, Florida & Dallas, Texas is due to leave in a couple hours. With my lack of punctuality deeply ingrained, I resolve to close this memoir in saying that the constant struggle with mortality across Earth & in minds amidst these troubling waters was on full display in every city & each individual’s expression. Death and Disease on the tongues of the media & man the world over, but life itself (outside of the biological & inside of the metaphorical sense) is to be explored & discovered lovingly… never to be shied away from or merely sustained. With our collectively restricted circumstances reaching a fever pitch in what people can & cannot, should & should not, will & will not do, I resolve to digress & remain profoundly thankful for love, safety, health & home.

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baezen · 5 years ago

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starring role [bonus scene three]

pairing: bucky barnes x reader word count: 2315 warnings: fluff, swearing, christmas dinner

summary: in which she comes home for christmas

author’s note: takes place after the end scene

end scene | starring role

For the first time in years, Y/N was upset she’s spending the holidays alone. She and Bucky had originally planned to go somewhere warm for the holidays, but at the last minute she’d been called in to do some filming. That had thrown a spanner in the works, but Bucky had understood. So instead they’d settled on the occasional FaceTime to see each other, while he stayed in New York, and she headed to Colorado to work. It wasn’t ideal, but Y/N still had January off. They’d be able to have their summer holiday yet.

It was on the 22nd of December that Y/N was told she’d be able to go home for the holidays. A lot of the crew members had young children, and the weather became too horrible for any of their shots to be filmed. So they’d packed up and agreed to get back to it on the 28th, and the first thing Y/N did was buy a plane ticket to New York.

Bucky wasn’t expecting her to arrive at his apartment, so it was the perfect plan. She couldn’t have asked for a better gift. Heading back to her hotel to pack and organise transport. Her hotel was paid for until the end of the month, when they were supposed to wrap filming for the time being, but she didn’t want to leave anything behind. Wearing her thickest coat so she didn’t have to pack it, and heading downstairs when her Uber had arrived. It would be about a half hour trip to the airport, and then a further three hours until she arrived in New York. She’d take a cab when she got there.

Y/N was excited. Anxious the whole flight, but excited. She hoped Bucky hadn’t made any last minute plans, but she couldn’t figure out a way to ask him without letting on that she was in the neighbourhood. So she just hoped for the best, and headed outside to grab a cab to take her to Brooklyn where Bucky lived. She fiddled with the key he’d given her the entire car ride. Engaged in some polite conversation, but mostly enjoyed driving through New York and watching the snowfall outside.

She loved being in New York, and in later times, she’d been there a lot. Her place in Los Angeles somewhat forgotten about so she could stay in New York, playing house with Bucky. After Mary’s wedding, Tiff, and a spontaneous trip to Aspen to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life, they’d fallen into a comfortable routine back in Brooklyn. Y/N started frequenting Bucky’s gym, and they attended a morning yoga class, or an evening boxing session together. Saturday mornings were for early runs and trips to the farmer’s market, and Wednesdays were date night.

It was a different routine to what they had in LA, but she enjoyed it. Bucky would cook breakfast each morning, and she’d cook dinner each night. Each week they alternated who planned the date. Bucky started by taking her to Coney Island, and she took him to a gig the next week for one of her favourite bands. Each week was something different. One night it was a picnic in the park, the other it was karaoke, or going ice skating.

Y/N had been staying with him for a couple of months until she got the call to work, and had gone to Denver by the end of the week. Bucky missed having her around, because he never noticed how quiet his place was without her there. He kept expecting to have her whipping up a latest culinary masterpiece for dinner, or belting out a random song every 20 seconds. His home no longer felt like one with her gone.

She paid the cabby when she got to Bucky’s building, and hauled her suitcase out of the trunk. Letting herself inside and riding up to his floor, and hoping like hell he was home. It had been a long day. She wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and fall asleep.

As she brought her key up to unlock the door she heard laughter and smiled. Winnie was here, and she didn’t mind that she was about to do the official ‘meet his mom’ thing. She adored Winnie, and from what Mary and Bucky had told her, Winnie adored her too. She wasn’t worried as she opened the door and let herself in.

It was warm inside his apartment, and she hung her coat up by the door before stepping further inside. Hearing multiple voices and laughter filling the air, and realising Winnie wasn’t the only one here. Finding Bucky surrounded by his mother and sisters in the kitchen and smiling.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Y/N asked, drawing all eyes to her. She smiled at each of them individually. She hadn’t properly met Elizabeth or Rebecca yet, but that was bound to change in the next few minutes.

“I thought you were in Colorado?” Bucky asked, drifting towards her with a large smile on his face.

“I can go back if you don’t want me here,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck as he hugged her. Lifting her off the ground.

“I want you here,” he told her, putting her back down and giving her a kiss.

It had only been a few weeks but it’d been the longest they’d been without seeing each other everyday. Sure, FaceTime was a thing, but it wasn’t the same. They’d missed each other a lot, and though she was tired and ready to crash, she knew the right thing to do was to stay and chat with his family. If they were all together it was for a reason.

“Hi,” he greeted quietly, a sweet smile on his face.

“Hi,” she matched his tone, smiling back at him. “You going to introduce me properly or keep staring at me like I hung all the stars in the sky?”

He laughed and kissed her again. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. She thinks she hung all the stars in the sky,” Bucky introduced. His sisters all smiled, but Mary rolled her eyes. She’d heard their bullshit for months. Winnie was taken by them both.

Everyone happily greeted her. Mary and Winnie came forward to give her a hug, and she quickly excused herself to put her stuff away before she joined them. Changing into one of Bucky’s more comfortable t-shirts and some sweatpants before going out to properly meet his other sisters for the first time.

“I thought you were in Colorado this week?” Mary asked, picking at the dessert in front of her.

“I can fuck off back there if you want me to?” Y/N replied, making her laugh.

“Bucky will be pissed if I say yes,” she commented, throwing a frozen blueberry at her brother who happily caught it in his mouth.

“There was a snowstorm about to set in,” Y/N explained with a shrug. “I could’ve stayed and waited it out, but I’d rather be home.”

“Home, huh?” Bucky teased.

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, walking around the island to wrap her arms around his waist. “Home’s wherever you are, old man. I thought you knew that by now.”

He smiled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and stealing a kiss. His sisters held back on their teasing, because they couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen him this happy with another person. They’d give them a moment before they started to give him shit. They wanted him to keep bringing her around, so they could get to know each other better, and he wouldn’t do that if they didn’t make Y/N feel welcome. She already knew Mary. Liz and Becca wanted the chance to know her too.

Y/N was about to say something when two men showed themselves into the apartment. One of whom she knew as Mary’s now-husband, Oscar, while the other was an older man. An aged version of Bucky, with thick grey hair and a dazzling smile. This was obviously his father, and she was delighted they were about to be properly introduced.

“Pop, this is my girl, Y/N,” Bucky introduced, a proud smile on his face. No matter how many times he said it, being referred to as ‘his girl’ made Y/N’s stomach do flips.

She beamed at the older man as he opened his arms for a hug, cheering boisterously. “He’s been harping on about you for months, doll,” the older man teased, embracing Y/N like they were old friends.

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” she replied. “I’m one hell of a catch.”

“This is my Pop, George.”

Y/N scoffed playfully. “We’re past formalities, Buck. Winnie adopted me at Mary and Oscar’s wedding. They’re Ma and Pop to me.”

Bucky grinned, watching his father take Y/N under his arm and press a kiss to the top of her head. She gave Bucky a soft smile, and Liz gently elbowed him as she stood beside him.

“It looks good on you,” she told him.

“What does?”

“Love. Happiness,” she elaborated. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he confessed.

They watched everyone unpack the bags of food that George and Oscar had picked up and began plating food for everyone. Rebecca was in charge of getting everyone drinks, and Winnie had the guys setting the table while Mary helped her dish out the food. Y/N drifted up beside Rebecca with a couple more glasses.

“You’re next, you know,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Mary’s got her forever. God knows how lucky I was to get mine.”

Liz gave him a smile and bumped her shoulder against his. “I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m moving back to Brooklyn.”

“Yeah?” He asked. He was ecstatic, but the way things had been between them, he tried to keep his excitement dialled down. This was a step forward into rebuilding their relationship again. “You moving back in with Ma and Becca?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could stay with you?”

“Of course,” he replied, giving her a watery smile. “‘Course you can, Lizzie. We’d love to have you here.”

“I’ve missed you, Bucky. You’re the best brother a girl could ever ask for,” she told him, the weight of her words crushing him. Her arms thrown around his body, and his own holding her just as tightly.

Y/N squeezed Winnie’s hand and placed her chin on the older woman’s shoulder. “It’s a slow process. This is a step forward,” she told her.

“Do I say something?” She asked.

“Let them have their moment. There’ll be plenty of time later to say something,” she told her with a smile. “He’s home, Ma. He’s not going anywhere any time soon.”

Winnie took a breath and placed a hand over her chest. She reciprocated Y/N’s smile and gave her hand a squeeze back before the women carried plates over to the table. Everyone else took a seat before George’s voice announced dinner was served. Chinese from the place down the street. No one felt like cooking, and it was three days before Christmas. They were going to gorge themselves on home-cooked food for the next week.

Bucky took his seat beside Y/N and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek. She smiled and leaned into him as he rested his arm over the back of her chair.

“How long are you home for?”

“At this stage, until the 28th. We’re meant to wrap by the end of the month anyway, so I’m optimistic they’ll just tell us to stay home,” she replied. She reached out to brush some of his hair back from his forehead. He’d started growing it out again after having it cut for the role of Andrew, and Y/N was really liking it longer.

This was their Christmas, Y/N found out. Mary and Oscar were going to be out of town for the holidays so they planned an impromptu dinner before they left. George and Lizzie had come into town specially for this dinner, and according to Rebecca, Bucky hadn’t been his usual sociable self until Y/N had arrived. Sure he’d tried to put on a happy face, but it was clear that his ‘family dinner’ didn’t feel like one until she surprised them all.

Over dinner they talked about the project Y/N was working on in Colorado. She asked them about what they all do for work and actually took the time to listen and ask specific questions pertaining to their jobs. Bucky could see everyone falling in love with her the more they got to know her. It made his heart swell with pride that she was the woman who he got to say ‘I love you’ to and fall asleep next to at night. He’d never felt so lucky, and it meant the world to him knowing that his family loved her as much as he did.

It’d been years since he’d last introduced a girlfriend to them, and he hoped it was the last time. He’d never loved anyone the same way as he loved Y/N, and he wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. She was his greatest love. He hoped he was hers, too.

Curled up on the loveseat, Home Alone playing on the tv with the rest of his family either on the couches or comfortable in a beanbag like Rebecca. Everyone was comfortable and happy. Y/N stole a few kisses as it became harder for her to keep her eyes open; a silent ‘goodnight’ to Bucky. It’d been a long day for her, but she was glad to be home.

#5kconstellationswc #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #film!au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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feminist-propaganda · 4 years ago

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Single Mothers Will Probably Cry During Every Episode Of Queen’s Gambit - Episode 4

In the past three days we’ve reviewed the three lessons from Beth’s mother. The first lesson was for Beth to find a field where she could become a worldwide expert in. The second lesson was to use dissociation as a coping mechanism when the going gets tough. The third lesson was to know the enemy within yourself.

The series contains 7 episodes; and the fourth episode is therefore named “Middle Game”, which according to Wikipedia:

"is the portion of the game in between the opening and the endgame, though there is no clear line between the opening and middlegame, and between the middlegame and endgame. The middle game begins when both players have completed the development of all or most of their pieces and the king has been brought to relative safety. However, at master level, the opening analysis may go well into the middlegame.”

Lesson 4 : Don’t Block Me Out

The episode starts on the university campus where we see a young Beth learning Russian. We learned in the previous episode that she was planning to learn Russian in order to prepare for International Tournaments where she would be playing Soviet players: the best in the world.

The words she repeats after the professor are “I love”, “You love” and “We love”. As she repeats these words, her gaze wanders around the classroom and lands on a blonde haired student, who stares right back at her. At the end of the class, he meets her outside the building and asks her if she wants to come over to his place for a kick back. She accepts.

It is the 60s, and you can tell. The student house is decorated with Middle Eastern, maybe Indian tapestries. The students smoke weed and listen to tantric music. Beth makes a call to Alma to let her know she won’t be coming home. Soon, she is seen having mediocre sex with the blonde college student. Beth seems completely dissociated with the entire situation.

Her conversation with the blond man is somewhat revealing however. He asks her if she’s the chess player. She says yes. She asks if he plays. “No, too cerebral. I’ve played a lot of Monopoly though”. Beth answers: “Never played that game”, and the blonde responds “Don’t, it makes you a slave to capitalism. I still dream about making money though”.

Beth frowns “Why are you taking Russian classes if you’re a slave to capitalism?” and the blonde : “Mmm. I wanna read Dostoevsky in the original”.

The next day, for the first time ever, we see Beth get completely hammered. When she wakes up, everyone is gone. She is alone in the apartment. She finds a note on the fridge, with a joint taped to it. It says the gang has rode off to Cincinnati to catch a movie and she can stay all she wants.

She starts by cleaning up the apartment and we are reminded of Alma in Episode 2. She pushes the vaccuum cleaner with a cigarette in her hand, dusts the apartment as she empties the wine bottles. She calls Alma again, tells her she won’t be coming home tonight either.

Then, we see Beth graduate. Alma whistles and screams with pride as Beth collects her degree. They drink celibratory champagne and Alma gifts Beth a beautiful watch which is engraved “LOVE FROM MOTHER”.

They fly off to Mexico, where for the first time Bet will be playing the infamous Soviet players.

Mexico plays an important character in this mini series because it is a part of the third world.

The term Third World was born during the Cold War. The “First World” was any country that was affiliated with N.A.T.O. The “Second World” were countries in the Soviet Union or under Soviet influence. Anything else was called the Third World according to this model.

Many people today who don’t know the origin of this term might think the term Third World is derogative, it isn’t. It just means a country that refused to fall into the Cold war dynamics.

When you take a look back at the series, you see that it shows us the journey of a small girl from Kentucky (poorest state in the U.S.A), to Moscow. One could argue that the Soviet Union is a much better environment for Beth.

The Soviet Union is the place where International Women’s day was proclaimed a National holiday as early as 1917! Women in science thrived in the Soviet Union, one article by the Smithsonian magazine even argues that the Soviet Union was better at training women in Science than the U.S.A does today.

So if the series is indeed about a young woman’s journey from a sexist, capitalist society (The U.S.A) to an equalitarian republic (the U.S.S.R), it seems natural that right in the middle of this journey, Beth needs to travel through some neutral territory, some sort of purgatory, a.k.a. Mexico a.k.a the Third World.

On the plane to Mexico, Alma informs Beth that she will be meeting with a man at the airport. An old pen pal whom she’s always kept in touch with. His name is Manuel.

In the car driving from the airport to the hotel, Beth witnesses as Manuel puts on his seductive act to impress Alma. He comes up with platitudes about the history of Mexico City, and Alma makes exagerated onomatopeas. This whole time, in the back, Beth rolls her eyes.

We are reminded of the first scene, and her attitude towards the blonde college student. She is mostly unimpressed, dissociated, almost bored. It’s as if Beth knows about men and their deceptive ways. It’s strange because she’s just a teenager but she seems painfully aware of the realities of womanhood.

Throughout the episode, we see Beth studying for her games with the Soviets while Alma goes on dates with Manuel around the city. This isn’t the same Alma we’ve gotten used to in Episodes 2 and 3. She doesn’t seem to be present for Alma, like she was in Las Vegas. She seems completely absorbed in this intense romance. Alma even almost calls Beth frigid : “You’ve had all of your meals in your room!” “You’re buried in your books!”.

She also offers some advice. She seems to say that Beth’s forte is her intuition. She thinks Beth should relax a bit. She ends up convincing Beth that she should go for a walk. She goes to the zoo where she sees the Soviet player she fears, Borgov, with his family. They exchange meaningful looks.

For the first time, she sees the Soviets. And the view she has seems to be a “mise en abime” of the concept of Freedom. Indeed, Borgov is with his family, and they gaze at the chimpanzees in the zoo. Allow me to be more accurate. Borgov’s wife talks to her son and shows him the chimpanzees. Borgov is standing behind them. Silent. And behind him, there are the two KGB agents that look at him. So there are 5 planes : the chimpanzees, Borgov’s wife and child, Borgov himself, the KGB agents and then finally Beth.

Let’s analyze this scene shall we. We saw in episodes 1, 2 and 3 that the American men Beth met seemed to hate wedlock, and looked for opportunities to exit it as soon as possible. Mr Wheatley was of course the prime example of this. Here, we see a man, of about Mr Wheatley’s age, who stands near his wife, and his offspring. He isn’t running away from them. He doesn’t seem to detest them. The KGB agents are here to watch over him, but there is no sign that he wants to exit the U.S.S.R. Why would he? He gets paid to play chess, he is a national hero. He seems relaxed, at ease. He isn’t dissociated, he isn’t evil to his wife. What Beth sees is that maybe, this Russian archetype of a man is more attractive to her than the American version (Mr Wheatley detested her and Alma) or even the Mexican version (Manuel seems to be a phony latin lover at best).

This scene happens right at the middle of the episode, which is right at the middle of the series. It reminds me of Kant’s meditations on Freedom.

Kant says that Freedom isn’t the absence of constraint, it is the choice of your own constraints. If we apply this reasoning to lifelong partnerships, which are by definition filled with constraints, than Freedom wouldn’t be the absence of such a partnership but rather the concious choice of taking part in a partnership and accepting the constraints that come along with it. In this scene at the zoo, who is free? According to Kant’s theory: Beth is certainly not free. She binge drinked a bunch of beers in the park and is now completely hammered. She is a slave to the substances she abuses. The chimpanzee isn’t free, he is in a cage but also he can’t reason, so he can’t choose his constraints, like a human can. Are the Soviets free? Did Borgov choose his constraints? Is it a choice for him, to be here in Mexico City, to play chess, to be watched by KGB agents? To be married to his wife? To spend time with his family at the zoo? He has constraints, yes, but he doesn’t seem to be unhappy. He isn’t acting compulsively like Beth. He seems to be in control of his destiny. He probably didn’t have to bring his wife and kid along with him to Mexico. He could’ve come alone. But he took them. And he probably didn’t have to come to the Zoo with them. But he did. And he seems present. Although he is calm and collected, he is present. So it appears that Borgov is free. Yes he has constraints (the KGB watching over him, a family life) but he’s chosen them and this makes him free.

Shortly after Beth sees Borgov at the zoo with his family, she meets Alma who informs her that Manuel, much like Mr Wheatley, has disapeared on a “business trip” to Oaxaca. Alma says “I’ve never been to Oaxaca, but I imagine it resembles Denver”. What she means is she understands that these men (Mr Wheatley and Manuel) are too coward to tell her the truth (they don’t want to be with her) and they use their professional activites (the infamous business trip) as an excuse to disapear.

We circle back to March the 8, which was originally proclaimed the International day for Working Women in the U.S.S.R. See, Women’s labour outside of the house is essential to Women’s emancipation, because as long as Women don’t make their own money, their interactions with Men will be doomed to a foregone conclusion. Men get bored. Men use their professional activities as an excuse to disapear and as a reason to be unpleasant, even sometimes authoritarian or abusive towards Women.

Remember Alice’s first lesson: master a technology, find your field of expertise, become a professional.

The relationship between Borgov and his wife seems so much more tranquil than the passionate, fake, doomed romances from the First World and the Third.

Beth’s only other interaction with Borgov before playing him on Table 1 is in the elevator. He is talking to his advisors, they tell him “In Moscow she’ll be jet lagged” “Her game is only attack” and other statements about Beth’s weaknesses. But Borgov says “She’s an orphan. She’s like us. Losing isn’t an option for her. Otherwise what would her life be?” then he looks back at her.

Before playing him, she asks her friend “Will you save a seat for my mother?”. But Alma never shows up.

Borgov plays White, and choses an opening which he knows Beth will respond to with the Sicilian defense. Then he chooses to play it closed. He keeps his cool, shows no weakness and plays textbook chess. No emotion. As he stays steady, Beth glances at the empty chair where Alma is not sitting, she didn’t show up. And this destabilizes her. She gets more and more emotional and loses.

When she comes back to the hotel room she finds Alma has died. Beth organizes the funeral, calls Mr Wheatley and gets in touch with his lawyer.

So what was the lesson from Alice?

All through the episode, Alice is completely absent. Beth returns to her childhood memories, but it’s only with the chess teacher in the orphanage’s basement, and he tells her she’s angry. He tells her her gift will come at a price.

I spoke about Dissociation in Episode 2, but Episode 4 isn’t about that. It’s about Denial, which is a stage in the process of grief.

The last scene from Episode 4, we see Beth in the airplane, drinking a Martini and pretending to toast Alma’s ghost. She is in Denial of Alma’s death. During the episode, she is also in Denial of her own status as an Orphan. Instead of owning her orphanhood, she denies it. After Borgov calls her an orphan in the elevator, she asks for Alma to be seated at the match. She wants to show Borgov she isn’t an orphan, that someone came to pick her up at the orphanage and adopt her. It’s true, Alma adopted her. But that doesn’t undo the past. That doesn’t mean that Alice didn’t run the car into a truck and kill herself. And told Beth to close her eyes.

Dissociation was useful to Beth; it helped her beat Beltik and cope with Mr Wheatley’s disapearance. But Denial pushes her to drink, makes her angry and more importantly : stands in the way of her winning against the Soviets.

In 1976, Bruno Bettelheim published The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. In this book he analyzes fairy tales and their symbolic meanings. Towards the end, he explains that for young women, the last step before integrating their personalities and becoming succesful, balanced adults is to identify with their mothers. As long as Beth blocks out Alice, she can’t win.

It’s difficult for young women to identify with their mothers when they’re single moms. Single motherhood is the pentacle of failure, it is the worst status a woman can have, worst than being a spinster. So for a young woman raised by a single mother it can be incredibly difficult to integrate their personalites and become balanced adults, because they are stuck in the anger and shame and other negative emotions they harbour towards their mothers.

However difficult it may be, Beth has to find a way to identify with her mother, to see herself in her.

#feminism #the queen's gambit #single mom

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jbbuckybarnes · 5 years ago

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Zerfall - 1/14

Pairing: Bucky x named!Reader (Agent Andromeda) Summary: After Hydra drops virus bombs in 7 major American cities in the height of summer, the team is locked in their emergency bunker for weeks. The virus commonly called the Summer Poison successfully brought the infrastructure to a halt in all big cities. When the virus slowly starts burning itself out SHIELD Agents and Avengers are sent out to bring back order into the cities and the international relationships. Not without hurdles. Warnings for this chapter: Pandemic, mainy people in a small space, fear

Zerfall Masterlist || M a s t e r l i s t

The alarm sirens were blaring in the entire compound, a computer voice repeating the words, “Emergency Level Red, Code Black.” Level Red meant to get into a safe space fast, Code Black meant, “You should probably call your mum and tell her you love her a lot.” The entire team including you and your colleague Agent Magnolia instantly went into action, all silently hoping it was a test. “Friday? What the hell is going on?” Tony yelled out. “Sir, if there was a code double black, I would call it. Get in the bunker!” She urged him through the overwhelming amount of sounds the building was suddenly able to create. The blood drained out of multiple faces, not yours, you were trained for any kind of emergency situation. Not only an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D but also a SAID Agent. Trained for any thinkable Code Black. Agent Andromeda. The door to the bunker was open and after Friday confirmed that everyone had gone through the door Steve closed down the door manually in a blink of an eye. You all looked around, panting from running down the stairs and searching for the bunker entry that opened up. The place was small but big enough to live in for a while if that needed to be done. The room you’d entered was full of tech equipment and two walls full of canned foods and tap with a big filter construction connected to it. Stark never struck you as a survival kinda guy, at least not in this specific sense, but you weren’t complaining about clean water. There was an open door leading to a room full of bunk beds.

“So what the fuck happened, Friday?” Tony asked irritated by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “There has been a series of explosions over heavily populated areas a few hours back, only detected by little equipment monitoring the air. Bioweapons. Hydra says they are responsible and that there is a highly contagious and deadly virus that was spread with these explosions.” Friday said it short and straight forward. “Then why aren’t we doing something against it?” Steve looked up at the speaker system with a frown on his face, ready to go back out again. “Mr. Rogers, until we know if that virus is deadly nobody will leave this bunker. I’m programmed to keep as much of this team alive in situations like this. Singapore DORSCON level red. World Health Organisation phase 6, approaching 7. That means it is a pandemic. If I let you out you could die in less than a week if this is as deadly as Hydra says.” The AI urged him. “Please update us.” Tony exhaled stressed leaning on the chair behind him, before sitting down. “Will do, sir,” Friday assured him.

Everyone started adventuring the Bunker. The last big exercise was a while ago and the team had grown since then. Clint found the room with 4 power generators first. “I hope we don’t need this. We are still powered by your reactor model, right?” Clint peaked out at Tony and got a nod back. The billionaire was properly done with what was happening. The only thing keeping him from exploding was Pepper going through his hair. Sam was the one finding all the gaming equipment and making an excited little dance in the middle of a possible apocalypse. “You’re the worst, Wilson.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Come on, if we live in a time of bioweapons I want to at least have some distraction. Can’t fight a virus with military training.” He grinned. Agent Magnolia was the one finding the arsenal of weapons hidden in a giant box below the bunk that was behind the door. She showed you the knife ensemble that was included and grinned at you. “Visible forces definitely won’t kill us down here.” You grinned back.

“How many are we?” Clint called out to the others. Pepper looked up concerned, “Twelve, why?” “There are only 10 beds.” came back and some of the team members interchanged worried glances for a second. “We have married couple and work couples here. I think that won’t be the problem.” you smiled and looked around you at Pepper, Tony, Steve, and Nat. “So Pepper & Tony share a bed. Who else?” Sam asked, suddenly very tense again. “Nat?” Steve looked down at his favorite team member. “Yeah, I don’t mind. You’re warm.” she smiled back up at him. “That will be the least of the problems with 12 people in an enclosed space.” Dr. Helen Cho finally came to word after she had calmed down from her personal existential crisis about viruses. Wanda pointed at the walls and the sink, “For how long would the food and water here last?” “Depends if we only eat twice a day. Could hold up for 90 days. Water won’t be a problem with my filter system.” Tony explained. There was another concerned glare between everyone, hoping that 90 days would be enough for the virus to decently die down if it was as bad as expected. “There is confirmation of the virus to be deadly by 70-85% from a Silicon Valley lab.” Friday’s voice broke through after a little more than an hour. “Analyze how deadly, how long people need to die, which symptoms, how long the recovery period is for people living,” Bruce called out, sitting on one of the computers that he didn’t leave since they had entered the bunker. “And the international political climate,” Tony added. “And when it’s safe enough for me to start working on a vaccine with the help of people outside.” Helen also added her factors. “Will do.” The AI voice answered and the room went silent for a second.

“Which cities are targeted?” Agent Magnolia finally asked the important question “NYC, D.C., Atlanta, Miami, LA, Chicago, Denver.” Friday listed. “Atlanta has the most used airport in the world. Great. A perfect recipe for a pandemic. How long did it operate after explosion.” You shared, rubbing your temples and having your brain start to overwhelm just like the scientists’. “4 hours, Agent.” Came back. “We’re in here for a good few weeks.” You deadpanned, putting all the factors together in your head. This wasn’t going to be a quick in and out thing. You’d be in this small space for at least 1-2 months if not longer. Everyone went back to the bunk they had chosen and tried to relax. You were trying to write down possible outcomes and strategies based on that in a notebook you found. There were so many factors to viruses and how people are infected and from which strain the virus is made. You bet on smallpox, a hard thing to get with only two original samples existing in the entire world. One in the US, one in Russia. You bet on Russia since Hydra said they were responsible. They were trying to bring chaos to the world for the bad people to team up in a post-apocalyptic world so that they could take over control. You had learned how this worked over and over again. Not only as an Agent but also from books, movies and games. It was so obvious but that made it easier for you to go about possibilities to create a strategy.

“The entire US and most of the western world is currently on lockdown & people are being quarantined.” Friday updated the bunker again and an exhale went through the bedroom. “Martial law already in place?” Steve looked up from a book he had found. “Not yet, but we’re close.” “Chill, Rogers. You can’t do much more than you’re already doing.” Sam said hanging from the bed in front of him. “I know, it’s just. I hate this, all of it. I didn’t fight in World War II for this to happen at the hands of Hydra.” he frowned and got an understanding nod back. “Can’t we go out there without getting sick?” Bucky spoke up still wearing his pajama jumper from sleeping in that morning. “Well, depending on how deadly this is, no. If the whole thing is a little more clear I might send you out to get samples for me to work on it.” Helen yelled from the other room. “Would love to help with that.” he smiled. He’d do anything to help humanity. The had already ruined his life and he ruined other lives under their influence. That’s the least he could do. “It’s getting late, get yourself ready for bed.” Pepper came in with a motherly smile. “We need a monitor that’s just showing day and night scenes, this is gonna mess us up,” Magnolia muttered before opening one of the closets. The standard-issue clothing in the closets were mainly Large and a few double XL. There was a washer but the drying system needed to have the ventilator system work better again and that wouldn’t be happening until the virus was going slower. Two to three weeks in the same 4 clothing sets seemed okay. Anything longer would be horrible for everyone involved.

“Atlanta spreads to Beijing, Dubai, Tokyo, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Paris, Dallas, Seoul, Amsterdam, Frankfurt, Singapore,” you mumbled laying in your bed, looking at the metal above you. “Hey, relax. We can’t do more than help the people working on it to do the right things.” Bucky looked over from the bed across. “I know. I know. That’s just, so many people dying.” You looked over. An understanding nod came back at you. In your head, you went with a 75% death rate and that was bad if you thought about the areas you just mentioned. Big Chinese cities, Central Europe, South East Asia.

Zerfall Masterlist

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madamlaydebug · 4 years ago

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Urgent info before it gets removed sent via Sean Ferris today

This is very important, so please take a moment to read so you know what has been happening behind the scenes!!!!! Evidently monies to fund the child trafficking tunnels came from US Taxpayers through the Cabal-owned IRS/Federal Reserve System. An inside source said, “They spent trillions of dollars on these tunnels… that’s where the trillions of dollars that have been missing from the 9-11 building that they took down.” READ BELOW!!!!

Since April 2019 in secret military operations, thousands of tortured, mutilated babies, children and teens have been rescued or found deceased by the US Military. US Special Operations teams directed by President Trump and his Pentagon Pedophile Task Force have been clearing out the children, corpses, gold, cash and documents from a massive labyrinthine of DUMBS tunnels (Deep Underground Military Bases) that ran beneath the US, Canada and Mexico.

Evidently over centuries the tunnels had been built and used by members of the Illuminati, better known as the Cabal, or Deep State. Global, political and Hollywood elites into Satan worship were known to pay big bucks to drink the blood of a traumatized child (known as Adrenachrome) – reported to create a “high,” along with a supposed reverse of aging. Although, if their “supply” was cut off, the partaker suffered greatly and could even die.

The Pentagon was making sure that supply was never harvested as evidently it had been for centuries. Back in April 2019 the US Military, Interpol and different countries’ local military forces began a concentrated and coordinated effort to rescue children from a huge tunnel network that ran throughout the US from California to New York, to Canada, Mexico, Europe, Italy (the Vatican and Venice), the Hague, New Zealand, South America and the Middle East (Lebanon). Some of the tunnels lay beneath the Vatican, with many reported to be several stories deep – like the one beneath the Denver Airport.

By April 2020 a total of over 50,000 malnourished, caged and tortured children had been reported as rescued or found deceased in the tunnels beneath large US cities including one under New York Central Park. Another tunnel was said to run from the Clinton Foundation building to the New York Harbor.

The latest horror was uncovered around August 20, 2020 beneath Reno Nevada where thousands of mangled recently deceased corpses of children were discovered. The child captives were believed to have been kidnapped or bred for purposes of sexual abuse, human experimentation and human sacrifice in Satanic rites.

On Wed. Oct. 16 2019 an unbelievable 2,100 children being held in cages in underground tunnels at the California China Lake Military facility were rescued by Navy Seals and US Marines. The children and teens were said to have been sexually abused, tortured and killed to collect their blood. Marines carried out traumatized children, some of whom have never seen the light of day, pregnant preteens, deformed babies, piles of little corpses whose bodies were apparently used for organ harvesting, children locked in cages, electro-shocked and traumatized in order to harvest their blood – Adrenachrome for the elites to drink.

“In Nevada the child rescue operations moved in earnest… what was amazing is that everyone was thinking Las Vegas would be the horror show of horror shows… there was a horror show but it was Reno… underneath Reno they could not believe the tunnels underneath the ground... the DUMBs… the bulk of the children found in the tunnels under Reno were dead… not only dead folks, they were mangled… they’re trying to do DNA testing to get the pieces back in order… which piece belongs to which other torso… it’s horrific” commented Dr. Charles Ward, who has been in a couple of the tunnels.

A trooper involved in rescue operations said, “On 4 July 2019 at 2 am PDT we surprised personnel at the China Lake Naval Research Base in California. We took over the base and rescued approximately 3,000 children being tortured in ways beyond comprehension. . .The count now of traumatized children (found dead or alive) was more like in the hundreds of thousands – generations who had never seen sunlight.”

Another trooper in rescue efforts reported, “Underground bases trafficking children were destroyed back in 2019. That included a base that was under the Getty Museum. The more recent Utah March 18 2020 earthquake was actually destruction of child trafficking tunnels (under the old Dugway Utah Germ Warfare base also referred to as another Area 51 UFO Base). There was a major battle under the Denver airport. The Illuminati had planned to make Denver the capital of the US after they took over and killed most of us.”

There was a tunnel system that circled Australia and centered in Melbourne. The military made a massive raid in tunnels beneath the Black Forest in Germany. In Barcelona Spain they rescued over 2,000 women and children, while arresting 13 of their pedophile leaders. There were 30,000 pedophiles arrested out of Germany, and “lots” were arrested in Spain and England.

Charlie Freak - about Australia said that the troops went into Melbourne and found a second layer of tunnels beneath an enormous tunnel system in Australia. “It started in Sydney… they described it to us… think arachnid… it’s a web… and it was below… so this second tunnel system goes in a ring around Australia, with a big central line running towards Ayers Rock…One night - 9 p.m. to 6 or 7 a.m. - there were explosions every 2 or 3 seconds that entire time. That’s why there were police out there.”

US Military, Marines, Navy Seals and Special Ops trained for over a year for the special missions under direction of President Trump and the Pentagon Pedophile Task Force. These US Special Forces were working with Interpol and various countries’ militaries to clear out the underground tunnels filled with trafficked children and women. They then blew the tunnels up so they can never be used again for any purpose. The small nuclear explosives used caused small earthquakes in the region.

Evidently monies to fund the tunnels came from US Taxpayers through the Cabal-owned IRS/Federal Reserve System. An inside source said, “They spent trillions of dollars on these tunnels… that’s where the trillions of dollars that have been missing from the 9-11 building that they took down.”

The operation was ongoing as they discovered even more tunnels deeply buried beneath the earth. Dr. Charles Ward said: “The rescue operations were taking longer than The Alliance thought because the massive labyrinthine illuminati tunnel systems were more vast than anyone had any idea of.

“They collapsed tunnels in Lebanon,” Ward said. “There was a considerable amount of tunnels under a building there that exploded. I’ve learned an awful lot about these tunnels and I have actually been inside some of these tunnels in my work because they store a huge amount of gold and cash in these tunnels. The ones I’ve been in were 200 Meters below ground level. .. the width of the tunnels would be 30/40 feet, the height would be 15/20 feet, there was electric golf buggies riding around down there like it was a main road; 40 km, 30 km of roads down there, shops down there, living quarters down there, storage facilities, safes, everything down there, and this was in just the two that I’ve visited. . . I think the process has been, from what I understand, once they’ve removed the women and children that were stored down there, they were removing the tunnels so nothing can be ever done there again.”

Ward has personally has been inside two DUMBs that were crammed with cash, gold and valuables. He was part of a team that was moving gold, cash and valuables around the world for the United States Government to back a revaluation of currencies in a Global Currency reset about to take place.

Dr. Ward related that in March 2020 during the child rescue mission at the Vatican they arrested the Pope. Some of Ward’s Security Team watched the arrest. He said that 650 plane loads of gold, cash and documents were flown out of the Vatican to Fort Knox. He regularly used specially trained teams to move money and his teams had been hired to clear out the Vatican of its stolen treasure.

“I don’t think normal people have any idea or any concept as to how many children disappear every single year…And I'm going to sicken you right now. People that we trusted, organizations that we trusted during times of tragedy were involved, such as Hurricane Katrina where lots of people went missing. They were basically stolen by organizations that we trust to look after us in a time of trouble. Those kids were trafficked.

“That’s pretty damn disgusting… In times of war… the wars in Afghanistan, Syria, Libya, the amount of children that were stolen from those countries is unbelievable. So that the families think that they’ve died and they haven’t. They’ve been stolen… and this is a world that, don’t take my word for it, go and do some homework, because it’s absolutely disgusting

“And you’ll start to wake-up to what Donald Trump is actually doing when he’s draining the swamp…I don’t think… a lot of people have any idea how dirty that swamp is…how contaminated it is…and when you wake up to what he’s actually doing…It doesn’t matter if he has funny hair, it doesn’t matter if he does funny tweets. If he gets rid of one pedophile gang, saves one woman and a child from being trafficked, he’s doing a good job. He’s saved thousands and thousands of children and families, yet there’s NOTHING, NOTHING in the mainstream media. They should be ashamed of themselves, totally ashamed. It’s disgusting.”

*Copied

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raphaelbrcoks · 4 years ago

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RAPHAEL’S TWENTY-SEVEN HOUSE PLANTS (pt. 1)

PRESENTED IN ORDER OF APARTMENT APPEARANCE

1. devil’s ivy

horticutural fun fact: not only are devil’s ivy pretty to look at, but they’re also actively purifying the air around them, even when you cut off one of their stems and propagate them.

background: “up first is henri with an i, who’s a gentle soul with a love of 70’s disco. he’s had a lot of pressure on his back to live up to the devil’s ivy title, but the truth is there’s nothing demonic about him and he’s never even dabbled in satanism (except for that one time in college, but he was just experimenting, really). it’s ostracized him from the greater devil’s ivy community, but i’m happy to offer him a loving home with lots of diana ross. he’s a great dancer too - come over sometime when it’s windier, he knows how to shake those leaves like nobody else.”

2. chrysanthemum

horticultural fun fact: both the flowers and leaves of the chrysanthemum are totally edible.

background: “this is jeanine, but you can call her jeannie. she’s a city girl, but she loves to romanticize quitting her office job and moving out to some ranch in arkansas with the cowboy boyfriend she’d pick up along the way. with that being said, she’s never actually seen a farm in her life, and i don’t think she even knows what a plow does, so it’s hard for me to be totally supportive of her aspirations sometimes.”

3. euphorbia ingens

horticultural fun fact: even thought the euphorbia ingens looks like a cactus and has the pricklies to match, it’s actually a succulent in disguise.

background: “greg thought it’d be cute to grab onto my favorite sweater the other day and rip it up, so he doesn’t get a fun backstory again until he learns how to apologize. no, greg, stop, i don’t want to hear any excuses. honestly, your habit of gaslighting is starting to feel really toxic.”

4. sword fern

horticultural fun fact: sword ferns are also commonly referred to as the “christmas fern” due to a large amount of its fronds being used for wreaths each year.

background: “next up is vienna, who’s named after the billy joel song and not that measly city in austria, thank you very much. they’re weirdly into swamps, so if you’ve got any swamp-related trivia you need checked out, feel free to run it by them. i ask them sometimes, i’m like ‘hey vienna, if you like swamps so much, why not look into some swamp-based real estate? there’s gotta be some good stuff left after ‘08, i’ll find you an agent’, but they brush me off every time. vienna thinks some things are better left as just a pipedream, you know?”

5. orchid

horticultural fun fact: even though orchids have been cited as one of the more difficult houseplants to care for, they can live for up to a hundred years if properly looked after. this plant was the only one raph ever got from his brother, and he’s managed to maintain it for the last sixteen years.

background: “piper’s very into the grunge scene, she loves to tell anyone who’ll listen that punk’s not dead. she’s a star on the bass guitar, and while she’s fine rocking out on her own, what she really wants is to find an all-female punk band to shout about the patriarchy with. piper’s also been trying to grow out a rainbow mohawk for the longest time, but her delicate leaf structure is making it hard to follow through on that.”

6. peace lily

horticultural fun fact: the peace lily is named for its flower, whose white color symbolizes peace for many.

background: “reese is really trying to get a law degree and get involved with environmental diplomacy down the line, but they just can’t afford to go back to school right now. in the meantime, they work a lot of jobs to make ends meet, but they can’t seem to keep one for more than three weeks - something about being easily distracted with a bad temper. they’ve also got a small crush on piper, which i blame entirely on frankie and murph bringing over their simp influence.”

7. english ivy

horticultural fun fact: when the english ivy is left to grow in the wild, it usually latches onto trees, which it then climbs and shades out the leaves of, killing the tree within a few years. raph’s made sure to keep this one away from all his indoor saplings.

background: “lina is the youngest of four, but she’s the only one who consistently remembers her siblings’ birthdays. she bugs them a little about it, too.”

8. anthurium

horticultural fun fact: both the flower stalk, which contains calcium oxalate crystals, and the sap of the anthurium can be anywhere from mildly irritating to poisonous when ingested.

background: “juno’s just trying to law low for a while, if she’s being honest. she went a little crazy in her early-twenties, became involved with the wrong crowds, got some blood on her hands that she can’t take back now. when everything finally caught up with her, she got off with two years behind bars after a messy plea bargain. these days she’s taking it easy, just baking a lot of bread and embroidering sweaters in her free time.”

9. fiddle leaf fig

horticultural fun fact: unlike the common fig, the fruit that the fiddle leaf fig bears, when grown indoors or outdoors, is not edible.

background: “here we have carmen, who isn’t paranoid, they just have a lot of important questions. like, isn’t it peculiar that those footprints on the moon were so well preserved, despite the lack of moisture? and how the denver airport is so incredibly large for no explainable reason? and that jet fuel only burns up to 1500 degree fahrenheit, which isn’t nearly enough to burn through melt steel? carmen's just got a lot on her mind.”

10. rhapis palm

horticultural fun fact: the rhapis palm is a strange breed of fan palms that actually doesn’t exist in the wild, but was created by chinese cultivators to exist as indoor plants.

background: “richard’s prone to being a bit cocky about how tall and green he is, but with how hard he’s worked to get here, he doesn’t think it’s arrogant to be a proud of his appearance. what’s his secret, you may ask? he’s about to release a self-help podcast this upcoming fall, but in short: cardio three times a week, cross-training with weights every day in between. plus a well-balanced diet of sunlight protein, high-fiber carbon dioxide, and lean chicken breast.”

11. lemon tree

horticultural fun fact: the latest addition to raph’s plant collection via eddie’s birthday gift, the lemon tree can grow up to 600 pounds of lemons when grown in the wild, but raph’s lucky if he gets a few teeny fruits.

background: “growing lemons isn’t just amelia’s profession, it’s her passion. she carries an advanced certificate in citrus cultivation from the university of toronto. she can talk all day about the ideal conditions for lemon development and the exact amount of sourness that separates an amateur lemon from an expert one. she even painted her entire home in a very specific shade of lemon yellow - somehow her wife puts up with it.”

12. monstera deliciosa

fun fact: the holes in the monstera’s leaves actually serves an important purpose, which is to withstand heavy rainfall and wind as they let the elements pass through the holes. this is also the priciest plant in raph’s possession, clocking in at nearly a hundred dollars for this high-end monstera.

background: “ludwig likes to think he’s a tough guy, something out of a holywood sweatshop, but the truth is he’s a huge softie. like yeah, he rides a motorcycle and he’s got a dragon tatto on his back, but he also still sleeps with his childhood teddy bear, loves the smell of fabric softener, and is a sucker for jennifer aniston movies. his favorite is that one with adam sandler in hawaii, which i personally think is in bad taste, but ludwig won’t hear it.”

#muse.#what the fuck is this #why am i now a subscriber of urbanjunglebloggers.com

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peggyellis · 4 years ago

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welcome to holland.

I have accepted at this point that my posts are all going to be badly out of chronological order in terms of our trip. We’re now skipping over Denver, Wyoming and Idaho and going straight to Washington. Oops?

Over a year ago, my friend Julia sent me a free audiobook, “Maybe You Should Talk to Someone.” In short, it’s a story written by a therapist who finds herself needing therapy after a breakup. I downloaded the book but never got around to listening to it – I’ve never really been the audiobook type. Obviously the Universe knew what it was doing – when I set out on this trip, I fired up my audible app and found the book sitting there ready to be listened to. Somewhere on that long miserable drive from Kansas to Denver, I started listening.

The author touches on a number of topics: relationships, grief, loss and change. I have about 20 different posts I’ve started stemming from this one book, but the one that is freshest in my mind today is “Welcome to Holland.” In the book, Lori (the author) is counseling a woman who learns she has terminal cancer. Lori explains that "Welcome to Holland" is a prominent essay, written in 1987 by American author and social activist Emily Perl Kingsley, about having a child with a disability. Yes, I stole that last bit from Wikipedia. The idea is this: parenthood is like planning a trip to Italy. You’ve always dreamed of going there; cruising the canals in Venice, eating pasta in Naples, being awed by the roof of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. You buy books on the best places to eat and tour, and spend hours learning basic Italian phrases. You dream of your experience; the wonderful things you’ll see, the people you will meet, and falling in love over and over again with Italy.

You board your flight and fall fast asleep, and when you awake, you’ve just touched down. You look out and see tulip fields and Dutch architecture, and your flight attendant welcomes you and your fellow passengers to Holland. Wait…what?!? But I boarded a flight to Italy!, you exclaim. I’ve made so many preparations! But try as you might, no amount of begging, pleading or cajoling will get you to Italy. You’re in Holland, and Holland is where you must stay.

See, Lori explains, “Welcome to Holland” isn’t just about parenthood; it’s about life. We all make plans and visions of what our lives will look like. We will be married. We will have a great job. We’ll be parents to beautiful and healthy children. We’ll travel the world. Inevitably, no matter how hard we try, one day we board a plane to Italy and wake up in Holland. We spend so much time preparing and planning for our lives to look one way, but sooner or later, no matter how hard we try, we all end up with our metaphorical planes touching down in Holland.

It is in Holland that we are all faced with a choice. We can spend our time missing Italy, trying desperately to get back there, and dreaming of our trip that we originally planned. We can gnash our teeth and cry and wail at the fact that this stupid plane was supposed to go to Italy, and instead we’re stuck in this dumb place that is anything but Italy. Or – we can take a look around us and start to experience the beauty of Holland. It doesn’t have Michelangelo or the Vatican or pasta, but Holland has tulip fields, the Hague, legal marijuana and the best Brazillian steakhouses inside or outside of Brazil. (Take the last one or two from personal experience). Holland has beautiful architecture, bikable cities and a great airport. When life lands us unexpectedly in Holland, we are given the choice – nay, the opportunity – to fall in love with Holland, even if it’s not the reality we expected.

Sounds nice, huh? Well, my first reaction was to scoff and say something to the effect of “yeah, sure, whatever lady.” Holland sounds nice when we’re talking about an unexpected move or a job loss, not when we’re talking about terminal cancer or a divorce or a disabled child. Did this woman really expect me to be like “oh man, I am just SO HAPPY that the man I wanted to marry broke up with me two days after I lost my job and now I am homeless, jobless and single with no prospects on any of these 3, Holland is SO GREAT”?!?! No thanks.

I hated Holland all through Kansas, most of Colorado, parts of Wyoming and DEFINITELY in Idaho. Holland was the pit in my stomach when I thought about returning home. Holland was the familiar text ding, only to find it was someone else. Holland was grief and loss. If you’d asked me to paint a picture of Holland, it would probably look a lot like Newark, the city I am convinced is the worst place on earth. Grey, smoggy, dirty and sad, I wanted nothing to do with Holland. I wanted to go back to Italy.

When I showed up to our home outside Seattle on Saturday night, I had cried the entire way through Oregon, decided to throw my phone into the Pacific Ocean when I reached Seattle, and vowed to hate Holland for time and all eternity. In what had become a theme on this trip, our host Renee took one look at my red swollen face, and immediately knew just what to say. She’d ended up at this farm in an unexpected turn of events when a divorce left her lost and homeless. In the 50+ acres of cattle, vegetables, horses and lakes, she’d found beauty even in the unexpected. I looked around, and the sprinkler mist created a rainbow in the weeping willows. The lake glistened in the setting sun, and the open fields stretched on for miles. Even Luna made a friend in Shadow, the friendly German Shepherd, and they romped in the front yard for hours. Our home was a little in-ground greenhouse that had been converted to a studio, and the hanging lanterns and wide windows made it cozy. Holland suddenly didn’t look so bad.

Scenes from the farm

It was there that I decided I wasn’t ready to go home, that I was going to open myself up to more adventures, and that it was okay to be not okay. That night was the eve of the infamous chicken alfredo, and Luna and I took a long walk into the cattle pasture while I contemplated my new life. Holland suddenly wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t what I expected, and I missed Italy, but Holland started to show its beauty there in Yakima, Washington. I would need to learn a new language, and maybe buy some new tour books, but perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad here. Welcome to Holland. I’m here to stay.

Our home in “Holland”

Wisdom from the universe and our little greenhouse

#travel #welcometoholland #washington #girls who travel #luna

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leggigoesabroad · 6 years ago

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you can’t spell awesome without me

Lyric from Taylor’s NEW SINGLE!! It’s called ME! It’s actually called that, with the exclamation point and everything. It’s as dope as you’re imagining in your head right now. And some people, like my coworker Mary who laughs at everything I say, do in fact think I’m awesome. (She’s such a great audience. Now I look at her immediately after any joke I make just for the reaction and validation.)

Well, well, well. Leggi goes abroad again. I’m doing a site visit for work in Vienna and Prague for a few days, and then on to Paris on my own (with an alarming amount of details in between yet to be determined, I should really get on that.)

I sit here at 10:25 pm in Vienna, Austria, in a gorgeously authentic Viennese apartment with stupid high ceilings and ornate decorations, in a fluffy-ass robe after I finally showered the airport off of me. Left Denver at 4 pm Friday, landed at Munich at 9:45 am today (Saturday) local time, long layover, then a quick 45 minute flight to Vienna where a private driver awaited me. I feel that weird feeling of not knowing which way is up and which way is down and what year it is, in only the special way you get when you’re traveling across the ocean. I had so many things I wanted to tell all of my people while I was flying, but obviously had no service, so I did the same thing I did with Hayley when we flew to Thailand: wrote down all my thoughts for a future blog. Luckily for you all, HERE THEY ARE, the undiscovered gems of the Denver to Munich economy class Lufthansa flight.

- Get on board and scope the movies, immediately knew I was going to watch “Beautiful Boy” because apparently something about Timothee Chalamet and poignant flights just feels right to me. I almost watched “Call Me By Your Name” again but I don’t think the married woman next to me wants to watch Timothee have sex with a peach.

- Girl in front of me just aggressively reclined her chair back to it’s fully back position 20 minutes into the flight and I fear this is my new normal for 9 hours.

- I now find myself actively wishing ill upon her.

- Hey, only 8 hours 57 minutes remaining!

- Why is tiny, frail, drug-addled Timothee Chalamet also just like SO HOT? I don’t understand his appeal at all and this is coming from someone who sees his appeal.

- He reminds me of Jennifer Lawrence. Someone who is so weird and awkward and seems like they just accidentally fell into acting yet are brilliant at it.

- I think it’s his voice. You know how I’m into voices.

- She sat her seat up to eat. I’m just sad knowing how temporary it will be.

- The woman next to me sounds exactly like what’s-her-name from Who’s the Boss, the mom. Judith something?? When she talks I sometimes purposefully don’t look at her so I can imagine it’s just Jonathan’s mom. Didn’t that kid grow up to be gay? Or commit suicide? Really hope it’s the former.

- She just turned on the Canes/Islanders game 1. She has no idea what a personal affront this is. :(

- Okay, she switched off of it and turned on Notting Hill. I almost suggested she pause and wait for me to catch up and we could watch in tandem while I tell her all my favorite parts, but Timothee just relapsed and I’m invested.

- Dinner is chicken, rice, a salad, a roll, cheese and crackers, and a blueberry crumble dessert thing. Not bad!! Though I do miss the filet and unlimited alcohol from business class...

- Chalamet plays such a convincing drug addict wow wow wow wow wow

- Reminder: google crystal meth sobriety success rate.

- I feel as if they’re getting ready to tuck us in for bed and I’m not ready. Sleepover anxiety. Dad?? Dad! You can come get me now.

- Flight attendants are walking around with open bottles of water and wine topping people off. Da real MVPs.

- Yep. The post-meal recline was just as jarring as I thought it would be.

- This bitch in front just literally re-did her pony tail and then threw it over her seat, spewing over my screen. No idea what to do here.

- Well now Timothee is having heroin sex in the shower so maybe the peach scene would have been better.

- I didn’t know there was a more recent Jason Bourne movie. Now I don’t want to take my sleeping pill.

- Took the pill. Reminds me of when I had wine and an Ambien with Debbie on a flight to Switzerland and had to hold her hips on the way to bathroom like a toddler because I couldn’t see. Now we wait!! Also Jason Bourne just had to watch his ex-boo Julia Stiles get murdered in front of him :( 6 hours left.

Ensue four hours of half sleep, half wake. Land in Munich like an absolute zombie and it SHOWED. Business lounge guy turns down my club pass and I manage not to cry.

- Fall immediately asleep on an airport bench like one of those creepy airport sleepers. Kind airport lady wakes me up about an hour later very concerned that I’m missing my flight to Stockholm, as I guess I was near their gate. I awoke as if from an exorcism and shouted “NO! VIENNA!” at her, before realizing she was worried about me and then I profusely apologized and fell back asleep.

- No one in the middle seat on the way to Vienna! And a full-sized Kit Kat given to us BEFORE take-off! Hear that, Southwest and your fucking plane crackers?

- Can anyone explain to me how airplanes work?

- Seat mate just watched intently as I poured out my entire pharmacy looking for a caffeine pill...

- What did we do before medicine and pills?? Then I remember Jamie on Outlander crossing the sea on a several months-long voyage and vomiting every day for months with no relief. He was basically Princess Kate. (”Um, Matt Bomer was on White Collar. Princess MEGHAN was on Suits.” - Champions, NBC)

- When I see customs and the two options are “declare” and “nothing to declare”, I always think of Ilana in Broad City when she goes to the seafood restaurant and the waiter asks if she has any allergies she’d like to disclose (audience knowing she’s super allergic to seafood.) “None that I...would like to disclose.”

- Driver had my name on a sign!! First time that’s ever happened to me! I really wanted to stop and take a picture but I also had to act like I been there before.

Got to the apartment and a lot more happened after I settled in, including our local host Karin immediately clearing my chakras after hearing my dry cough by explaining magnetic energy to me and tapping a voodoo doll while I meditated next to her. It’s as weird as it sounds but I dig her. I feel as if she gets me.

Tomorrow we’ll sleep in a little bit, have lunch, and then go on a private 3-hour guided city tour. Vienna, HERE I COME! We’re not allowed to post more than one pic per city on social media per: work rules (re: not making other people jealous and looking like dicks, which I personally think is bullshit, so I’ll be sharing stories via the ‘close friends’ option on the ‘gram. Eat your hearts out, I’m in Vienna and Prague for free.**)

**Had to purchase hundreds of dollars of supplies to soothe my anxiety about the trip, and as soon as the trip is over will do two years of free labor as the villa lead, but hey, for now, shit is free and maybe I’ll finally meet my international husband and we’ll both just ~~know. When you know, you know. But you can never KNOW...

Xoxo this gossip girl is a jet-lagged bitch and will be wittier and more thorough tomorrow. Though for everyone’s sake, I hope we never get another blog like the one recounting the food poisoning/bloody amputated foot/Duncan’s one night Russian stands/quarantine room.... ever again.

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footmantravelagency · 3 years ago

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Can the Great Mystery of Southwest Airlines’ Missing Flights Be Solved? By James Shillinglaw, Oct 12, 2021 (post a comment)1 (1 comments) ShareFacebookTwitterLinkedInEmail

Over the weekend Southwest Airlines experienced literally thousands of flight cancellations, more than 1,000 a day, stranding thousands of irate passengers across its system. The U.S. airports with the heaviest flight cancellations for departures and arrivals Sunday were all major Southwest hubs— Denver, Baltimore, Dallas Love Field, Las Vegas and Chicago Midway. So what was the reason? That apparently is up for some debate.

For its part Southwest blamed air traffic delays and bad weather in Florida, though it was unclear as to why this would affect its entire flight system. No other airline apparently experienced the same delays.

"We experienced significant impact in the Florida airports [Friday] evening after an FAA-imposed air traffic management program was implemented due to weather and resulted in a large number of cancellations,” Southwest said. “We are working hard behind the scenes to minimize challenges and fully recover the operation as we take care of displaced crews and customers as quickly as possible. We will continue to reset our network today and hope to return to close to normal operations as we move into Sunday.''

But the FAA responded to Southwest's statements blaming air traffic control issues and weather, saying those issues were limited to Friday afternoon. “No FAA air traffic staffing shortages have been reported since Friday,” said Steve Kulm, an FAA spokesperson,. "Flight delays and cancellations occurred for a few hours Friday afternoon due to widespread severe weather, military training, and limited staffing in one area of the Jacksonville Air Route Traffic Control Center.''

Some press reports blamed a protest by Southwest’s labor unions against the airline’s new policy to require all employees be fully vaccinated against COVID-19. But the airline’s labor unions denied there was such a protest. Other airlines, such as United, have more quietly implemented a vaccination policy without any labor protests.

One thing is clear: During the pandemic Southwest downsized its fleet and many speculate that it hadn’t returned enough aircraft to service to meet the surge in demand over the holiday weekend. Indeed, many major U.S. carriers have had a challenge meeting what they seem to think was an unpredictable increase in demand for airline flights, despite the fact that most industry observers have forecasted major growth due to pent-up demand as people return to the skies after the pandemic. Another airline, Spirit, experienced major cancellations just a month ago.

Perhaps even more frustrating for passengers is that Southwest had no rational explanation for its flight cancellations. And even worse, its website, as of last night, still didn’t even acknowledge the problem, except to warn passengers to try to make bookings and changes online because of heavy call volume to its reservations department.

So will passengers ever find out why they had to endure so many Southwest flight cancellations? Our guess is no. And since the news cycle repeats so quickly, most of us will have forgotten about these cancellations—at least until the next airline suddenly starts dropping flights. For more information, visit www.southwest.com. Let’s amend that…for no information, visit www.southwest.com.

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withabackpackandcamera · 3 years ago

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June 26th, 2021

Day 1: A Race To See Geldingadalir and Iceland’s West Side

The flight from Denver to Iceland was long but luckily, it wasn’t nearly as long as advertised on our purchased tickets. After a relatively smooth but sleepless flight that included aisle seats for all three of us (Cynthia, Minh, and me) and a viewing of Harry Potter 2, we made an early landing at Keflavik International Airport, arriving more than an hour ahead of schedule. To get to the exit, we ended up having to wait in multiple lines, from the passport control line to the PCR swab line. In between those lines, we made a quick pit stop at the store in front of baggage claim to pick up some beers as well as our Nova SIM card for the trip.

The line to get our PCR swabs was quite long and it took somewhere between 45 minutes to an hour to get to the point where we presented our vaccination certificates and got our swab kits. After receiving our kits, we walked to a station outside where some techs seemingly swabbed not only our noses but our brains before we were allowed to pass through the airport exit completely.

Our next task was to pick up our rental car from Blue Car Rental, a local Icelandic car rental company that rented out cars at a much better rate than its international competitors. It took a bit for us and some other folks to figure out where to catch the shuttle to get to the rental car area but after a short wait, we spotted the shuttle that would take us to our destination. Once there, we picked up our brand new red 2021 Kia Sportage 4WD and then drove off to grab some groceries for the road from Kronan and Bonus, both located relatively close to the airport in a neighboring town.

While Cynthia and Minh picked up some ingredients to make sandwiches for lunch, I briefly flipped through the car manual to make sure I knew how to use the car’s 4WD mechanism. Luckily, it was mostly automatic! Sweet. Once they were done at Kronan, we all sat in the car and took a little time to rest our eyes before hitting up Bonus for a couple more items for the trip. By the time we were done, our parents had arrived and gotten through the now extremely long PCR swab/exit line and were awaiting our pick-up from the airport. And surprisingly enough, the whole process of connecting with them and picking them up at the airport went as smoothly as it could have gone. Exactly as planned. And with the whole crew finally assembled in one place, we were off to start our family adventure in Iceland!

The first and much anticipated stop of the trip was Geldingadalsgos, the world’s newest volcanic eruption, located about a 30 minutes drive away from the airport. We drove through the town of Grindavik to get to the volcano area. By the time we reached the parking area for the hike, the roadside parking lots were packed. Really packed. But luckily, there was enough space for us to find a parking spot, though it was located almost a kilometer away from the unmarked trailhead for the volcano hike.

Once we were parked, packed, and dressed for the hike, which was around 11:30am or so, we made our way to the trailhead located on the other side of the road. With mom having a bum knee and Cynthia not being a fast hiker, my brother, dad, and I left them to each other’s company as we went on ahead. As we hiked and made our way closer to the lava field in the valley, we finally located hiking Path C as it ran up the side of a mountain ridge to our right. This was the volcano-viewing trail that I was instructed to take by Jeroen, the photographer, when I messaged with him on Instagram. So we did just that. And as we hiked toward the mountain ridge we were about to climb, I noticed just how nice, sunny, and clear the skies were today and how lucky we were to have great hiking conditions for our first day in Iceland.

But those pleasant-weathered thoughts quickly soured as we made our way up the heavily-graveled, unofficially paved footpath up the mountainside. What were just light winds on a sunny day quickly became 50+ mph continuous gusts of wind blowing across the lava field and up the mountain ridge. And this made for a much more difficult and treacherous hike than what was already a difficult hike with the steep, gravel-y path and all.

Due to the wind, dust, gravel, and lack of sleep, it took us a lot longer than anticipated to climb up to the top of the ridge and to the cell tower I was instructed to hike to to get the best views of the volcano. All in all, it took me and my heavy camera bag a little less than 1.5 hours to get to the cell tower. But luckily, even before reaching the tower, I caught my first glimpse of the Geldingadalsgos from afar! And as I hiked closer, I could see and hear the volcano erupting and throwing lava into the air! SO FREAKIN’ COOL! The thing I’d been looking forward to the most since coming up with the idea to fly to Iceland! And I finally got to see it in person! And check it off my life bucket list!

Because I had gone ahead of Minh and my dad, I had extra time to look around the area and scout out the best views of Geldingadalsgos from the eastern ridge. After roaming around on the windy ridge, I finally committed to a viewpoint and stayed there for some photography while waiting for Minh and my dad to catch up. Even though the volcano wasn’t nearly as crazy as I wished it was (especially given how far we were standing and how big the volcano base had grown), it was still pretty spectacular to see in person.

Once all three of us were at the top, we stayed for a little while longer before heading down the ridge on an unpaved, alternative back path. The path down the back side of the ridge was definitely less steep and dangerous than the one we took coming up but it was still a pretty long route. So it took us a while to hike all the way back out to our parked car. And unfortunately, along the way, my heavy tripod opened up one of my camera bag pockets, which led to the spillage of my stuff onto the ground which I didn’t know about. Only after a bit did I notice that the zipper was open and that I was missing my beanie and sunglasses. Fudge. But luckily, after running backwards and retracing my steps, I ran into some hikers who had found my belongings along their path and had placed them on a nearby rock, where I eventually found the beanie and sunglasses. Thank goodness.

By the time we had hiked all the way back to the car to meet up with Cynthia and my mom, who’d gone back first, I was exhausted. From a combination of lack of sleep, lack of a proper meal, and lack of water. But luckily, the rest of the day was just driving (a very long drive) with some short pit stops along the way to the eastern Westfjords, where we would be spending the evening.

Once we were on the road again, it didn’t take long for me to switch out of the driver’s seat to get some rest because I could feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier as we drove on and on. So Minh took over and drove us the rest of the way to and through the Snaefellsnes Peninsula to Kirkjufell and Kirkjufellsfoss. Once we had arrived after a very pleasant drive, the family and I checked out the mountain and waterfall and took some photos as the clouds started to roll in. The conditions were pretty harsh for any portfolio-worthy photos but I did the best that I could. This was actually my third time visiting Kirkjufellsfoss and every time I swing by, what I see is always slightly different than what I saw the time before, which is a good thing. Not only do I see a different photo-worthy scene each time, but I see a different landscape surrounding the area as well. For example, the area definitely got an upgrade (with a new parking lot and handicap accessible walkways to the waterfall) since my last visit in the winter of 2017. How tourism can drive change…

With the day slowly winding down and a ton of distance left to make up before we got to our guesthouse, I took over the wheel and drove us to our last pit stop of the day at Gudrunarlaug Hot Spring, located sort of on the way to the Westfjords. The drive there was much rougher than expected since the entire road there was gravel and dirt road, which significantly affected our driving speed. But because we took the gravel road instead of driving back the way we originally came from to get onto the main road leading up to the Westfjords, we still ended up (probably) saving a little bit of time. After a while, we finally reached the hot spring. Unfortunately, given our time constraints and the fact that there were locals already soaking in the hot tub who we didn’t want to intrude upon, we quickly took a peek at the area and left for the Malarhorn Guesthouse in Drangsnes, a little village just north of Holmavik.

The drive was long (thankfully Minh picked up this driving shift) but we eventually made it there around 11:00pm with the skies still relatively bright despite what time of day it was. After quickly preparing some instant ramen for dinner for the crew, I finally washed up and called it a night. What a ridiculous and jam-packed first day back in Iceland!

In store for tomorrow: a huge waterfall located in the middle of nowhere and a super long drive to Akureyri.

5 Things I Learned/Observed Today:

1. The Keflavik airport swabbers are definitely trained to make sure they get the best, highest-yield swab samples from international travelers in order to keep their country’s numbers almost nonexistent. So yeah, get ready to get your brain swabbed. But luckily, the process is (sort of) quick and (sort of) painless. And surprisingly enough, it took only about 6-7 hours for the health department to notify us of our negative PCR results!

2. Geldingadalsgos is definitely the most visited and highest-trafficked tourist site in all of Iceland this summer. Hands down.

3. Given the pandemic, travel numbers to Iceland aren’t nearly as high compared to the numbers pre-COVID. But with the recent downscaling of travel restrictions, more travelers have made their way over to Iceland with the hopes of seeing cool things while being relatively socially distanced from one another. And not surprisingly, because of the rules set in place by the Icelandic government for incoming travelers and because of the availability of vaccines in the U.S., most tourists in Iceland are Americans.

4. If you’re driving east along the northern side of the Snaefellsnes Peninsula, don’t expect much paved road a little past Kirkjufellsfoss. The roads here are pretty much all gravel and dirt until you make your way all the way back out to the main highway..

5. When you look at a map, Drangsnes looks pretty close to Holmavik. Don’t be deceived! Once you’re driving through fjordlands, nothing is as close as it seems. The windy roads running along the water and the mountain bases of the fjords makes any trip you drive much longer than anticipated.

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