Even the French drink boxed wine.

And whiskey.

Oregon is beautiful

Britta and I stayed with her parents the night before we left, since they live conveniently closer to the airport than we do. This is vital when you take as long to get ready to go anywhere as Britta does.

We woke up bright and early for our flight. Dragged Britta out of the house, tried to check in at American Airlines even though we were flying United. Finally got on the plane, looked out the window, and saw our beloved Pacific Northwest whitecaps.

(L-R) Mount St. Helens, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood

On the way back, we flew through 14 hours of daylight, and when we reached the Portland area in the early evening, we passed so close to Mt. Hood it felt like we could touch it. Britta took this picture with her blackberry as it fell behind.

I want to climb this mountain.

I love the Ring of Fire.

Because my friends know people...

I'm back.

Very strongly considered not getting on the flight home. Then I almost missed the flight home, which actually turned out to not be my fault, but United's... but calling in to work from Paris wouldn't have been so bad. ;)

I'm editing my plethora of pictures. It'll take awhile.

I went to a wedding in the Loire Valley. The groom is an ex-footballer, and he has a friend who played Ligue 1 football (highest professional soccer division in France) for Caen. He transferred to AS Monaco during the summer, but when a heart murmur was discovered during a physical at his new club this week, he was forced into early retirement. Very sad.

But he has a nice car.



Obviously.

God bless Spain and their almost-English keyboards!

Hola! I'm in Barcelona!

I'm lisping my S's and ignoring all marriage proposals.

I also swam in the Mediterranean today. You know you're jealous.

I don't think I'm coming home. If I don't blog again and say I'm in Nice or Paris, you know where to find me. In a tapas bar. Or bullfighting.