Tourists in France are apparently also fans of getting their photos taken in front of famous paintings. You pay to get into the Musée d'Orsay. If you're already standing in front of Starry Night, you might as well turn around and look at it.

My legs hurt. A couple hours in Père Lachaise, a couple trying to buy dresses (failed - let's not discuss), and then a free evening in the Louvre means a lot of walking in one day. Seeing the sun set through the glass of I. M. Pei's pyramid and then walking out with a view straight up to the Arc de Triomphe must be one of the best last nights in Paris ever.

In other news, I'm returning to Canada a bit later than planned. Am instead going to Morocco for a week and a half.

we have been very busy since our last post. in order to manage the somewhat overwhelming collection of stuff we wanted to do while we were here, we both went through our guidebooks and made lists of the things we wanted to do, and we have been ticking things off quite briskly. so far, we have visited Notre Dame (twice), the Pompidou Centre (just me), the Jewish Museum (just Kat), Victor Hugo's house on Place des Vosges, the Eiffel Tower, the Cimetière du Montparnasse, the Pantheon, the Sorbonne, l'Institut du Monde Arabe, Kilomètre Zéro, Versailles, the Musée Picasso, and the Place de la Bastille. we have wandered through the Quartier Latin, the Marais, and Montparnasse; Kat has jogged through St. Germain. we also climbed the Arc de Triomphe (50 m, 284 steps) and watched the sun set over Paris.

we are generally pretty pleased with ourselves about all of this. even more so because today, we managed to make the trip to Versailles and visit the Musée Picasso paying only €2.95 each for transit. we got to Versailles quite early, and got into the line for the ticket office. as we stood there, however, we realized that a) it was free to visit the gardens, and b) neither of us felt a strong need to see the inside of the palace. cue us leaving the line and walking through the garden gates. the gardens at Versailles are stunning, and we wandered around them for several hours, stopping to eat cake outside of the Domaine de Marie Antoinette (the cake was purchased in Paris before we left in the morning. stop laughing at us), and to picnic by the giant cross-shaped lake.

the only slight hiccough in our morning occurred when Kat fell asleep by the lake. yesterday, she got stung by a wasp. I suggested taking an antihistamine right away, since that is what we do at our cottage, but Kat declined, saying that she could handle it. this morning, however, she woke up with her arm throbbing, and between the train station at Versailles and the Château itself, we stopped at a pharmacy to get her some pills. what she failed to remember, despite having taken a very intense pharmacology class, is that antihistamines make you drowsy. we got about a quarter of the way around the lake before we had to stop so she could nap on a bench. a proud moment.

after we got back to Paris, we attempted to pay for our tickets to the Musée Picasso, only to receive strange looks and then free tickets from the girl at the counter. it is possible that she may have thought that we were EU citizens, but neither of us was inclined to correct her if that was the case, so we accepted our free entry happily. by which I mean, we walked away quickly and tried not to give ourselves away by looking too pleased with ourselves. and so we got to see a whole lot of Picasso for free.

random things: France has Mars Bar and Malteser ice cream bars. we are thrilled about this discovery, and a little hurt that no one saw fit to mention them when they were telling us about this country. also, yesterday Kat accidentally ran into the garden of the Musée Rodin on her jog and had to be chased out by a burly security guard.

sickass: a word used to describe very few things on our trip. it means awesome, approaching legendary. first, it was used in reference to the Charles Bridge in Prague. second, the Berlin Hauptbahnhof (do not judge until you have seen this train station. seriously, it is sickass). after today, we have a third: the spot from which we watched the final stage of the Tour de France. to give a general idea of the setting, the final stage of the Tour involves a ride into Paris, and culminates in 8 laps up and down the Champs-Élysées from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe and back. we were right across from Claridges, just down the street from Louis Vuitton, and had a clear view of the oncoming riders. also, we were next to a very sweet French couple, whom Kat befriended and who gave us lots of helpful advice about how to get to Versailles. it was so, so awesome. my camera died of exhaustion from taking so many pictures. by which I mean, I hadn't charged the battery recently enough. it bravely survived through 7.5 laps before it gave up the ghost. Kat and I (and, I imagine, our photography equipment) are tired from exertion and too much sun. a quiet night is in order.

as you might have guessed from all of my landmark-dropping, we are now in Paris. after a truly lovely 3 days in Bordeaux, we arrived in Paris veeeery early yesterday morning (OK, 10:30. but we left Bordeaux at 6:59!), whereupon we ditched our bags at our hotel and took a very nerdy daytrip to see the cathedral at Chartres. then, of course, the Tour took all day today. all good fun. tomorrow, our Parisian sightseeing begins in earnest. we are, needless to day, ridiculously excited.

ps. we can see the Eiffel Tower from the window in our hotel room.

Surefire way to make me sad: put cassoulet on your lunch menu and then inform me when I order it that you don't serve it.

Appropriate method of dealing with my cassoulet-related depression: ignore me as I stare off into space and listen to my iPod.

How to cheer me up in twenty seconds or less: place me on a couch with lunch in front of a TV showing a crazy mountain stage of the Tour de France. Air conditioning optional (but preferred).

Back in France now. It is difficult to sustain grouchiness when you try to type "work" and it comes out "zork."

Salamanca isn't hot. Cardigans were worn last night and Alyssa was cold anyway. We're going to see the university and cathedral today. We're under strict instructions from a friend who lived here two years ago to go out and drink. A lot. This is hampered by the fact that I'm recovering from food poisoning. I think I had some off seafood quiche three mornings ago. We went to a tapas bar that night in Seville and after a beer I suddenly began to feel very dizzy and blurry and then fainted. I have an absurdly low alcohol tolerance, but I've never reacted that poorly to a single beer. I only remember being placed in a chair and Alyssa's face peering up at me while cold water streamed down my chest. All of the waiters were very helpful. They put cold towels on me and had all sorts of recommendations for how to make me feel better. Sit. Stand. Drink more sangria. A little whisky. This bread. The hospital. Alyssa got me back to the hotel and into bed and the next morning I felt better (which means I beat her to the top of the Giralda. The ramps are not steep. They were built so that people could ride up on horseback).

The morning after, arriving in Córdoba, I felt much worse, but improved steadily throughout the day. For dinner, we went to a restaurant recommended by the Michelin guide. We ordered all of the tapas (six items - two dips, each with cooked egg and a lot of garlic; croquettes; fried aubergine and honey; cod fritters; and lettuce dressed in garlic and vinegar) and a portion of Iberian ham in truffle sauce. It was perfect.

I wouldn't mention the food poisoning if it were something to be at all concerned about. Have already notified my mother. And, quite possibly, there will be some alcohol consumption tonight. We only have two more nights in Spain and Alyssa still needs to taste sangria with cava.

how to visit the cathedral in Seville:
head straight to la Giralda, the belltower that used to be a minaret. begin walking up the ramps immediately, without really giving thought to the project you have undertaken. reach the 16th landing a little tired; think to yourself, "uh, just how high is this thing, exactly?". walk up 18 more ramps before you see the stairs to the top. stay on the platform for a very long time, taking pictures of the city (over the railings), and the bells (above your head). jump a little when the bells ring out the quarter hour. leave when a really annoying tour group shows up.

the view from the top of la Giralda is beautiful. on our way down from the top of the minaret, we noted some sort of rally taking place in an adjacent plaza. it turns out that we managed to be up there during the nearby public appearance of a soccer (or fútbol, as the locals would have it) player for the Seville team. we got to hear lots of cheering, and many rousing renditions some sort of Seville fight song (I know this because the chorus involved the lines, "Seviiiiiilla, Seviiiiiilla." I'm clever like that).

after the cathedral, we made an attempt to wander the streets of Seville and soak up some atmosphere, but were defeated by the heat, and retreated to FNAC (like Chapters, but with electronics thrown into the mix. it has air-conditioning and seating. we love it).

oddly enough, while it is very hot here, we are actually finding it cooler than Madrid. yesterday evening, after we'd settled into our hostel, we took a walk by the river, and it was actually a comfortable temperature! shocking, I know. also, on that walk we discovered a group of men playing Kat's new favourite sport. we don't know what it's called, but it appears to work like water polo, except with kayaks.

ps. a lot of buildings in downtown Seville have swimming pools on their roofs. the water looks very, very blue in the sunlight. also, the cathedral has a garden of orange trees.

Best night ever. I think it would be too difficult to explain in sentences.

1. Went to the opera. (I love opera.)
a) It was The Marriage of Figaro. (I'm among many who feel that this is a master of all trades opera. Lots of different combos, lots of hilarity, webs of deceit, and a harpsichord!)
b) It starred Mariusz Kwiecien as Count Almaviva. Mariusz (first name basis with opera stars is just how it is) was Enrico in the production of Lucia di Lammermoor that was at the Met a few months ago. I watched the HD transmission in Halifax. He was stunning. And not just because of the hair.
c) It was at the Teatro Real, which is a fantastic opera house, one of the best in the world, ranked with La Scala, the Met, and Vienna's State Opera House, despite being smaller than all of them.
d) We had seats in the second row. Not of the balcony. Of the orchestra. The conductor was eleven feet away, at most. I heard his footsteps when he entered.
e) The seats were €30.20. In total. Last minute student prices are insane. (Marked down from €151.90 each)
f) The opera was unbelievably good. Mariusz and the cast were first class, as were the costumes (I want the page's jacket) and the set.
g) The. Set. Rocked. In the fourth act, in the garden, there was a fountain with flowing water and a full moon that rose. I was kind of speechless for about 20 minutes after.

2. After the opera, we had dinner in a market that gets converted to numerous tapas bars at night.
a) toasts with i. smoked salmon and dill aioli, ii. pickled white anchovy, iii. some sort of rice and tuna concoction, iv. marinated salt cod
b) fritters of i. cod and cheese and ii. potato and herb
c) raw oysters with lemon (Alyssa: "so, in principle, it's a big mussel")
d) sangria that came with a dish of black olives
e) ice cream. in a mini cone. mascarpone con higos (I looked it up today. higos = figs)

Keeping in mind that this followed a day that included a visit to an Annie Leibovitz exhibition, which was free (we loved her photo of the Queen). And brunch. We really love brunch. Actually, we skipped going to church for brunch. And for a light pre-opera dinner, we ate a place called 100 Montaditos, which serves 100 different kinds of small sandwiches. It was so good, we returned today. My favourite was a mousse pate. Alyssa made a face.

By the by, Calle Ave Maria is full of cheap Indian and Thai restaurants and internet cafes.

so in order to tell the story about my last morning in Barcelona, I have to communicate some background information. as many of you already know, my birthday was at the very beginning of our trip. before I left, my sister gave me a letter (actually, she gave me a letter to give to Kat that contained a letter to give to me). enclosed in this letter was a cut-out photo of Gwyneth's face taped to a wooden skewer, and the instruction to take pictures of it in cool places, specifically the Tour. at each Tour stage we have seen, I have taken out this contraption (which shall henceforth be known as "Gwyneth-on-a-stick") and taken pictures with it. however, due to the excessive speed of the riders and the slowness of my camera shutter, I have thus far been unable to get a clear picture of Gwyneth's face with a cyclist.

flash forward to the final morning in Barcelona: I had ventured off to where the Tour started alone (after Kat declared resoundingly that she wanted nothing more to do with the Tour, if not forever, at least until the final stage in Paris), and positioned myself somewhere behind the starting arch in the hopes of catching pictures of the cyclists as they left their team buses. so I'm standing there with my hand stuck through a gap in the barriers, holding Gwyneth-on-a-stick and taking her picture with any cyclist who comes by (and a few tour buses when I got bored), when this man with a camera and a microphone comes up to me and asks me if I speak French. once I reply in the affirmative ("juste un peu, et très mal"), he asks me what exactly it is that I am doing. I explain ("my sister loves the Tour. perhaps more than she loves me"), in my only moderately broken French.

before I know it, he has borrowed my camera and my sister's head on a skewer, and has run off into the thick of the riders and is taking pictures of them. I watch rather anxiously, as it has suddenly occurred to me that giving your camera to random strangers to hold is one of those things you are not supposed to do when travelling. meanwhile, all of this activity has apparently attracted the attention of a Spanish journalist, who comes up to me and starts asking me questions (in French, because she appears to be under the impression that I actually speak this language. she is mostly wrong). I end up doing an interview for the nice French man first, because he has to leave when the riders do ("bonne chance, Alyssa! au revoir!"), and then the nice Spanish woman (the former in French, the latter in English).

the Spanish reporter told me at the end of the interview that my sister will be famous in Spain. I'm not sure I believe her, but I must admit I am intrigued. unfortunately, I was so flustered that I didn't ask which networks this footage might be on. so if anyone feels like scouring Spanish and French human interest pieces about the Tour for clips of me holding a skewer, please do so, and send me the link.

but anyway, that is the story of how my sister and I may end up on French and/or Spanish TV.

I remembered today how much I love Bosch. The Prado is packed with amazing paintings. And it is air conditioned, as is the Reina Sofia, which we entered free. Did you know that some people go into the room with Picasso's Guernica, stand in front of the painting, have their photo taken with it, and then leave without ever having looked at the work itself? It's baffling.

In case the Prado didn't give it away, we're in Madrid, having arrived from Barcelona yesterday. I'd say we had two very different experiences of that city. My disappointment in Gaudi after La Sagrada Familia skewed my mood, although a group of Belgians slowly put me on track to appreciating his work by taking me to see various Gaudi-inspired mosaics in and around the Gothic Quarter. (I had refused to go to Parc Güell with Alyssa after the church, so she went alone and I headed back downtown to find my lens cap.) We went to the finish line of the Tour de France's Stage 6, in the pouring rain and rowdy crowds, and I wondered what the hell I'd done with my afternoon. I like watching the Tour. I shouldn't do so in crap weather when I can barely see. Needless to say, I wasn't keen to head back to the crowds for the next day's departure, so I came up with a different activity for myself, one which I'm sure (I'm positive) made Alyssa CRAZY. I went to Parc Güell. And it was great. There were trails to climb and see the city (including the water!) and the design that I couldn't deal with in a religious building made total sense in a natural setting. Also, the Tour followed the main street near Parc Güell so I got to see them fly by. Literally. Okay, not literally. But close enough. It didn't even take 20 seconds for the entire pack of riders to pass me by. Totally awesome.

Alyssa has her own story about her last morning in Barcelona. I'm not allowed to talk about it, but it does involve the fact that her sister is possibly more awesome than watching the peloton go by. That's the teaser. It's late. We're going back to the hostel to sleep.

I was crazy about La Sagrada Familia. From the front and the inside. I just couldn't deal with the back of it. It was just too overloaded with stuff. STUFF! Growing and bulging. It drove me a bit nuts because the concept was so interesting and the plans and sketches lead you to believe something incredible would come out of it. But I think it just looks a mess.

I have issues keeping my lens cap with my camera. Today, I forgot it in a restaurant, and when I returned to get it, the waiter brought it to me with a pitcher of sangria. With cava. And that is the story of how I drank three persons' worth of sangria by myself.

so due to the time of our train to Barcelona/some inaccurate information from a roadie for L'Equipe, we only ended up seeing around 10 minutes of the team time trial yesterday in Montpellier (ie. we saw 2 teams ride out. note that this was after waiting for 4 hours). unfortunately, we also have very little photographic evidence of having seen any cycling at all, because when the teams depart, they go very, very fast. we were within 100 m of the starting arch, and they were past us seconds after starting. it was ridiculously cool - Kat and I were both blown away by how quickly the cyclists reached their top speeds. we have pictures of several Caisse d'Epargne- and Katusha-coloured blurs, but the only ones we have of actual people on bikes are from their warm-up rides.

swag count from Montpellier (related sponsors in brackets): white bucket hats (Skoda), reflective snap bracelets (Festina), sausage samples (Cochonou), and a packet of laundry soap (sponsor uncertain). there was a whole lot more that we didn't get; people get very grabby when they're waiting, and sometimes it's best to pick your battles. we did get promotional newspapers with a list of the riders organized by team and number, which was handy. sadly, we did not get any of the umbrella hats that another sponsor was distributing. bummer.

and then we caught a train to Barcelona, which would have been quite nice if it weren't for the crying children, the mysterious police presence at the borders, and the seats in front of us that weren't attached properly and kept swinging towards us at an ominous angle. this morning we visited Gaudi's Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, which I loved but Kat was not so crazy about. tomorrow we will watch the Tour arrive at the Estadi Olímpic - finally we will get to see how something turns out! apparently the stage that started in Marseille ended quite dramatically, but we had no idea until we were waiting for it to start in Montpellier and some friendly Australians recapped it for us. yesterday's stage was also very exciting (a tie for first! it's madness!), but that we only know from checking the internet, so we are very excited to see the end of tomorrow's stage. ¡hasta luego! (so I'm really excited about all of the fancy punctuation on this keyboard. so what? it's just so much easier to use than the French ones ...)

today, we watched the Grand Depart of Stage 3 of the Tour de France, ate crêpes with nutella, and then visited the Château d'If. this is pretty much the dream.

we figured out last night that the Tour was going to start around 1:00, and had originally planned to wander around the city in the morning and head to the Tour area around noon. pretty much as soon as we left our hotel, we realized that that was a stupid idea. we were staying right by the Vieux Port (where the Depart was happening), and the area was flooded with Tour paraphernalia and personel. we followed the bright yellow markers along the port, looking at the merchandise on sale and checking out the swag (all of the Tour sponsors give out stuff free to the people in the crowds. Kat got free coffee from a guy carrying a coffee dispenser ON HIS BACK, and we both got free Bouygues Telecom hats), and suddenly it was 10:30 and we had prime viewing spots that we were on no account leaving. we promptly re-applied sunscreen and settled in for the duration. the heat was pretty intense - a family from Hawaii was standing next to us, and even they thought it was hot - but we persevered. the Depart was so exciting, and happened very fast. first there was 1 rider coasting over to line up, then 2, then suddenly there were 180, and everyone wanted to photograph all of them. I got some good shots of George Hincapie, but Kat wins the prize today for a photo of someone we think might be Lance Armstrong.

afterwards, we took our intensely sunned bodies on a quest for food and drink (whereupon we found crêpes but no giant bottles of water, sadly), and then set off to fulfill our very dorky fantasy of visiting a famed literary landmark on the same day as seeing the Tour. the ferry to the Île d'If leaves right from the Vieux Port, and affords the opportunity for some nice views of the harbour (more photos. oh so many photos today). we were like children arriving at a birthday party when we got there, and we were not disappointed. certain parts of the Château are, admittedly, a bit much: a few of the cells have TVs playing clips from various adaptations of The Count of Monte Cristo, and most of the historical information is intensely Dumas-themed (which is really very interesting, it just detracts from the mood a bit). in the audio-visual-component-free areas, however, the imagination is free to run wild. we climbed to the very top on a windy stone staircse, and then ran along the sides of the fort looking for not-too-rocky places where one could hypothetically jump/fall/be thrown in and not die.

we took the ferry back, sunburnt and happy, and since then have just been wandering (ie. looking for shady spots). despite all of the negative reports we had received ("you're going to Marseille? ew, why? don't stay too long - just do whatever you need to do and get out!"), we have actually quite enjoyed the city. people have been very friendly here - we find ourselves chatting while buying postcards and paying for takeout orders, and there are both a ferris wheel AND a carousel here. no city with those two things can be bad.

right now we are in an internet café (accents are so easy here. it's just everything else that is hard), waiting until it is time to go to the station to catch our train to Montpellier. we had originally picked Montpellier as a destination because it is the transfer point between Marseille and Barcelona, our next stop. today, we realized that we must be either idiots or geniuses, because the Tour has its team time trial there tomorrow. our train leaves for Barcelona at 3ish, but we should be able to catch some of it before we go. life is good. we leave Marseille in an hour, proudly wearing the marks of our devotion to the Tour (I think I got a burn on my scalp, despite wearing my free hat), with more adventures ahead.

bonjour from Nice! we are here for an hour between trains en route to Marseille. Kat is very happy to be somewhere she can speak the language (I am too; but not quite as radiantly as Kat is). we were dismayed to discover, however, that French keyboards are VERY different from North American ones. like, more so than Czech keyboards. that was very unexpected. it is a difficult adjustment to make. to illustrate, our names on this keyboard, typed as we would normally, are Qlyssq ?qckenwie and Kqthijqh Ng. that, by the way, is my long way of saying that this will be a very short post, because it is taking me a very long time to type.

so we are only in France for a couple of days right now: we are going to Marseille to see some of the Tour de France in person, and then heading to Barcelona (where we will also catch some of the Tour). as many of you may already know, the start of the Tour de France (which was yesterday, for those of you not aware) marks the beginning of a thrilling few weeks for my family. I'm pretty excited to be able to see some of the Tour in person, although it feels very weird not be getting up early every morning to watch with my parents. we watched some of the first day in our hotel last night, and I know I don't speak the language, but I think that the Italian commentators lack the charm of Paul, Phil, and Bobke. perhaps the French and Spanish will be better? regardless, I'm totally psyched to see Lance Armstrong in person tomorrow. stay tuned.

ps. don't worry, Jess (and anyone else who might be concerned): I recovered from my jellyfish sting very quickly. sadly, it's not the first one I've had in my life, so I more or less knew what to expect. my leg muscles hurt for much longer than my stung foot did. my body was seriously unimpressed with my decision to hike, and expressed its displeasure accordingly.

Milan is smoking hot. So hot that neither of us particularly wants to move. There are sales in all of the clothing shops so it's just packed with people everywhere. I'm far too Canadian for all of this. I want a tree to shade me while I quietly read.

We'd thought of going to see The Last Supper but it requires reservation and today was all booked up already. So we're hiding out in an internet cafe and hoping that it'll be less intensely hot when we venture back out. I'm not banking on it.

I visited a friend in Montreal in May who insisted that I go to Cinque Terre when in Italy. It was all gorgeous seaside scenery and piles of hiking. Perfect for me. Less perfect for Alyssa. But, because she's a good sport, she came along anyway. We arrived and I took off for a trail. I'm not entirely sure what she got up to, but I know foccacia was involved. The second day, Alyssa actually went hiking! I mean, I can't totally verify, as I wasn't there (we took different trails), but she definitely got a tan. Maybe a burn. And then we jumped into the sea and she got stung by a jellyfish, which perhaps indicates that she should just stay the hell away from nature. Jellyfish are so rare there. While she rested and read on the beach (in a shaded strip), I played water polo with a group of Italians, and they were all fascinated by the idea that a jellyfish was in our presence. They dove and searched for it and eventually captured it with a net. It was purple and slimy. Kind of beautiful. I feel bad that it had to die. But it had to die. It totally freaked us out.

Tomorrow, we take a series of trains to Marseille to watch the Tour. So it's probably best that we lay low today. I expect Marseille to be insane. And I expect that we will be insane in Marseille.