Red Mosquito

wease wrote:

Higgs wrote:When are you off to Italy wease? Soon I assume if you are buying tickets for museums etc now. We are off there in mid September through mid October.

I too am looking forward to perusing and sampling the variety of smallgoods on offer.

We’ll be there end of June-early July. We’re starting in Paris/France, then Italy, and from there, Greece.

Chris_H_2 wrote:

wease wrote:

Higgs wrote:When are you off to Italy wease? Soon I assume if you are buying tickets for museums etc now. We are off there in mid September through mid October.

I too am looking forward to perusing and sampling the variety of smallgoods on offer.

We’ll be there end of June-early July. We’re starting in Paris/France, then Italy, and from there, Greece.

do yourself a favor and take a day trip from Paris to Normandy and the d-day beaches / national cemetery. you won’t regret it.

Chris_H_2 wrote:

wease wrote:

spike wrote:

wease wrote:Spent like an hour trying to buy train tickets in Italy last night. Kept getting errors then we’d get timed out. Then payments wouldn’t work. What a painful process

Also know that trains are always late in Italy.

Wonderful

don’t listen to him wease. this is false.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:Shut up Doug.

How long is this trip to Normandy? I hadn’t thought of it but I’m smelling a day away by myself…

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

dad wrote:Landed in London at 11am local. Grabbed our bags, and got an Uber, which we're in now as we head to our hotel. The driver is super impatient with other cars and has nearly run over two people. We’ve been rerouted because there’s a free Palestine demonstration, and he’s twice asked us our preference for a US prez. He really likes trump.

I can’t wait to drop off our bags, brush my teeth and get a goddamn toastie.

doug rr wrote:

dad wrote:Landed in London at 11am local. Grabbed our bags, and got an Uber, which we're in now as we head to our hotel. The driver is super impatient with other cars and has nearly run over two people. We’ve been rerouted because there’s a free Palestine demonstration, and he’s twice asked us our preference for a US prez. He really likes trump.

I can’t wait to drop off our bags, brush my teeth and get a goddamn toastie.

our trip in a black cab from Heathrow to city center was basically the same..I had to keep grabbing that handlebar on the ceiling of the car..weaving in and out and he was also a Trumper but also a very nice guy...with a tip, damn near 100 pounds to get to the hotel...please eat a lot of food without thinking about the consequences..

dad wrote:We ended up getting out of the Uber and walking. The driver couldn’t find a good route to the hotel because of the demonstration, and we started to get impatient. Google maps showed the walk taking the same time as the car ride.

We stopped in a pub so I could pee (turned into a relieving poop), and shared fish and chips, and a very tasty g&t that had peppercorns in it.

I have an Indian restaurant that I want to rave about, but we’ve reached our max for the day and are in bed, reading until we pass out. So I’ll save it for later. London has been a success thus far.

96583UP wrote:food in america is so bad

i need to get rich on bitcoin and move somewhere else