tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72786005031144588662024-02-18T23:48:30.969-08:00Chronicles of a Small Lifean ordinary adventurous life... by luisa vosmik Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-71888386846481933632020-05-01T16:26:00.000-07:002020-05-01T16:27:02.753-07:00...a few years laterI admit I haven't done very well with the whole blogging thing in recent memory... It seems to have taken a global pandemic-induced shutdown to get me logged back in, which is a bit ridiculous. Before I returned home due to COVID-19 health worries, I was arguably living one of the best versions of my life. Apparently part of that life was being so busy that despite (repeatedly) saying I should update my blog, I never did. So, perhaps all of this time indoors will be a blessing in disguise and I will polish up the site once more.<br />
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Up until six weeks ago, my life took place in a tiny little Scottish village on the coast. I was studying abroad as a junior in college, an experience which I enjoyed as a high-schooler and would certainly recommend for university students. I was fortunate enough to travel fairly often and lived in a little apartment with random roommates that became close friends. The experience yielded loads of photographs and memories, which I hope to share eventually. But for now, hello! I think I'm back.</div>
Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-23247416746634968582018-07-13T13:46:00.001-07:002018-07-13T13:46:47.219-07:00A & A Guidebook : Addison Street<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2abEZPugxCY-RwXIEw1T4OajFWElB3TQIZOmexnedDFHP094rq2RVASyxHcH-0tAVqs-GMGgcH1BtOGUHNItpqWDyyKzSNq2sD48BRuWLcqnT9k2BMSZu2IPY6oQbP9v7bBlEbec0Ry5/s1600/IMG_1400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2abEZPugxCY-RwXIEw1T4OajFWElB3TQIZOmexnedDFHP094rq2RVASyxHcH-0tAVqs-GMGgcH1BtOGUHNItpqWDyyKzSNq2sD48BRuWLcqnT9k2BMSZu2IPY6oQbP9v7bBlEbec0Ry5/s1600/IMG_1400.jpg" /></a></div>
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Today, we visited Addison Street, home to three stores including NaNin (pictured above).</div>
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"The store was very cool and had candles that smelled yummy."</div>
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- Alice</div>
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Next door is Addison Vintage. </div>
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They had a huge collection of hand picked items, including all these ~funky~ sunglasses.</div>
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Overall, a cool store. </div>
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They also carry local and handmade new goods, like this case of jewelry.</div>
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The third store on the street is Yesterday's Heroes. This is another vintage store with a bit of a different, simpler vibe. Lots of jeans plus a mix of new and old clothes, all handpicked by the owner.</div>
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Lastly, we checked out NaNin's studio candle sale. They had a selection of clothing as well as tons of candles for very cheap. The candles smelled delicious and we got a few for ourselves and few as gifts.</div>
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Overall, not a typical day of babysitting or a regular shopping experience. However, it was a different experience that was worth exploring - even for kids. (Especially because of the free food and LaCroix at the studio...and the adorable dog.)</div>
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<br />Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-21754176673253248132017-11-05T16:55:00.001-08:002017-11-05T16:55:25.222-08:00a simple gift : found in translation<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">I sometimes judge fame by the length of somebody’s Wikipedia article. My aunt’s 456 word entry qualified her, by my primitive terms, as mildly famous.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’ve always been semi-creative, but never enough to become a full-time artist. Similarly, I’ve always been part Brazilian, yet didn’t understand that nationality. My aunt seemed to have mastered both, directing films about Brazilian culture. Then, she offered me an internship. I had just returned from nine months abroad, so I wasn’t sure. But I set off for Brazil with no expectations, just as I had for France. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Landing in Paris, my only expectation was learning French - total immersion left me no choice. I didn't expect the personal growth - that was accidental. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">For weeks, I used my host brothers as personal translators. Tired of my questions, they replied “<i>débrouilles-toi</i>.” Google translated it to “figure it out yourself.” The vocabulary was useful, but the meaning meant more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I slowly navigated France through trial and error. At the beginning of the year, it took weeks before I ordered the coffee I wanted. One day, my caramel-cafe-creme-with-three-extra-shots-of-espresso was waiting for me when I stepped off the 7:36 bus. My persistence paid off - the coffee truck heard my order so much that they anticipated it. I kept figuring things out myself, from food to new cities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">People said I’d completely change while abroad, but I think France just showed me hidden parts of myself. Leaving for Brazil, I took everything I’d developed in France. Curiosity, resilience, determination, humor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I arrived in Sao Paulo fighting mono and majorly sleep deprived. Interning was wild - five films in the finishing stages of production, with two weeks until the release. My aunt handed me the films, telling me to create English subtitles as correct and concise as possible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I found the production offices solo, and began dictating changes to the production assistant. Halfway through the morning, I realized I could streamline the tedious process by learning to input the subtitles myself. We shifted to working independently, side-by-side. Using my English and initiative to save Karla’s time, I felt useful. Professional.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I don’t plan on studying film, but I interned to learn about working. While I was there, I learned about color editing, sound clips, exporting changes… And how little sleep people get during final production - I was an intern and still left the house before nine, only to get home no earlier than 1am. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The first week, I probably watched each movie twenty times. We narrated along with the characters and hum the soundtracks. I could picture exact shots in the movies, pulling away from the favela for a multi-colored aerial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We flew into Rio and drove straight to the first screening. Golden hour lit the favela, so I took out my camera, and little kids ran up to pose. I looked so out of place that my Portuguese confused them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Watching the movie with Joao, the stories came to life. He told me which kids he knew, which scenes his house was in. The story was about badminton, but he told me about the police who were bad guys, that life wasn’t safe in the “<i>communidade</i>.” I knew most Brazilians didn't live like me, but it took a six-year-old boy to drive it home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Afterwards, I watched the Olympics, cheering alongside Brazilian fans. I saw another reality - Brazilian patriotism. In one month, I learned more about half of myself than I knew before. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">People talk about lost in translation, but I’ve haven’t lost anything in my languages. French, English, Portuguese - they’ve taught and given me so much. Not linguistically, but personally. Outside of my natural habitat, I realized who I really was. I became more determined, curious, resilient. I gained independence. Humor. Fearlessness. I left my adventures with a new sense of self.</span></div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-21907354865279134312017-09-03T21:16:00.003-07:002017-09-03T21:51:18.228-07:00before college: a recap<div style="text-align: center;">
A year(ish) told in photographs - to celebrate a new beginning.</div>
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And hopefully a rebirth of the blog.</div>
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I ended my year in France with a trip to Scotland...</div>
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Then I traveled to Brazil to see family...</div>
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And the Olympic Games...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKX7rP8npcvzolxBZ_IrfTun84YbV_Sb6rZZOnuKHe-AsQP17lAtdMFkkRiYucVtMsPLEDZA3IPYD7F5-9mIq76dPaVIr0nYF6QkVjWvA5KmHIjJj3UXfWRELJhEeA9Jew6ttLfBcd-y4/s1600/IMG_5143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKX7rP8npcvzolxBZ_IrfTun84YbV_Sb6rZZOnuKHe-AsQP17lAtdMFkkRiYucVtMsPLEDZA3IPYD7F5-9mIq76dPaVIr0nYF6QkVjWvA5KmHIjJj3UXfWRELJhEeA9Jew6ttLfBcd-y4/s1600/IMG_5143.JPG" /></a></div>
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And the Games with family...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrowPM1aUnwWjv2aSjjirgZLqTBvCQzJew1pVldpvDdk_6mscMmod1Mf_qTHT3xQXulRM6jHEenVgStogO0AldK0s-FLlAYghsJcvU9aQH7_rzJH2UFYhXOTdjClPSVNHKF4LEY81dUdY/s1600/IMG_1832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrowPM1aUnwWjv2aSjjirgZLqTBvCQzJew1pVldpvDdk_6mscMmod1Mf_qTHT3xQXulRM6jHEenVgStogO0AldK0s-FLlAYghsJcvU9aQH7_rzJH2UFYhXOTdjClPSVNHKF4LEY81dUdY/s1600/IMG_1832.JPG" /></a></div>
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And then I did a super cool internship, involving film...</div>
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And I traveled a bit with my sisters...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYsxzj9tHaLCO9O9xfi1madjSpkZw2DIHRmHEN0Kp_eelx29y1GMJHRxv3ksfHhcEDUKzQGZaYsSNEHG4dirgnEZluTDTa8uG_UGwlDEU0Ga8-qaHFlrcjS-unYy0Q3MGxgd8kpXzc4DB/s1600/IMG_4859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYsxzj9tHaLCO9O9xfi1madjSpkZw2DIHRmHEN0Kp_eelx29y1GMJHRxv3ksfHhcEDUKzQGZaYsSNEHG4dirgnEZluTDTa8uG_UGwlDEU0Ga8-qaHFlrcjS-unYy0Q3MGxgd8kpXzc4DB/s1600/IMG_4859.JPG" /></a></div>
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Then fall came, along with Cleo...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN_a12gZOYSGYXTvpscJJ3gBfPUuhCejU9DlE-UiXZIx2FgLweVjhICNFn0liqb_XrdvdsTQct1QgW74JLs7rdUggxWSuMDvwl6RbNGWFtt4abp4t5YJWcEd2VPMQ0Ndyiu_qfmTHJUWV/s1600/IMG_0178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN_a12gZOYSGYXTvpscJJ3gBfPUuhCejU9DlE-UiXZIx2FgLweVjhICNFn0liqb_XrdvdsTQct1QgW74JLs7rdUggxWSuMDvwl6RbNGWFtt4abp4t5YJWcEd2VPMQ0Ndyiu_qfmTHJUWV/s1600/IMG_0178.JPG" /></a></div>
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And I had thanksgiving with friends...</div>
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And family...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1y40q_T5BQcAWtmafDIL1eNQRbwXqIV9aTM5IHJN2y1j0F6vTRuR5grh8nV5rdZ3FaLrUmI_z3yHYkXdOxFb8z1873rSzcBoAVDXEozjA6gBLI4MT1sr3Rzen5wz9AoIEcKeQdKvzRYv6/s1600/IMG_0486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1y40q_T5BQcAWtmafDIL1eNQRbwXqIV9aTM5IHJN2y1j0F6vTRuR5grh8nV5rdZ3FaLrUmI_z3yHYkXdOxFb8z1873rSzcBoAVDXEozjA6gBLI4MT1sr3Rzen5wz9AoIEcKeQdKvzRYv6/s1600/IMG_0486.JPG" /></a></div>
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And Cleo got cuter...</div>
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And I went to Colorado and skied out of bounds...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38MJS6jYJciLbevOzwiyyUqPN0VpbQogFT1lug5E1zlmwZ2k2WbpceDKhHRYnOo6wMLGFQg760BZeZmKsYkWiEftMhtYAkdQkkwlcD5BIB-xs5xTpp8uZ7IuEyGmp492soZ7p0Sg6uc02/s1600/IMG_0875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38MJS6jYJciLbevOzwiyyUqPN0VpbQogFT1lug5E1zlmwZ2k2WbpceDKhHRYnOo6wMLGFQg760BZeZmKsYkWiEftMhtYAkdQkkwlcD5BIB-xs5xTpp8uZ7IuEyGmp492soZ7p0Sg6uc02/s1600/IMG_0875.JPG" /></a></div>
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I went to the Women's March...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwokVw4ZmHkGWqgmC3SEC7uftcJfvcQfZFQS9LBkIO1NSZTmOEtbwNL-p9BnggLEuTPpBDuVmNLxJuHEhskIrS6lWBX6ZclHSjETPh0KPxetFzv2JlUb-3iJ02lcZXHWRIG-MtsWArlw3/s1600/IMG_1061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwokVw4ZmHkGWqgmC3SEC7uftcJfvcQfZFQS9LBkIO1NSZTmOEtbwNL-p9BnggLEuTPpBDuVmNLxJuHEhskIrS6lWBX6ZclHSjETPh0KPxetFzv2JlUb-3iJ02lcZXHWRIG-MtsWArlw3/s1600/IMG_1061.JPG" /></a></div>
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And saw an old house...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJHvjvzpmH-uPeAqZe5SqJ8AdWiO8tyRYiYHsLymcYUdXST13hofO1r8TS6k5ti1WVPOWTkuYdTaR40gKCjzjN4KSQYQT-4au1qYZ0QSqalbQKTOct7PgHR6Q8lsbaRNKFzThtwdlTH44/s1600/IMG_1119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJHvjvzpmH-uPeAqZe5SqJ8AdWiO8tyRYiYHsLymcYUdXST13hofO1r8TS6k5ti1WVPOWTkuYdTaR40gKCjzjN4KSQYQT-4au1qYZ0QSqalbQKTOct7PgHR6Q8lsbaRNKFzThtwdlTH44/s1600/IMG_1119.JPG" /></a></div>
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And went to Patagonia...</div>
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To see beautiful mountains...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuT9kK-0WH9DFmmX3dyAdnWwgjMUBv7e-jCqzQIpR8n8iupinES9h9-QGVZUYPh2v2YuJR3hDsAMjObfxS4RuFaEriuRQVYo8S3kruUsP_a4vrjqhcc_wrxXKqhyphenhyphen9FJDMqrtjOYCQBDZ7/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuT9kK-0WH9DFmmX3dyAdnWwgjMUBv7e-jCqzQIpR8n8iupinES9h9-QGVZUYPh2v2YuJR3hDsAMjObfxS4RuFaEriuRQVYo8S3kruUsP_a4vrjqhcc_wrxXKqhyphenhyphen9FJDMqrtjOYCQBDZ7/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" /></a></div>
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Cute (crazy) kids...</div>
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And hike with friends...</div>
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Then I did some yoga(?) with my sister...</div>
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And went to Spain to visit my other sister...</div>
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And an ancient palace...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKeI2N7Jmnk8HCETjY_zOu7Doe5l-ukzvWKS1uh6k8OcV8F8-NZ5hEJ1jCYpF0N5iiD9xWEO-s9HnEekncLA6_hE82moO_VRzXMsDbK7X__TPNfz5c45l7kU5QREDAxRA3vbFsaMb9OCg/s1600/IMG_2832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKeI2N7Jmnk8HCETjY_zOu7Doe5l-ukzvWKS1uh6k8OcV8F8-NZ5hEJ1jCYpF0N5iiD9xWEO-s9HnEekncLA6_hE82moO_VRzXMsDbK7X__TPNfz5c45l7kU5QREDAxRA3vbFsaMb9OCg/s1600/IMG_2832.JPG" /></a></div>
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Plus Switzerland for cousins but also chocolate...</div>
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Then France for lunch with my moms host family...</div>
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Plus some receptions...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBFdteuZdGIAvJ0vJAbUz5xLcSQ1i2la7SwIvZ9OA4yr4G0W5oVR1o4NOZOHzAWBR7CtwM2lU8tci05MIL8FK7dszjjAXSt7OJ19Hd4IzK8g58lpfZY7EMCsoiyLaQoLucZB4etokxp_G/s1600/IMG_2786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBFdteuZdGIAvJ0vJAbUz5xLcSQ1i2la7SwIvZ9OA4yr4G0W5oVR1o4NOZOHzAWBR7CtwM2lU8tci05MIL8FK7dszjjAXSt7OJ19Hd4IzK8g58lpfZY7EMCsoiyLaQoLucZB4etokxp_G/s1600/IMG_2786.JPG" /></a></div>
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At the American Embassy in Paris...</div>
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Then back to regular high school life...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBef8-5Y3ztc1BfnKzum8EOJ4pmQPohXFcW1iN91kOhP55fqpO2dd9bERdNUL7tEaSX_jtpU-atrjK3FSNi0JPt0-Cborx5TgZqqkNn5FWJ7tQHoYS1TeRduaDOsR4831Z6rAEJ50F4Ey/s1600/IMG_3109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBef8-5Y3ztc1BfnKzum8EOJ4pmQPohXFcW1iN91kOhP55fqpO2dd9bERdNUL7tEaSX_jtpU-atrjK3FSNi0JPt0-Cborx5TgZqqkNn5FWJ7tQHoYS1TeRduaDOsR4831Z6rAEJ50F4Ey/s1600/IMG_3109.JPG" /></a></div>
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And coxing the best Women's Novice 4+ in the Mid Atlantic Region...</div>
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And trying to perfect chocolate chip cookies...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10lPbFHuhcbn-2Gak7Dmp4e5YlNy9Zdl3UYbcRBSghk5g25Txm3Kyq_9ngVu3E6NjkTdQsZA58xkMoha_IC3m37wgVWm98apNLXNyQdKKnTQC895JNl9-ajdF0sI3wlXMWMpdbQxHcvqO/s1600/IMG_3387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10lPbFHuhcbn-2Gak7Dmp4e5YlNy9Zdl3UYbcRBSghk5g25Txm3Kyq_9ngVu3E6NjkTdQsZA58xkMoha_IC3m37wgVWm98apNLXNyQdKKnTQC895JNl9-ajdF0sI3wlXMWMpdbQxHcvqO/s1600/IMG_3387.JPG" /></a></div>
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Also known as making 29384203948390 cookies...</div>
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And then doing it over and over...</div>
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Then Carmen came home...</div>
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And I graduated...</div>
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Finally...</div>
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I set off on Beach Week...</div>
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To Charleston, SC...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vAPveJbLG5Vc02h-ajX-GGqFqFIYEWo2cSVEYVIMHzKT0NOFhMAN0ZJHSNduZDRCamjGhQv0gml4KoNUwOMZcJLR0bZ1etYm42y6UsBKYZI-GlPOK7o0sqJMHsq9FXayZdALeqga8CV1/s1600/fullsizeoutput_26d1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vAPveJbLG5Vc02h-ajX-GGqFqFIYEWo2cSVEYVIMHzKT0NOFhMAN0ZJHSNduZDRCamjGhQv0gml4KoNUwOMZcJLR0bZ1etYm42y6UsBKYZI-GlPOK7o0sqJMHsq9FXayZdALeqga8CV1/s1600/fullsizeoutput_26d1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
To eat good food and see houses that are older than the USA...<img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vAPveJbLG5Vc02h-ajX-GGqFqFIYEWo2cSVEYVIMHzKT0NOFhMAN0ZJHSNduZDRCamjGhQv0gml4KoNUwOMZcJLR0bZ1etYm42y6UsBKYZI-GlPOK7o0sqJMHsq9FXayZdALeqga8CV1/s1600/fullsizeoutput_26d1.jpeg" /></div>
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And built in the most stunning place...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-ShiOJXXo4uDf0kI_mloa8jQkHl-udMw1Op0Xrw_RbfD8ZywnmHgJH1l_FM6oUaNZ11UJp4A9Gsb_2hRsm0uZn33BjgSdtPGlh8Te8SvVLsnllQukAnhlqZASbFo5187t7Vn3c2UlFQv/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2433.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-ShiOJXXo4uDf0kI_mloa8jQkHl-udMw1Op0Xrw_RbfD8ZywnmHgJH1l_FM6oUaNZ11UJp4A9Gsb_2hRsm0uZn33BjgSdtPGlh8Te8SvVLsnllQukAnhlqZASbFo5187t7Vn3c2UlFQv/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2433.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Then summer began...</div>
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And a road trip to Rhode Island...</div>
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For family and a wedding...</div>
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An impromptu trip to North Dakota...</div>
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The stunning landscapes...</div>
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And an authentic summer pow wow at Standing Rock...</div>
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Then later, a trip to Machu Picchu...</div>
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And some beautiful Peruvian mountains...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyDmeOLFki8VWeTxpSmwxjG6UIMpk_tRP3a_LyiBdlJeDqjBWSQHaOWhjf9tPqZYdccaDnY8XjaZhMXw7S1lcWx_voN4A55buycgwo0PzkXfUUQhwNM2pXDSQ_e85cXAVQ7oi9TNB-ZzP/s1600/IMG_6472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyDmeOLFki8VWeTxpSmwxjG6UIMpk_tRP3a_LyiBdlJeDqjBWSQHaOWhjf9tPqZYdccaDnY8XjaZhMXw7S1lcWx_voN4A55buycgwo0PzkXfUUQhwNM2pXDSQ_e85cXAVQ7oi9TNB-ZzP/s1600/IMG_6472.jpg" /></a></div>
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And countryside...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLB_vlpi7uV4872bHD28L0_pRGqPsgNzcufewMepIhngcuK3Z_o-Z1iLnHAAIsptjFohp2JCw1he_zp4xp0bv4RYjHlJroLhpdYmn7C9IXNy5XQ_FohXVANCdiyxjeFuOAEkfzpzsbtkmL/s1600/IMG_6900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLB_vlpi7uV4872bHD28L0_pRGqPsgNzcufewMepIhngcuK3Z_o-Z1iLnHAAIsptjFohp2JCw1he_zp4xp0bv4RYjHlJroLhpdYmn7C9IXNy5XQ_FohXVANCdiyxjeFuOAEkfzpzsbtkmL/s1600/IMG_6900.JPG" /></a></div>
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Perfect for hiking through...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblCKUj5sK5F35dvC-ooAnVV_T03GyBW7eTdyhLgyiic7lnPWvTqiI1JOwNRNoiPRFYcURvOlo6hQQZUoSB0ynoyPWcVpR58RSyHoGarOz9jlQ69fk6g_UOgoP1l8pMQ2fCdk85GZ1xX9U/s1600/medium.mov" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblCKUj5sK5F35dvC-ooAnVV_T03GyBW7eTdyhLgyiic7lnPWvTqiI1JOwNRNoiPRFYcURvOlo6hQQZUoSB0ynoyPWcVpR58RSyHoGarOz9jlQ69fk6g_UOgoP1l8pMQ2fCdk85GZ1xX9U/s640/medium.mov" width="640" /></a></div>
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Some lovely shops...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzm35GvBJflyDPq8J_YErswmhNerWHWuNEoC70AYHZjq-UO6PBusViuPL0MP6VjnIFSFLaxIHOzrkzgwe_Wgag7Zm5BkyDpOfWrpLGo92bXtQY2iG2dDkzjBL4NMAeVVhFPDl3mq7ldfK/s1600/IMG_4593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzm35GvBJflyDPq8J_YErswmhNerWHWuNEoC70AYHZjq-UO6PBusViuPL0MP6VjnIFSFLaxIHOzrkzgwe_Wgag7Zm5BkyDpOfWrpLGo92bXtQY2iG2dDkzjBL4NMAeVVhFPDl3mq7ldfK/s1600/IMG_4593.JPG" /></a></div>
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And gorgeous views...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-itNtIq81a9OgrMaTb6N2onT5MmBt7vJ9Pmgd_BBqkXA3TcDr43Wdu3X0nzpHsP4RbaPctMEbLdqHCfiqtDZXt-ldnAw8pbXoQmOetaBG7cBzVtwUNBwR3IlpYPMMPuRnQOkMm9qqeJD/s1600/IMG_5133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-itNtIq81a9OgrMaTb6N2onT5MmBt7vJ9Pmgd_BBqkXA3TcDr43Wdu3X0nzpHsP4RbaPctMEbLdqHCfiqtDZXt-ldnAw8pbXoQmOetaBG7cBzVtwUNBwR3IlpYPMMPuRnQOkMm9qqeJD/s1600/IMG_5133.JPG" /></a></div>
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And plenty of babysitting...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLn_nY5DnpggXu2Q0QG4TYJKN34SIZkjXrt-wNTVXYDJrKEoz-kSHWWqzubfAvqV-8-FTUaWden1oXz_z5PnevtEVCWYrmKUV3EYuziXO_OezR2bYNff93-UHPxKPj5ZSQKJ99SOx1rS1/s1600/IMG_5212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLn_nY5DnpggXu2Q0QG4TYJKN34SIZkjXrt-wNTVXYDJrKEoz-kSHWWqzubfAvqV-8-FTUaWden1oXz_z5PnevtEVCWYrmKUV3EYuziXO_OezR2bYNff93-UHPxKPj5ZSQKJ99SOx1rS1/s1600/IMG_5212.JPG" /></a></div>
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Hard work...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW1Z9NDTeqPJlrWwzWk9diEYtwMDwG1e-EQfWNw7JwLBYDXW7jBdUJu0lxv8CUc-6L1n8DWxrdtdfSwYvLaDBD_Q6o015A8mCW-hBELgH93o3UxPs3GwVyYBgEn9KPNdfcZwuTcJwjknj/s1600/IMG_5215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW1Z9NDTeqPJlrWwzWk9diEYtwMDwG1e-EQfWNw7JwLBYDXW7jBdUJu0lxv8CUc-6L1n8DWxrdtdfSwYvLaDBD_Q6o015A8mCW-hBELgH93o3UxPs3GwVyYBgEn9KPNdfcZwuTcJwjknj/s1600/IMG_5215.JPG" /></a></div>
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Wild rides...</div>
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Visits with good friends in good (tea!) places..</div>
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And now I'm here in Vermont - ready to start a new year and a new adventure.</div>
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{more to follow, including details from this past year}</div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-81895006772176533142017-04-09T11:12:00.001-07:002017-04-09T11:24:08.704-07:00Europe March 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Just a few weeks ago, I got to go abroad for an incredible visit to Europe. I got to see my sister, who is studying abroad in Spain, visit my host family from last year, and hang out with my aunt and mom. SYA France celebrated it's fiftieth anniversary, and I got to be a part of it. I met so many incredible people in those few days, and it made me really excited to see what my classmates do as they get older. I forgot my camera at home so I was only able to snap photos on my phone. Here are a few of them, hope you enjoy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0tq6w2UK3kKwI89IFKzkXTdZlMOlrhNU4SjxJldWn8fIi-v5hh_ZZ9QH6G7P71uyOX2Uuo_6juXHFhDG40Uh-XitTcMl0wKh_zK-dtAKQqdvWvW9IKuFl7QrfLIGIe61Gj5GhEorbzyd/s640/blogger-image-158292841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0tq6w2UK3kKwI89IFKzkXTdZlMOlrhNU4SjxJldWn8fIi-v5hh_ZZ9QH6G7P71uyOX2Uuo_6juXHFhDG40Uh-XitTcMl0wKh_zK-dtAKQqdvWvW9IKuFl7QrfLIGIe61Gj5GhEorbzyd/s640/blogger-image-158292841.jpg" /></a></div>
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We arrived in Madrid a bit early, so we went out to find some lunch. This 'mercado' is like a farmers market set up, but inside, with mini gourmet restaurants for each stall. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-rM3zjvrjQNS3_RandH0m4n9PNmosequtY13lLlIgPzLy2Pl5aHQuC8CTvNDtFAYmCA9ndyeVY-tcwJSLEwRAr1k9hzY3DxnUOdDiAqofh0bZMMXDzWZpJORth_hTDcm2okFiiZWjUXQ/s640/blogger-image-38939284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-rM3zjvrjQNS3_RandH0m4n9PNmosequtY13lLlIgPzLy2Pl5aHQuC8CTvNDtFAYmCA9ndyeVY-tcwJSLEwRAr1k9hzY3DxnUOdDiAqofh0bZMMXDzWZpJORth_hTDcm2okFiiZWjUXQ/s640/blogger-image-38939284.jpg" /></a></div>
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I'm going to brag... I found a super super cool hotel in Madrid, on Gran Via, for a reasonable price. The fact that it matches my aesthetic perfectly (and included snacks) only helps.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFqiXD-LjiUtu5HKJDipP0Xl05mI5JLbOE7xugR7Ad6DlNJRqV5yPeX71nQFyGzXWWXBigHoJUQwqeRg0XTUB8PWDOdYbRda5gBCYYpul1Co33CbOsssmppoqs7Ipz2SPzVL3pXnfmKa7D/s640/blogger-image-608336779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFqiXD-LjiUtu5HKJDipP0Xl05mI5JLbOE7xugR7Ad6DlNJRqV5yPeX71nQFyGzXWWXBigHoJUQwqeRg0XTUB8PWDOdYbRda5gBCYYpul1Co33CbOsssmppoqs7Ipz2SPzVL3pXnfmKa7D/s400/blogger-image-608336779.jpg" width="225" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMGUSLdGgSS7ob6dSvt-M7jx0PN3TDn7p3PaO98q6OF6grD8WIII-bqXsyj1Mgs4rRF7ir98xhcBy7eFm0fB4CSFwelBTVyg_NBWYPgi359Mr2TSNa3oNnhZhzxIuoGmgPrZjdUPal4Jz/s640/blogger-image-655113740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMGUSLdGgSS7ob6dSvt-M7jx0PN3TDn7p3PaO98q6OF6grD8WIII-bqXsyj1Mgs4rRF7ir98xhcBy7eFm0fB4CSFwelBTVyg_NBWYPgi359Mr2TSNa3oNnhZhzxIuoGmgPrZjdUPal4Jz/s400/blogger-image-655113740.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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The roof top terrace and restaurant and pool at 'Dear Hotel' was so stunning that my mom and I decided to stick around for dinner... And breakfast...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yB7THBIYwfW-823bCnIcxeHknuL0Vm8dLMzICrF1nSQ36l1UiCm2OdKfH36yv0BKmOxcYtjxhQ7ZHBTJ0CLhACTy9YzJJQ1oSSbR0tC9TbBh8-iEY56VCCpKs31rn-gWoSkQusYmZY7k/s640/blogger-image-107393979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yB7THBIYwfW-823bCnIcxeHknuL0Vm8dLMzICrF1nSQ36l1UiCm2OdKfH36yv0BKmOxcYtjxhQ7ZHBTJ0CLhACTy9YzJJQ1oSSbR0tC9TbBh8-iEY56VCCpKs31rn-gWoSkQusYmZY7k/s400/blogger-image-107393979.jpg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfvi-sKR7fHFVN8UzKG6OFf29pJiDLWCBYh_QY2xaS1LNoOptmSx2NW_lSJYTFWyVrpeRtvynaxkmrT-EyHF0xg0nlaQtNyTZfd2U8cByYJZwoYVdgATMqYZOVjJ-lRIhE093WkPwD1uH/s640/blogger-image--956369522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfvi-sKR7fHFVN8UzKG6OFf29pJiDLWCBYh_QY2xaS1LNoOptmSx2NW_lSJYTFWyVrpeRtvynaxkmrT-EyHF0xg0nlaQtNyTZfd2U8cByYJZwoYVdgATMqYZOVjJ-lRIhE093WkPwD1uH/s400/blogger-image--956369522.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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For our one morning in Madrid, we decided to go see El Palacio Real, partially because it was one of the only places open. How's this for a (thanksgiving?) dinner table?!?</div>
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The castle was full of stunning pieces, from a variety of monarchs. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIW1xrCOp3ywBUJgvEuwjdY1_IOEQKQ2eZV9hcSyrRb_TybMj2qwHK-w4qz65cVI6S1ymn9I3tFcv0-H1-hR7pXd0_dQ94AfIT3WxUka9M_IOcSa27s8Zyru-L8QdV5mFxyjxHqMyuTw2K/s640/blogger-image-1285685887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIW1xrCOp3ywBUJgvEuwjdY1_IOEQKQ2eZV9hcSyrRb_TybMj2qwHK-w4qz65cVI6S1ymn9I3tFcv0-H1-hR7pXd0_dQ94AfIT3WxUka9M_IOcSa27s8Zyru-L8QdV5mFxyjxHqMyuTw2K/s400/blogger-image-1285685887.jpg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2mSyqYYmB3nSSN9igzY6ZpX6GYjBuWc3w2D8u6gG1rbbCyhpX8EujAi7OVe19ZPndMXfj9MP9-0IQRgxzmHj5TxfflAV0uU-bxd8x5B4VwYqbePderizkyFIeV-HA7TE73btMMnyC9HN/s640/blogger-image-292217291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2mSyqYYmB3nSSN9igzY6ZpX6GYjBuWc3w2D8u6gG1rbbCyhpX8EujAi7OVe19ZPndMXfj9MP9-0IQRgxzmHj5TxfflAV0uU-bxd8x5B4VwYqbePderizkyFIeV-HA7TE73btMMnyC9HN/s400/blogger-image-292217291.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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After the speed visit to Madrid, we went to Zaragoza to see my sister Carmen. Her host dad was awesome and played tour guide - he took us to a castle called the Aljaferia. </div>
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It was originally for the Moorish kings ( see above) so the center of the castle has heavy Arabic/Islamic influences. However, as time went on different kings just kept adding on. Here, a fairly typical European (Christian) monarch's style can be seen in the ceiling decoration. </div>
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Another big attraction in Zaragoza is El Pilar, a cathedral built around a pillar that Mary apparently told one of the apostles to build. </div>
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After visiting Zaragoza, we took the train to Barcelona. From there I flew to Geneva to visit my cousin. </div>
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She took me to an incredible open air, Thursday evening, cheese market, where we ate excellent cheese with excellent bread in the square. </div>
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Friday night, there was a reception at the City Hall for SYA alums (celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the program) and their host families, as well as old teachers and just about anyone involved in the school. Here is my mother with her host parents, so many years after she stayed with them. Hopefully, I'll have a similar picture one day as well.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGg9MF6Nt3uXX3CveE_lZDvMOo5N9zavNIZq42Xq4-0nZ-ie8f1bMri-bD7fZs_gtXFSlL_qC8YcztbujE8n3IfnRIY7NtSIjzr3eHAUD3Fin4sndustgZQ5rX1C6-LHD5ffmcl8hg_rL/s640/blogger-image--1344016429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGg9MF6Nt3uXX3CveE_lZDvMOo5N9zavNIZq42Xq4-0nZ-ie8f1bMri-bD7fZs_gtXFSlL_qC8YcztbujE8n3IfnRIY7NtSIjzr3eHAUD3Fin4sndustgZQ5rX1C6-LHD5ffmcl8hg_rL/s400/blogger-image--1344016429.jpg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkvbWXxuBrZiQckjGoBl9oxJ76D7cC0cmYS1yCWblNOyAw7vzrkkr-uPufeEKSWBhJyYMU7sz5HDDhuPcY6dvn_3Jr-c-8Qx_-nksLzlTa2TktZE8v02Fa_jBogTsKKoGgpG-bcqWmAMj/s640/blogger-image--591401090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkvbWXxuBrZiQckjGoBl9oxJ76D7cC0cmYS1yCWblNOyAw7vzrkkr-uPufeEKSWBhJyYMU7sz5HDDhuPcY6dvn_3Jr-c-8Qx_-nksLzlTa2TktZE8v02Fa_jBogTsKKoGgpG-bcqWmAMj/s400/blogger-image--591401090.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Saturday night, there was a reception and program at the Opera house in Rennes. My mother, aunt, their host parents and my host parents were all there with me and a few hundred other SYA people.</div>
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Sunday was my mother's host father's birthday celebration. My mother, aunt, and I got to celebrate with the Fady family - the parents, children and grandchildren.</div>
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Monday night, I got to eat dinner in one of my favorite tiny restaurants in Paris, Pirouette. </div>
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My mom had an absolutely terrible time getting into Paris, so we ordered off the menu for her. She arrived just as they were just serving the appetizers. </div>
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SYA organized a tour of the Maison de Verre, a very cool house tucked away in a courtyard off of the street. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLm3WrSGBtJFL0kUkDZOBb0J1a289SlDNU1udXfnQfcsY9oLXWetaCQogVRP2J-8RKgFX2J821Q8LjPOr-5ozRCfpVk9L5cO6dXcmT4xfnX7LGzpFt_PiJoVYdHLvXlHFjH-0cDRfqTOH/s640/blogger-image-1202311325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLm3WrSGBtJFL0kUkDZOBb0J1a289SlDNU1udXfnQfcsY9oLXWetaCQogVRP2J-8RKgFX2J821Q8LjPOr-5ozRCfpVk9L5cO6dXcmT4xfnX7LGzpFt_PiJoVYdHLvXlHFjH-0cDRfqTOH/s640/blogger-image-1202311325.jpg" /></a><br />
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Tuesday night, The American Embassy in Paris hosted a reception for SYA in the Ambassador's official residence. </div>
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Absolutely stunning. The huge back yard in the middle of Paris, complete with a Calder mobile. The inside of the house was beautiful as well.</div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-71996983532838008042016-09-10T21:14:00.000-07:002016-09-10T21:15:45.840-07:00(premature) Reminiscence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Some assorted pictures because I've started life here, but I still miss life there. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgEAfr1qRMtzxNX_CSWMNG1R-AkpsVzQIoVn-VSG-QKobEDyxxnMEyxcSPxZrrGN3GZlBq-HfkZOHKClLbI5T7lKwySq4lzZI9qFXkAjKhgypv-eXsKBKg6O3AAUFYCnnH1O0XMLSphsN/s1600/IMG_0149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgEAfr1qRMtzxNX_CSWMNG1R-AkpsVzQIoVn-VSG-QKobEDyxxnMEyxcSPxZrrGN3GZlBq-HfkZOHKClLbI5T7lKwySq4lzZI9qFXkAjKhgypv-eXsKBKg6O3AAUFYCnnH1O0XMLSphsN/s1600/IMG_0149.jpg" /></a></div>
Hiking with my class mates over spring break, in the gorges of Verdun.<br />
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The view during said hike.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-mccW-sF-SHu7X2FuvMYIyPjp4K9yUl19vShiZt6N1OjHtk4o0vvIm7DQ0_9OMvqlWYdxFwBRb3ukB17uZiSCZO4fTzK-0A0peX27rWzC3MpJA0VTExpQFBs9da5oRD9hsYC6CBBIaT5/s1600/IMG_0218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-mccW-sF-SHu7X2FuvMYIyPjp4K9yUl19vShiZt6N1OjHtk4o0vvIm7DQ0_9OMvqlWYdxFwBRb3ukB17uZiSCZO4fTzK-0A0peX27rWzC3MpJA0VTExpQFBs9da5oRD9hsYC6CBBIaT5/s1600/IMG_0218.jpg" /></a></div>
Beaune, a cool old hospital/nun place that also sells wine.<br />
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Two lovely lovely people at Sunset, our place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZojorWNMyutFBB8_JS_OJi3i7QQlFEscyVA3MPmwHfnNdcAf-H1nqNd8ix6UhNoQvYEs_zM-iTHQ9qW6JEzW0YHDvCQx0bERvhP90oKPnE_vQCCcoZFP0jxcAnWVHjNhVKjvFoxDTZu0o/s1600/IMG_0395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZojorWNMyutFBB8_JS_OJi3i7QQlFEscyVA3MPmwHfnNdcAf-H1nqNd8ix6UhNoQvYEs_zM-iTHQ9qW6JEzW0YHDvCQx0bERvhP90oKPnE_vQCCcoZFP0jxcAnWVHjNhVKjvFoxDTZu0o/s1600/IMG_0395.jpg" /></a></div>
My host family, all sitting on my host brother on his birthday.<br />
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Me, my host mom, her friend Anne and my brother's friend Charlene at my sort of surprise going away party.<br />
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Me and X on the last day of school.<br />
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*again<br />
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Me and S on our last day together.<br />
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One of my favorite coffee cups ever.<br />
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Me and my mom in Paris, taking obligatory selfies.<br />
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Sitges, the spanish beach town where I spent the first half of spring break.<br />
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A rare sighting of me and my sister's names spelled properly on tourist toys.<br />
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El Pilar, in Zaragoza, when I visited Kate. Also where Carmen is now.<br />
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Sagrada Familia.<br />
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Tapas in Barcelona.<br />
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<br />Roquebrune, where we stayed over spring break.Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-44736529730831042912016-07-18T18:39:00.001-07:002016-07-18T18:39:10.874-07:00the next adventureSunday morning, I arrived in Brasil after a long night on the airplane. My sisters and I caught up with family, and then they headed off to camp with some cousins this morning. I spent the day with my mom and cousin, relaxing before my next adventure...shadowing my super cool movie director aunt. I've never been around her in a professional environment (I hadn't even seen her films until recently - they're awesome) so I am really looking forward to it ! <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It seems high energy - working in two cities!! - so it should be fun. I </span>also have no idea what shadowing will entail but I'm excited to find out... We'll see what happens ! Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-20572567759087912622016-07-16T21:37:00.000-07:002016-07-16T22:09:17.597-07:00A Most Unfortunate Hike<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#000000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62ahdQrdtuTLES4zpVb5sdkTVN1Hs2tdjwaVw7QFd0SJMN_cKJmjPQtp_JAYu0oO8Bi8HQr0SRho7v_qOqGrwOWyjF8RGf5HQwqnhyC1q-b4yyrGrPI-SYTTm5TeUgS2uQMUtHblGd7JN/s640/blogger-image-1728589420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62ahdQrdtuTLES4zpVb5sdkTVN1Hs2tdjwaVw7QFd0SJMN_cKJmjPQtp_JAYu0oO8Bi8HQr0SRho7v_qOqGrwOWyjF8RGf5HQwqnhyC1q-b4yyrGrPI-SYTTm5TeUgS2uQMUtHblGd7JN/s640/blogger-image-1728589420.jpg"></a></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Driving home with Carmen, I mentioned that it might be cool to see some old trees - specifically a virgin forest. We asked Dad about where we could find them in Virginia and he suggested we go hike in Ramsey's Draft. Apparently, there is a stand of virgin forest hemlocks at the end of a six mile hike. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dad was super excited and offered to take us there himself, probably because it was the first time in a while that me and my sisters showed any interest in the outdoorsy type of stuff he loves. We agreed to do the hike - longer that we had originally bargained for - and made plans to go that Sunday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We all woke up at 6 (Susana got roped in depite having no interest or desire whatsoever to participate) and drove two hours to the head of the trail. Dad offered us the choice between an out-and-back or a more scenic, slightly longer (16 mile) loop. We chose the loop. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The light rain should have been a sign but we kept going, even through the stinging nettles we enoutered growing over the path a few miles in. Our legs turned red with whatever toxins the leaves contain and at least one foot out eight slipped in at each creek crossing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Six and a half miles in, the only hemlocks to be seen were the dead ones laying across our path. Very few (we saw maybe three) were still standing after some disease killed them all. Not an issue, because scenic views awaited. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We'd been going for about six hours already when we spotted another group coming towards us. They told us that the trail faded out at that we had probably missed the same turn that they had. The trails weren't very well maintained so it seemed possible - until we had gone over the same stretch about five times, looking for the turn that wasn't there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We consulted the map - what had looked like a trail was actually just the dotted line delineating the park boundary, but conveniently placed so as to look like a continuation (all the way back to the truck) of our original path. So a mile sixteen, we realized we were going bush whacking. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We started at the top of the ridge, worked our way down the ravine (over moss and fallen leaf covered loose rocks) in the rain, trying to find the creek that led back to the trail, urged on by dad that "we really don't want to have to spend the night out here." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Panic wasn't too far off - I began cataloging the contents of my back pack. One protein bar, one trail mix bar, a bag of mini nutterbutters, some assorted candies, a bottle of juice, two water bottles, knife, lighter, wallet, rain jacket... Surviving would be possible, but pretty uncomfortable. Discusses later revealed that all four of us had worked out basically the same internal dialogue. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Move fast but don't get hurt because it's a bitch to get you out of here if you do!" Great.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Finally, we found the couple from before (they had the same idea) then the creek, then the trail shortly afterwards. Two miles on the trail back to the car seemed doable, especially after doubting that we would even get to see the truck before going to sleep that night. That certainly doesn't mean the two miles were easy - my knee was swollen, we were all bleeding from scrapes (and one impaling, sus) and every muscle ached. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ten hours after leaving the truck, it finally came back into view. We ran. More like fast hobbled. The two hour car ride back was bliss - no pressure on blistered feet, just sitting and doing nothing. The showers at home were even better. The review of that day's events as I tried to settle into bed (difficult with the stiffness - I felt like an old lady) contained the full spectrum of emotions - excitement, fatigue, dispair, fear, hope, persistence etc... <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Not knowing if you'll survive danger -even a relatively small one - can inspire quite a bit. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Most of all, it made me feel alive. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At the end of it all, despite all the complaining, the four of us got one killer story for family Fourth of July dinner the next day. And I might have a topic for my college essays... Something about persistence, angry little sisters, the power of positive thinking and smiles, and walking through clouds in the rain. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-65805271083542752912016-07-16T21:34:00.002-07:002017-04-08T17:01:48.101-07:00...blogging attempt 3792491<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've finally realized that "trying to make up for lost time" on this blog will like not happen, if only because I keep having new and exciting things happen to me. Seeing as I have neglected to write for three and a half months, that task has now become rather daunting. Hopefully, some retrospectives will eventually fill in some of the (many) gaps I've left in this blog. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All that said - I've decided to begin making a concerted effort to write more. In the past this has not always been successful but I think it's worth a try. Influence and inspiration for this renewed effort comes from two sources. One, my regret of not having kept a more detailed account / journal during my time in France - and my desire to avoid this same regret in the future. Two, Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche's "Americanah" - a summer-reading-book-turned-favorite featuring a main character that blogged. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Maybe if I write, I will remember what I've lived and what I thought at the time. And maybe, just maybe, if I write enough, my blog will become something more than recountings of my recent life experiences - maybe something more profound will emerge. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So here I am, with a renewed domain ownership and some new post ideas, somewhere over the Atlantic. Let see how long it lasts :)</span><br />
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-88861687165150822182016-07-16T21:34:00.001-07:002016-07-16T22:13:59.152-07:00...blogging attempt 3792491<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've finally realized that "trying to make up for lost time" on this blog will like not happen, if only because I keep having new and exciting things happen to me. Seeing as I have neglected to write for three and a half months, that task has now become rather daunting. Hopefully, some retrospectives will eventually fill in some of the (many) gaps I've left in this blog. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All that said - I've decided to begin making a concerted effort to write more. In the past this has not always been successful but I think it's worth a try. Influence and inspiration for this renewed effort comes from two sources. One, my regret of not having kept a more detailed account / journal during my time in France - and my desire to avoid this same regret in the future. Two, Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche's "Americanah" - a summer-reading-book-turned-favorite featuring a main character that blogged. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Maybe if I write, I will remember what I've lived and what I thought at the time. And maybe, just maybe, if I write enough, my blog will become something more than recountings of my recent life experiences - maybe something more profound will emerge. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So here I am, with a renewed domain ownership and some new post ideas, somewhere over the Atlantic. Let see how long it lasts :)</span><br />
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-40513178816191296942016-03-31T11:06:00.003-07:002016-04-07T05:21:59.022-07:00bordeaux pics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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so so many pictures.... and this is after i edited down from 1000 (and copied them onto my laptop three times each then had to delete the duplicate/triplicates) this was one of the strangest easter weekends I've ever spent but it was absolutely incredible. so so lucky to be in a beautiful place with beautiful people.<br />
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xoxo lu</div>
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...i have so so so so so so so many pictures that I would like to post, and so many blog posts I would love to write. i promise I'm working on it :)</div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-74660697421458753662016-03-31T11:00:00.002-07:002016-03-31T11:01:19.020-07:00luxembourg pix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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this goes super nicely with my sya blogger post that sort of talked about luxembourg... i promise I'm going to write more about the conference soon, but the link to what I've done so far is below. http://www.chroniclesofasmalllife.com/2016/03/taking-advantage-of-proximity-sya.html</div>
<br />Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-30291462406712897102016-03-24T00:50:00.001-07:002016-03-31T10:52:18.139-07:00*on learning to laugh at myself and eudaimonia*<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Once upon a time a seventeen year old girl called her mom from her bedroom... But it wasn't a lazy call inspired by a desire for cookies from the kitchen downstairs. See the girl, she's me. And when I call my mom on FaceTime , it's because I'm 6000 kilometers away from where I used to call home. For the past five months, I've been lucky enough to live a dual life - the sixteen years I spent in my birth family in the United States and the time I've spent in France. When I refer to my home now, my friends have to ask if I'm talking about Virginia or Chartres. I consider myself to have four siblings - two French brothers and two American sisters. When I send text messages, autocorrect will scramble everything until change the keyboard to the right language. The duality has created an overlapping, far more vivid version of myself.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I've spent five months abroad - only two percent of my life so far - but I've begun to recognize the impact it's had on me. I've developed a tradition of telling at least one funny story each time I call home...and often it involves me learning from some mistake I've made. At the beginning of the year, missing a bus was enough to have me choking back tears on the phone with the school director. Now, accidentally temporarily staining the couch blue remains awkward, but afterwards I could barely tell my mom the story because I was laughing so much at how frightened I'd been. I used to think I knew how to laugh at myself , but I was wrong. It's something I've mastered here in France. It's gotten to the point that if I call home and don't tell a story about some bizarre "learning experience" I get asked if everything's okay.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My new environment - and being alone in it - has also given me the opportunity to learn who I actually am , and what was more a factor of the environment I'd always been in. I've begun appreciating even unfortunate events, because even the very worst offer something to learn from or laugh about. I've even learned a favorite word - eudaimonia- from a book for English class. It's a Greek word that usually gets translates to mean "happiness" but is actually closer to "human flourishing." I loved the definition but it took me a while to realize that it fits with so many other discoveries I've made this year. Happiness sometimes means just success , while flourishing means more learning and progressing , mistakes included. These months have taught me the value of difficulties mixed with success. Uncertainty , challenges makes success far more meaningful. At seventeen, I know I'm probably at a pretty resilient phase of my life but I hope I can always carry this crooked appreciation for overcoming difficulty with me. That alone would make my year ten thousand times worth it.<br />
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***This was an SYA Blogger post from February that I forgot to post :) it's here nowLuisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-63345123006224295792016-03-24T00:42:00.001-07:002016-03-24T00:46:20.262-07:00*Taking Advantage of Proximity*<div>
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My year abroad has taken me far away from home, but at the same time has brought me far closer to certain things. I'm closer to knowing what I want to be when I grow up, who I am. I'm closer with my American family in certain ways, despite the distance. I've become close with my French family. I am closer to French cultural and linguistic fluency. The list goes on and on, but recent events make me want to mention one specific thing - being in France has brought me closer to so many undiscovered places. </div>
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I've visited Paris, somewhere that used to be a faraway fairytale but is now only a few hours away. I traveled to Prague, and didn't even change time zones. I've been to so many fantastic French cities that before we're not even a part of my imagination, but now are practically in my backyard. I'm planning my spring break with a friend, and we're talking about going to Barcelona because it's "close." Currently, I'm riding the train home from Luxembourg. </div>
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I list all of this not to make you jealous , but because I am realizing the immense fortune I have to be so close to such a diverse array of places. My trip to Luxembourg truly emphasized this idea - I was there for a Global Issues Network conference. The conference was absolutely incredible - student run, with fascinating keynote speakers and student presentations. But despite the incredible innovations and ideas shared with me, what really struck me was the diversity of origins. I was there from France, but also as an American. In many settings, this would be considered confusing or abnormal. </div>
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At GIN, my peers were of Spanish-French origin studying in Switzerland - to give one example. SYA Italy - formerly a distant group of similarly minded students - attended as well. (Getting to meet some of them was incredible and a bit surreal!) Me being nearly trilingual was average. Students from Dubai, Turkey, all over the European Union had assembled with as much nonchalance as a group of east coast American schools. However, this group of schools offered most valuably, in my opinion, the incredible wealth of knowledge and world perspectives that this facilitated. One of the most discussed topics was the refugee crisis - and we had the opportunity to discuss it with asylum seekers in Luxembourg , as well as Germans and Greeks, some of the key players, not to mention so many other perspectives. Each of the different perspectives enriched the conversation immensely, even though the opinions were very different at times. The unique mix caused so many stories were told and fascinating discussions to develop - I have never been so inspired by people my own age.</div>
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The train ride to these inspiring conversations took only a few hours, yet upon arrival I was immersed in a different culture and a completely different atmosphere thoughtful discussion. I felt truly lucky to be so close to such a diverse group of students that allowed for multifaceted discussions. Europe seems special to me in that it contains so many unique cultures in such close proximity. For me, the conference truly highlighted this. In the few short months I have left, I look forward to continuing to explore my new country and continent - and I encourage any one else that has the opportunity (at you , SYA class of 2017) to do the same.<br />
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SYA Blog - March Post </div>
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***photos and more thoughts on the conference will appear soon</div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-44498160535632269682016-02-28T13:19:00.001-08:002016-03-31T10:51:17.094-07:00a brief explanation // more thoughts<div style="text-align: center;">
as I've become more and more used to my life here , I have noticed myself forgetting about my blog. perhaps the reason behind it is that I've forgotten to be amazed by my surroundings but it also struck me that this has become my life and in doing so is no longer a series of events I want to share with anyone and everyone. the most profound things that are happening to me now ... those are becoming sometimes uncomfortable reflections , life lessons specific to me. en bref - not always the things I want to share on a blog. as I continue through my year , I've admittedly left out so much from my blog - some purposefully but much simply due to lack of attention. therefor from now on I will post anything and everything I want (see the last post ... great example of me doing "n'importe quoi" or you could call it being inspired mid snapchat conversation / by a sweatshirt emblazoned France) which might mean some pretty random stuff. and of course - the chateaus and independent travel posts that I've missed will eventually appear. and the English class assignments will continue , etc etc. </div>
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anyway , a mini reflection on blogging abroad. things are about to get very causal - just about as casual and melangé as they can be - on the blog and hopefully that will mean more (realistic) content. I am so so fortunate and I hope to document it in a way that is worth looking back at years from now...but at the very least I will have some fantastic memories. I'm tired . Good night :) and à la prochaine !</div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-6489502878526334352016-02-28T13:13:00.001-08:002016-02-29T01:31:58.838-08:00I took a selfie // and had a quick thought<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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someone told me to come home today and it made me realize that i have two now. two homes worth missing , real homes. </div>
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then i realized the impossibility of simultaneously inhabiting them , and my heart broke a little as I realized how lucky i am. </div>
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*this was almost an Instagram post </div>
<br />Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-14606426612938989752016-01-25T12:00:00.000-08:002016-03-24T00:51:29.208-07:00*holidays // advent*<div style="text-align: center;">
**this is something I'd been wanting to share regardless , but also wrote about for an SYA Campus reporter post with the prompt "tell a story about one of your favorite moments from winter break"**</div>
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Ever since before I can remember, I've spent every single winter break in the exact same place with the exact same people. Needless to say that as excited as I was for the winter break, I was a tiny bit apprehensive towards all of the change. I was worried that things would be too different, that I would miss my old traditions too much or that I would feel too out of place to enjoy it. I couldn't have been more mistaken. </div>
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My Christmas season began with one of my favorite stories from the entire year - the war of the advent calendars - and I've since decided that fighting over chocolate is a true sign of sibling-hood. Thanks to the pleas of my host brothers, my fantastic host dad gifted all three of us chocolate filled calendars the night of November 31st. My brothers and I (17) definitely qualify as having outgrown the tradition but that didn't keep us from being extremely excited. Nor did it stop my brother from stealing my first chocolate and eating it...</div>
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The next day, I came home from school and teamed up with my little brother to carefully remove all of the chocolates from our big brothers calendar, hide them and leave a note behind for him. We carefully closed the box up and put it back in his room, then hid each of our calendars to prevent anything similar from happening...then we waited. After dinner, I proposed a bet - if my brothers could find my calendar in five minutes they could have one of my chocolates but if not I got one of their chocolates. </div>
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My oldest brother accepted and my little brother and I exchanged sneaky glances. When he lost and went to get his chocolate to pay up, he found only a little piece of paper with a little note in its place...and so the war began. Our parents had gone out to dinner and my little brother and I were on the ground laughing, so no one was there to stop him while he opened every cabinet in the house looking for his chocolates. After every article of soothing was emptied from both mine and my little brothers closets we realized we should probably return the chocolate. </div>
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By the end of our war, all three of us were laughing uncontrollably. Chocolate is pretty great, but our behavior definitely had not been consistent with our ages. We cleaned everything up together and didn't say anything when our parents came home. It was only the next night when they asked what we'd done the night before that all three of us burst out laughing, and then had to explain everything. By the end of the story - with all three of us interrupting each other and trying to tell our own versions - my entire family was laughing at our immaturity. </div>
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I might have been worried about my winter break being too different but I couldn't have imagined how wrong I was. My holiday break was full of so many incredible experiences that I could write about, like seeing my family named carved into the base of a statue on a castle gate in Prague or adventuring through Paris with my dad visitings places he'd lived thirty years before. I saw incredible places, ate fantastic food, spent time with my dad that came to visit, introduced him to my host family, got to spend vacation time with the best second family I could hope for...the list goes on. I'm incredibly fortunate to have lived those experiences , but I chose to write about the advent chocolate was because it represents something incredibly important to me - the bonds I've formed in France. </div>
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I've met incredible kids from all over the US that I know I will stay friends with long after our plane ride home, but I've also found an incredible second family. I hadn't realized it at first, but ever since arriving in France I've become more and more adopted into my new family. I'm sure that I'll feel even more a part of the family when the time comes to go home, but I try not to think about leaving. </div>
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Instead, I prefer thinking about how incredibly lucky I am to have found the most welcoming French family - two more wise parents to look out for me and the best two brothers I could ever hope for. It's random moments, like remembering that we nearly destroyed the entire house for a box of chocolates, that remind me just how close I've become with these incredible people in just a few months. It's something I already know I'll never forget. </div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-51181986470710895732016-01-17T13:09:00.001-08:002016-01-17T13:09:13.204-08:00Terra Incognita // English Class<br />
My English class recently read an excerpt from Rebecca Solnit's book "A Field Guide to Getting Lost" and we were asked to respond. In her piece, Solnit's explores the concept of getting lost by offering examples and commentary of various manifestations of "being lost." She opens her piece by offering an anecdote about her first time getting drunk on Elijah's wine, then dives into being lost by reflecting on the Jewish tradition of opening the door to the unknown once a year at the Passover feast. She continues on to offer more theories on getting lost not only in the physical sense. She addresses Meno and Aristotle's questions about searching for the unknown and accepting it, as well as artists' tendencies to do the same.<br />
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Her discussion of negative capability, calculating the unforeseen and humans desire for transformation continue in the philosophical aspects of being lost. Solnit borrows various examples from other writers, for example Virginia Woolf, and philosophers to argue that getting lost is an innate need for humans if they are to truly find themselves. She ventures into physical loss as well to reinforce this idea, giving the example of being truly lost in a city as the best way to be present in said city. Solnit then uses the getting lost in the wilderness to offer the idea that acceptance of being lost generally ends better than resisting, seeing as humans naturally don't pay attention while confident and end up missing something important. She offers the etymology of the word "lost" to explain the idea of being lost as another way to express comfort and surrender with the unknown - and reinforces the strength that comes with that acceptance. She reminds readers that to rest in comfort too often equates to falling by the wayside in life , borrowing yet again from another author. In yet another approach to the same question, she suggests that losing oneself is different from losing an object because self-loss only truly comes when you find yourself in a situation greater than your understanding and requiring learning or transformation to overcome. I interpreted the piece as a hearty endorsement of losing oneself on purpose, with the intent of truly finding oneself.<br />
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I've always been in love with the idea of adventures and getting nearly-lost , so Solnit's piece felt very real. While discussing it, I remembered this past summer where most of my best memories begin with the suggestion "Let's go adventuring." Whether with my best friend or my little sister, this phrase usually loosely translated to getting lost. I'd recently gotten the right to drive - combined with free time and an entire city to explore - and adventures became a regular occurrence. In the space of a few months I discovered an intense love for the city I'd been apathetic towards since my birth there. I realized how close I was with my little sister - and I am sure that had we not laughed our way through wrong turns into sketchy parts of town on the way to discover pie shops, our relationship would not be the same. Similarly, heading out with close friends to find food at bizarre hours and ending up somewhere completely different forged an entire new type of friendship. We all felt lost and uncertain sitting on the pavement that one night, while the cop lights flashed, but waking up the next morning and puzzling over the absurdity of being written up for walking a dog past curfew...that's when we found out what our friendship really could be.<br />
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My biggest example of "unknown" could easily be summed up in one word - France. I'd been essentially born into in, had talked to people, read books and prepare quite a bit before setting off ... but nonetheless I felt as though I was walking straight out of a door into some grand unknown as I walked through the metal detector in the Boston airport. Looking back, the speech from the director at the pre-departure meeting could not have been more correct - she said that this was the first year of our lives, not because of a birthday or an age, but due to one of our first immense choices. We were choosing to embark on our own journey, by ourselves - it wasn't anyone else choosing for us anymore, we were living for ourselves now. So, despite the immense unknown all seventy of us headed into we simultaneously took one of our first steps towards voluntary discomfort - the price we were (perhaps unknowingly) willing to pay to discover ourselves. More than halfway into the experience, I can look back and say all of this with confidence. It wasn't possible to create the truest version of me until I left my family, my friends, my streets, my candy bars and all of the other things - big and small - that I knew. I don't mean to say that I've lost the things that I left behind, quite the contrary. I have come to realize however that transplanting myself into an entire new environment has given me the opportunity to learn to be comfortably and confidently uncomfortable , to prioritize my own life according to me , to realize who I am without the influences that had shaped me from birth until this past September. In the midst of some of the biggest transformation of my life, this piece has done nothing but remind me of the value and importance of seeking out uncertainty and learning to value being lost as an integral part of an adventure. I am quite literally currently finding myself in a terra incognita - France - and hope to be able to find other ways of getting lost no matter where I am in life and the best way to do so constantly is to become comfortable with the unknown. Truly, I agree with Solnit - you can only find yourself, be truly aware, when you are uncertain of your surroundings. Lost.Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-32224209467085626232015-12-16T01:22:00.000-08:002015-12-16T01:27:29.830-08:00holidays // thanksgiving<span id="goog_1228021791"></span><br />
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Hello Blog - it's been way too long, I'm so so sorry. Life in France is amazing, as expected, but extremely busy. We don't have exams week, but that doesn't mean that the teachers are going easy on us. Instead they've decided to pile on the assessments to round out the semester...but in just a few days I get to head off of holiday vacation. Before I do that, I wanted to share just a few of my holiday experiences so far. I've spent all of my thanksgivings at my house with my dad's side of the family, and all of my Christmases in Colorado with my moms family. This year I will do neither. It feels a bit odd at first to be doing something so different from the traditional, but like all the adaptations I've made this year I've grown to like it.</div>
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The French don't celebrate Thanksgiving but being seventy Americans together in France me and my classmates definitely celebrated anyway. Having school on Thanksgiving was odd , even if only a half day , but also allowed us to all eat a thanksgiving lunch together. One of the French schools that hosts us for lunch everyday was incredibly kind and prepared traditional thanksgiving for us - turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans and pumpkin pie. Celebrating the holiday with all of my classmates and teachers was actually quite fun , but very French with wine at the teachers table.</div>
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Our school late us out after lunch, with the intention that we would prepare some sort of a thanksgiving to share with our host families. I spoke to my host family and offered to cook but they said they only wanted a Thanksgiving dessert - but no cinnamon or pumpkin allowed. For me , thanksgiving means pumpkin pie and apple pie but both were no off limits. I decided to make chocolate cake , with Oreos for extra American. My host parents made an extra American meal - hamburgers - and I think it might become a new thanksgiving tradition for me. The school asked us to take a picture of our families celebration and I did (it's at the top of this post) but I ended up not sending it in thanks to my brother's sense of humor... It was a day full of new ways of celebrating. Different , but equally as nice. </div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-13183016789631827342015-11-29T12:28:00.003-08:002015-11-29T12:28:34.123-08:0013.NovemberIt's been about two weeks since the Paris attacks so I wanted <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> to share my thoughts, especially those of an American in France during these past weeks.</span> <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So many people have asked me what it's been like recently, if I've been okay, what I think... M</span>y past two posts have briefly touched on the attacks - it's hard not to - but I wanted to write about them a bit more in depth.<br />
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My night on 13 November began extremely normally - after coming home from school I hung out, tired from the long week. My host brother declared my bed mo comfy than his and commandeered it, along with my iPad to watch a movie. Somewhere along the way, my shelf was ripped off the wall and said brother got in big trouble with parents. My little brother and host parents watched a soccer match after dinner. Everything was extremely normal, until it wasn't. </div>
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I emerged from my room just as people in Paris were realizing their city was under attack but hours away in my town of Rennes, people were still a bit more naive. My little brother had heard the explosions during the soccer match but like many others he dismissed it as fireworks. A few minutes after the end of the match, the end of the movie, my whole family watched with wide eyes as news casters began trying to figure out what was happening. Not even they knew what was up yet. </div>
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Immediately,sent my parents text messages telling them I was safe. They hadn't yet heard that something was wrong, but my French friends had. My phone buzzed constantly as the SYA class of 2016 group chat tried to make sure everyone was safe. Independent travel had begun and Paris was a popular choice that weekend - I think there were six different groups of my classmates in the city during the attacks.</div>
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Not all of my classmates responded quickly and immediately horrible fears came to mind. I watched as my host family suffered the same anxiety - listing their family and friends in Paris and attempting to contact them. There is a special type of fear reserved for moments like this - knowing something is horribly wrong yet being unable to protect those involved, especially your loved ones. </div>
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In between checking and sending messages, we watched the news. Details, numbers, locations, names, speeches. Like everyone watching, the media tried to figure out what was happening. I watched as the numbers of deaths, attacks went up - the raw numbers were what scared me the most. They're supposedly detached, scientific, easier to digest but I couldn't keep myself from imagining the families, the friends, the tears that each of those deaths represented. </div>
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I was terrified that some one near me would be amongst the victims from the moment that I heard about the attacks until the moment my last classmate responded, until I knew that my host families friends and family were safe. I was lucky. I didn't lose anyone personally. I was exempt from the grief of losing someone close to me and I feel with all my heart for those that did. I can't even begin to imagine the pain they're suffering, I can't comprehend it.</div>
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I was so so tired that Friday night, but I stayed up until 3 am anyway. My family didn't sleep either. We watched President Obama's speech with French subtitles, then President Hollande's. We shared tense safe silence on the white couches as the faces on the TV tried to make sense of the events, tried to give us facts. </div>
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I didn't lose anyone personally but that is not to say I didn't feel for the loss of life.<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. I felt like a hypocrite at first. I didn't lose anyone, so why was I so sad, worried, affected by the events? Now, I realize that my pain came from trying to wrap my head around the attacks The realization that there are people that will indiscriminately kill innocent people is a painful, horrific experience. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">People have suggested to me that the attacks will be a key memory for me and my generation, and I have no doubt that they're right. There have been horrific things that happened before and they struck me, but the Paris attacks were the first that I thought about, that felt this close to my life. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My host brothers closest friends left the bar just half an hour before terrorists arrived and began shooting. I had classmates who were just 500m away from other shooters. Even before knowing who was behind the attacks, knowing that there were people who were capable of dreaming up such horrors...that was my pain. I can't understand what would drive a living thinking being to even consider such attacks. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This all being said, I think the most striking thing I saw in these attacks was not the violence but the power of humanity. Not only the individuals left behind by the murdered, but the entire county, the world...so many people refused to cower in the face of senseless terrorism. The horrors are meant to scare people into ruining their lives and living in fear. I think standing together and continuing life as before is the best way to fight terrorism, and so many people did so after the 13 November attacks. I hope that the unity and strength continues and that the terrorists fail in their mission of ruining even more innocent lives, but I think it's up to us. We can't let them get to us. </span></div>
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*Thank you so much to everyone who checked in with me after the attacks, it meant so much that you wanted to know that I was safe. To those who lost loved ones - my thoughts are with you. xoxolu</div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-63125504936598888802015-11-24T10:02:00.000-08:002015-11-24T10:02:36.407-08:00snippet//no. 1I began this blog mainly to share - photos, news, entertainment, thoughts, me - with those that cared to read about it. Setting up the website, I knew I would likely look back on the blog at the end of the year and realize it had become a journal of my adventures. I was counting on it - Chronicles of a Small Life was meant to become the summary of my experiences in France. However, I wasn't counting on loving it so much and beginning to rely on blogging as a form of expression.<br />
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More recently, I've realized it's not just a vehicle to share my thoughts. A former French teacher wrote me after the Paris attacks, just checking in. Tucked in her email was something that struck me - she was looking forward to reading my reflections on my blog. I realized that my blog had become a tool for discovering my thoughts and processing them, not just sharing them.<br />
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That all being said, recent events in Paris have made me want to write. So much happened, and even a week later I haven't yet been able to sort it all out. I've already heard people say that 13 November is going to become my generation's 9/11 - it is the most horrific event we are conscious of - or that it will mark the start of World War 3. I'm not quite sure what to think quite yet, but I'm going to try to figure it out...and then share my experiences with you.Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-20052673196761866352015-11-16T11:28:00.001-08:002015-11-16T11:32:34.323-08:00*a day in the life*<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Everyone says that moving across the world creates huge changes in your life but I think they're sort of missing the point. The airplane ride, the thousands of miles, the new continent , country , city ... They didn't change my life as much as the little things. The biggest difference comes from the conglomeration of tiny everyday things and please trust me when I say these infinite minute pieces create an incredible bigger picture. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Back home in the United States life followed the same rough frame work every day. Here in Rennes, each day of the weeks has its whole own set of times. Three days a week I wake up at 6h45 but the other two school days I don't have to get out of my perfectly dented bed until an hour later. Each morning, I wake up to the gentle humming of the coffeemaker as my family gets ready to head off to work and school.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> My little host brothers schedule doesn't always match mine, but when it does we grab Nutella and brioche tartines (my job) and orange juice (his) together and then catch the bus then metro to school together. The French play pop music in the busses but everyone, including me, listens to their own music via headphones. Sometimes on the way to school, I stop to grab coffee. I firmly believe that there is a direct correlation between coffee needed and time spent at school...</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mr. Brochu, the school director, generally greets everyone from his office right inside the doors to school. I think I'm not alone in starting off the school day sleepily, but classes seem to wake everyone up. Of course, by the time lunch rolls around we're all starving and ready to bolt to the nearby school cafeterias to eat with our friends. We may be studying art history and politis in Rennes but I think certain things (cough cough teenage hunger) are inescapable facts at any school. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At this point, two things are missing from a truthful account of a typical school day - Carrefour and my classmates. Our school is magically located just two minutes from a supermarket, bakery and a few restaurants. Carrefour, the supermarket, supplies us students with endless supplies of Pringles, Cracky Crepes and chocolate. The impromptu picnics that spring from all the easily accessible food sustains us. Not just in the I'm-hungry way but also in the mysterious was that food draws people together. During free periods, I often find myself sitting in the common room, nibbling and discussing anything and everything with my classmates. My classmates and I do not only share a school - we share an entire year of adventures. I see the better part of my class most everyday and they're a very important part of life here. I have my close friends who are immensely important, but as was recently pointed out "all 70 of us are family now." As cheesy at it may sound, the people here are a crucial part of daily life.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Classes end super late three times a week, and super early twice a week. Regardless of the time (now that it is approaching winter, I arrive and depart from school in the dark) I am likely to do something with my friends after school, even if we just grab a hot chocolate and cookie at Haricot Rouge. We work hard but it's pretty safe to say we play hard too. It's pretty hard not to with a whole new city to explore, new stores to window shop in and new foods to try. Being in Rennes has been a constant adventure and exploring has become a part of daily life. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Every single one of my adventures ends with a short time of simple sitting and thinking, thanks to my half hour bus ride home. Especially when returning from a long school day, I really don't mind the commute time. I quite enjoy having some time to just relax before going home to my homework and host family. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The French don't seem to believe in homework, seeing as my little brother has zero homework ever, and I think it's due to their long school days. Since SYA retains certain elements of American school I do have homework most nights, but far far less than in the US. I'm certainly not complaining! I'm usually nearly done with my homework when we're all called to dinner - "Les enfants, à table!" Dinner with my family is always fun... For example, today my oldest host brother patiently waited for me to prepare my piece of bread and butter and then unapologetically stole it. This isn't to say that he's evil, simply that I was very quickly adopted into be family. It's been pretty incredible.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After dinner, everyone avoids doing the dishes together. Then we hang around in the kitchen and drink mini coffees with exactly one sugar cube. This half hour or so of basically just chilling with the older part of my family is maybe one of my favorite things to do with them, other than fighting for seats on the couches while watching no-one-cares-what sports on the television.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I personally adore sleep (I think I'm not alone in thinking that) so when I'm ready to go to bed I say good night to everyone in the family in accordance with French customs - with a bisou. In all honesty I had trouble getting used to it at first, but now I've become quite fond of the greeting-goodbye. Sometimes I head off to my room and check in with friends back home or finish up homework but I'm usually too tired to do anything other than tuck myself in and close my eyes. My room is right off the kitchen so I often fall asleep to murmurs of conversation, then wake up the next morning for another day of adventuring. </div>
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*Post script: I wrote this blog post ahead of time, before 13 November. I wanted to capture the feel of a typical day for me as a student at SYA Rennes and I hope I succeeded. However, I waited until the last minute to send it in. Everything was written except for this last bit, because I was waiting to see how the Paris attacks change the everyday here in Rennes. </div>
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The tragedy was shocking and immense, and as I stayed up until three am on Friday watching the news I could see how it was touching my host family. Their fear while waiting for family members and friends to return their calls was palpable. </div>
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The effects lingered in the aftermath. My big brother remembered to grab his ID before leaving the house, knowing that there would be police everywhere. On the bus, I overheard tired and weary responses to the otherwise typical question "Ça va?" Life changed, in teeny yet visible ways. In discussions we try to understand what happen and what is going to happen. </div>
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I was lucky - my life was seemingly kept safe from the terror - but even so fear is everywhere. I knew some people's lives have changed forever and my heart aches for them. However, I hope that the lasting effects of this trauma will be one of transformation, unity and support. I think that living our lives in fear is the same as letting the terrorists win. I firmly believe that if the "average citizen" refuses to let fear ruin their lives and turns the terror into a reason to stand together, the power that terrorists try to while will be lost. </div>
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At 12 today, there was a national minute of silence. I spent it with the students at a nearby school that shares its cafeteria with us. The pain was palpable, but so was the unity. </div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-32516496342598187582015-11-13T08:42:00.003-08:002015-11-16T11:30:17.922-08:00Travel's Gifts to Me // English Class<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Few people are lucky enough to have flown thousands of miles in before their first birthday but I was born into a charmed existence and became a worldwide traveler even before I was born. Ever since then, I've been lucky enough to spend at least a month each year away from home but I've only recently realized how much I've taken my adventures for granted. Most of the time I revisit the same places and at this point they've I've become far too passive - even a place with the familiarity of a second home is worth keeping my eyes open for but I'm only now realizing this. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I am almost three months into my year abroad - my greatest adventure yet - and I worry that I'll allow myself to fall into the same trap again. It took me some time and a very odd situation to even acknowledge this possibility : I've never been fond of surprises and I think I'm not alone when I say I hate making mistakes but I've found that my new home is full of opportunities for both. My most rewarding experience so far was a combination of the two - missing the bus and then realizing the sensation wasn't all that unpleasant.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>An odd sort of entrapment occurred when you miss your bus. You can't go anywhere but at the same time you have nothing to do because you were all prepared and planning to do something else. I found myself sitting on a bench for fifteen minutes with nothing to do other than think about my new life, family and friends. Certainly not the most comfortable, of experiences but certainly enriching. I thought about the characters in my daily life and the strength and speed of the bonds I have already formed surprised me yet again and then made me think about how much I'm missing out on in my former life. But for me, the most bizarre part of the experience were the minutes I spent thinking about myself. Self centered, I know, but as I tried to compare current me to pre-travel me I realized some surprising things about myself.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I've always been intrigued by how other people would describe me, simply out of curiosity, but I've come to accept that I'll probably never know. I do however know how they interact with me directly. My empty time at the bus stop gave me time to compare my friendships in the US to those here and it made me realize where I've changed and where I've stayed the same. Some things are superficial, like my new found ability to wear something other than pajamas when I get dressed in the morning, but others scared me a bit. I realized that elements of my character - me, myself and I - had changed. Leaving "home" caused the changes and then gave me the perception to see them. In all honesty, it was a bit frightening.</div>
Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-54467335054362894082015-11-04T01:13:00.000-08:002015-11-08T08:27:09.204-08:00thoughts//missing the bus<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqE1e3j0qXgziYyN218mvoyHnSW0JFXUtLBqPWjZecDm05sFvn99PyIzk2Goab6zxzKc-_OGCRZLO8tBVwSYi_UCtfeywyAIhi-SSK5RNU8lrOvJ4bEEEsME7qL-cYKJTtQshun62NLPwK/s640/blogger-image--21729729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqE1e3j0qXgziYyN218mvoyHnSW0JFXUtLBqPWjZecDm05sFvn99PyIzk2Goab6zxzKc-_OGCRZLO8tBVwSYi_UCtfeywyAIhi-SSK5RNU8lrOvJ4bEEEsME7qL-cYKJTtQshun62NLPwK/s640/blogger-image--21729729.jpg"></div>(^this place exists and I got to go...st malo is a gorgeous walled city just an hour away from where I live...and yes I know it's unrelated)<div><br><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A little over two months, 64 days... When I look at it in just numbers it doesn't seem like much but in terms of memories it feels infinite. I know I've said it before, but I am still stuck in a bit of an in between situation - my time in Rennes feels very long short. I've certainly adapted quite a bit to my new home and though you'd never find me in public transportation at home the bus has become a habit here...but not quite a mastered art yet. I don't exactly have hope that I'll ever get it perfect since my brother hasn't done it yet, and he's lived here all his life, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to try. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm writing this on my phone at a bus stop, so as you can guess I'm waiting. This time it's because I arrived a few minutes before the bus was scheduled to but sometimes I find myself waiting at the bus for a less glamorous reason - I missed the bus I meant to get on.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The first time it happened I almost cried...the first day of school, the first time that I had to get myself somewhere, my first chance to prove myself capable of living in Rennes and I had failed. I clung to a few desperate shreds of hope as I ran flat out towards the 72 bus , then watched it let out a gentle "pshh" and roll away. A few heavy footfalls and I was back to walking, then just standing staring at the stop, checking the schedule for the next bus. I called the director and (almost crying) told him I'd be late. I made it to school only a few minutes late to first class, but I was not even a little happy to have it happen. To be honest, I thought about giving up right then. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I took a few more missed busses and disappointment but I eventually realized that perhaps I was looking at the situation in the wrong light. Maybe missing my bus was more positive than negative... With the exception of weekends, my bus comes frequently enough that missing it means only a few minutes of tardiness, less if I've scheduled in extra time. In the grand scheme of things, being a few minutes late to lunch or class or a study sesh really doesn't matter. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Even more importantly, the few minutes that I lose on one end translate into something beautiful on the other end. About a month into the school year I found myself sitting at a bus stop, waiting for the next bus to arrive when I realized that I was letting my mind wander. I had ten minutes to spend on whatever I wanted, without anything else scheduled in its place or demanding my attention. I realized how insanely busy I'd been and how comparatively calm and precious these few minutes at the bus stop were. I have no plans of deliberately missing my bus anytime soon but I now see the rare occasions as an unexpected gift of time- time to just think about anything, everything or nothing.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">People say that you do all your best thinking in the shower but I would argue that the bus stop is an even better place - there is no risk of getting shampoo in your eyes. </span></div><div><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"></div></div>Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7278600503114458866.post-68198753590583494362015-11-03T14:45:00.001-08:002015-11-03T14:59:56.395-08:00welcome to the fam//superquick<div style="text-align: center;">
Hello again! This is going to be yet another teeny post (school has started again and life is crazy) but I have to share... I haven't talked much about my host family but they are an absolutely key part of my experience. I knew from my first day in my new home that they were adopting me as one of their own - mainly because my two brothers immediately began messing with me exactly like real siblings. I was also given free rein in the kitchen, which is huge for someone who loves food as much as me. I felt right at home when I got stuck in Rennes and my big brother came to pick me up in under ten minutes with absolutely zero complaints and each time a family member invited me to come along on some adventure with them. Throughout these past two months I have truly been welcomed into the family ... But tonight I way reminded of exactly how much so. </div>
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Let me first say that you should never, NEVER let your brothers draw all over your back with pen. Of course, this sounds fairly straightforward, but there's more. I got a fantastic ball point tattoo right before dinner (courtesy of two fantastic in house artists) and in the hopes of not holding up the meal decided to stub it off later. After dinner, there was a soccer game. I didn't have any homework so I decided to join my brothers in watching Paris v. Madrid, from start to finish of course. In those ninety three minutes (overtime!) some thing magical occurred...the seemingly harmless blue pen ink turned into a transfer tattoo...and it transferred in all its magnificence right into the beautiful white leather couch I was snuggled into. After the game ended, everyone got up and I just happened to glance down and notice the massive bright blue stain on the formerly pristine couch. </div>
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I wanted to melt into the floor and never wake up, but of course that was not an option. </div>
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My ever helpful brothers laughed as I pointed it out to the parents and I watched with absolute terror as the stain refused to come out. Four products later, bunches of scrubbing and an unhealthy dose of stress later the couch returned to white. In the time it took to clean up the mess I mentally prepared myself to fly back home and call this year abroad a failure. The mere fact that I am still alive makes me think that my host family is truly magnificent, but the fact that they laughed and teased and somehow made me feel less guilty in the process made me realize just how special they are. I've been welcomed into other people's homes and even families before, but this French adoption truly astounded me. By no means were any of my family members required to take me in and accept me as one of their own, but they did wholeheartedly. I still can't quite believe my luck. </div>
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That is all for tonight, I hope I was able to provide some laughs but also some appreciation for fantastic humans (all of them!). Night night, xoxo lu. </div>
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Luisa Vosmikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16145684286145335825noreply@blogger.com0