The Countdown, Part Two

The past three and a half weeks have slowly but steadily marched by and I now face the prospect of returning to Europe in less than a week for the second installment of my European adventure. I am, above all, thrilled. My time home has been remarkably fun, quiet, relaxing, nourishing and full of warmth as I spent weeks with my family after months of separation. I enjoyed seeing old friends, reveled in Mom's amazing cooking and constant affection, worked a little with Dad, joked and played games with my brothers, went snowboarding and skiing, attended two Colts games (I think it's my fault the streak stopped at 13, I'm very sorry), appreciated the ability to minutely customize an order at a restaurant and lamented the outrageous gas prices. In every aspect but the weather, it was summer. And I love summer.

Even though actual summer lies four months away, I regard with eager anticipation the ensuing time and the enormous promise it holds. I've yet to formulate any firm travel plans to exotic locales, but Croatia, Tunisia and Greece have all been considered. I'd be happy to make it to just one of the three and I'm determined to visit more accessible destinations like Spain (hello Matt and Ross!), Normandy/northern France (hey Sean!), Ireland, Berlin and at least one former concentration camp in Poland or Germany. Amsterdam is absolutely worthy of a second inspection and I wouldn't have any problem stopping in Brussels on the way up. I've also promised the French family that so warmly welcomed me in August that I would try my hardest to visit them again, too. Initially, I'd envisioned spending every afternoon on the ski slopes, but I think I'll have satisfied that urge after a few visits (and the price of lift tickets and rentals) add up. Two skiing and snowboarding trips to the mild southern Indiana ski "resort" Perfect North also forced me to face the painful realization that I am not the Olympic alpine star I remembered. If any opportunity arises to attend an Olympic event in nearby Turin, Italy, I'll seize it immediately. Supposedly there are still large numbers of tickets available.

I fear I won't have the same luxurious two-days-a-week class schedule I enjoyed last semester, but I'll settle, if I must, for a grueling three. I'll need therapy if I have to endure four days and five, well, is simply out of the question. I'll spend my added time in the city wisely: a rigorous exercise regime has already been undertaken, I plan to frequent the French cinema more and I might, just might, do some preliminary thesis work into the remarkable phenomenon of optimistic young gentlemen overcoming rampant rudeness and bureaucratic obstacles during their physically exhausting and mentally demanding exchange programs. Speaking of classes, the earliest I'll learn about last semester's grades will be sometime in February. I hear oddsmakers are taking bets as far out as August.

Mid-February also marks the expiration of my provisionary residency permit, the "recipisse du sejour." If I don't have a medical examination, complete stacks of more paperwork and submit it all to the monolithic Prefecture before then, I'll be an illegal alien and also ineligble for the generous - but thus far invisible - governmental housing assistance. Fortunately, the next most serious problem I'll face is how to squeeze all of my European-acquired possessions into the same little suitcase I arrived with. I hear faint echoes of FedEx in the distance... and Dad's booming "throw the junk away!" in my ear.

A bevy of random pictures is coming soon.