Where there's a will...

First let me say, ha! There's more than one way to cross an ocean! I'm in Portgual! And let me add that it feels great! I nearly wept with joy when I changed my dollars to Euro. Then I nearly wept with sadness when I saw the exchange rate. But, hey, at least I'm here.

The boat was nice. I read a couple of bad books, ate a lot of good food (though not as much as the anorexic chick at the table next to us), and got the best of some Russian spies.

That's right, Russian spies.

We met them at dinner on the first night. I amicably turned to the nice older couple sitting beside us and asked, "where are you from?" to which they very confidently replied, "Ve ar from Kanada!"

For the rest of the trip, I always found them just nearby. When I turned around, one of them was just stepping into a nearby room. When I was swimming, one of them was peering stealthily over a newspaper (note: they didn't actually sell newspapers on the boat). All of this espionage culminated in the midnight chocolate buffet just after Ponta Delgada. I had my camera out, admiring the fucking huge chocolate bald eagle in the center of the dining room, when I spun around to get Ron's attention. And there behind me, hidden behind a flowery watermelon, was the KGB, taking a photo of me! Without raising my camera, I quickly snapped off a picture of her, and in the interest of avoiding the seemingly inevitable kung-fu fight, I slipped my camera in my pocket and pretended to be very interested in the caviar.

Ron had a nice time too, while he wasn't being seasick. Bermuda was kind of disappointing; it reminded me of Brighton, only with more black people. I realize if you've never been to Brighton, that last statement was totally vacuous. Sorry you missed out on that one. Or rather, I'm not so sorry.

If anyone has any ideas how I can make some Euro, please let me know. I dislike manual labor, but at least I don't have any pesky morals to worry about!

Obrigado!

Avast, ye landlubbers!

My holiday has officially begun for the second time. I finished my job at the Belly Poke on Sunday. Michel and his family are off to France to meet his new granddaughter, and that means the cafe is closed until the 15th. At that point, I'll be in Bermuda. The goodbyes were hasty but warm; Michel forced me to drink a Heineken with him, and Manuella donated an entire box full of perishable food items to the homeless prep cook (me). Most of said perishable food items were later eaten by Josh and Michelle, but hey, if I have to pay my rent in croissants, fair enough. Michel also told me that if I have any friends who work as hard as me, he will hire them on the spot. So, if any of you want a job making $7 a hour in one of the most beautiful little towns in the country, come to St. Augustine, FL, and look for La Belle Epoque on St. George St. Oh, and you have to be male. Michel was adamant about that. I'm not sure why exactly, but I've got my theories...

Emily's coming down tomorrow. And she's 21 now. Which means we don't ever have to leave Backstreets Bar and Coffee House. For those of you who are still clinging to that Christian concept of heaven, get down here and check out Backstreets. She'll be staying until Saturday, when Josh, Michelle, and I head down to Ft. Lauderdale to meet up with Ron, who's coming with me on the cruise to Portugal. This boat, the Legend of the Seas, has a damn miniature golf course on it! Not to mention the 4 whirlpools, 2 movie theatres, opera house, casino, and rock climbing wall. Yep, backpacking is all about roughing it.

And when I get to Europe, I'll be unemployed, as well as homeless. But, never fear, there are plenty of unscrupulous Asians/Eastern Europeans/sex traffickers willing to hire young, experienced American men.

This will likely be my last stateside email, so you'll likely not hear from me again until we dock in Portugal. So, good luck with the end of the school year... Suckers! :)