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!