The Vacation of La Rochelle

So my week sucked ass last week (people! stop taking my shit! it is mine! get your own shit! then it will be yours! gah!) and I was completely unable to deal with it, and had a breakdown. Said brekadowns are becoming, not at all coincidentally, a monthly occurence, which is also annoying.

But anyway. One of the suckinesses of last week was that I was planning to go to Amsterdam this weekend, and had to cancel that trip, but on the advice of a friend, instead of moping around all weekend, I took myself off for a mini-vacation. So I am in La Rochelle today, the Santa Cruz of France, which I picked because Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan laid seige to it in The Three Musketeers. Other candidates were Tours, where Aramis's mistress lived, and Brest, which was actually recommended to me by someone who went there, but La Rochelle won out. (No, not all my geougraphical knowledge of France comes from Dumas. How could you suggest such a thing? Some of it comes from Hugo and de Laclos.)

And since I am here, and the train ticket was less than half of what I though the train ticket to Amsterdam was going to be, I am splurging, staying in an honest-to-God, very fancy, real live, cheap hotel instead of a hostel. The hotel comes with free wifi, too, so I shall post pictures soon, of La Rochelle and of the castle in Nantes, which I got to see while I was waiting for my train. It has a real moat, which is just so exciting. To me. Shut up.

So, in conclusion, soon I will get all caught up on my updates, and talk about Prague and Angers and Nantes and the Veronica Mars reveal (which everyone seems to have predicted except me, but I prefer it that way) but right now I am going to go freeze my feet off in the Atlantic.