Dear readers,
I regret to inform you that I no longer write to you from Spain. Fortunately I now write to you from Switzerland.
The trip out this morning went off well despite my alarm waking me an hour late resulting in a briefly tense moment in the airport.
On arriving in Geneva, I set to finding a hostel for the night to set some visa card shenanigans straight, the location I found was about 40 dollars, quite a high price for a dark room shared with five smelly (by empiricism) dudes, but beggars can't be choosers in a city where most of the lodging is entirely booked.
I walked through the clean streets, hearing French, German, Spanish and more at every block, and am now in a gorgeous public library. Almost everyone else has left the laptop room because 20 minutes ago, a modern interpretative dance performance began in the lobby.
There is a shirtless French guy screaming profanities and literary references at the top of his lungs at an auctioneers cadence (in French of course), and a guy hitting a bunch of drums and metal sheets with a big spoon behind him. As far as I can tell it is about the pain of modern culture.
Soon I will have an initial travel itinerary set and go to read my lovely new books on the shore of Lake Geneva.
Obnoxiously self satisfied,
Tim
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