#might change that to just. scenic route of language learning or something

[adhd-languages]

Please don’t compare yourself to my blog because I only mostly show the highlights. And just because I reblog something about studying languages doesn’t mean I’ve actually done much that day!

There’s nothing wrong with taking it slow and enjoying the language! We’re all here to learn because we want to. There’s no pressure to learn quickly. Learning a language is a lifelong journey, and there’s no rush to fluency. Whatever amount you’re doing, it’s okay and you’re welcome on this blog :-)

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Amore Mio [Secret Trope]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Secret situation 1. Character A is keeping a secret from Character B, until it comes out in a dramatic moment. "Frank has been keeping something from you."

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Female Reader. FLUFF. Based on a wonderful request from @xxdrixx . I hope my Italian is not shit, but I know just a little bit from singing opera and kinda went off what I know from that.

WC: 734

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

Frank’s phone went flying across the room, landing with a plonk in the armchair.

You looked at him curiously, having just come back from making popcorn in the kitchen.

“What was– ?” you asked

“Picture of a snake. Fuckin scared me.” Frank responded

You rolled your eyes at the thought of the Big Bad Punisher getting spooked at a photo of a snake popping up on whatever app he was on, but you sat beside him and started the movie, the incident soon leaving your mind.

But several more times over the next few months, situations like this would happen. You’d walk into the room and Frank would suddenly get nervous and find an excuse to close his phone quickly.

If it were any other man, you might find it suspicious, but Frank was too loyal and honest for you to ever suspect anything nefarious.

Then came date night. Frank had taken you to an unusually nice restaurant, having even put on a pair of pants that weren’t jeans just to spoil you with a romantic evening.

Except his mind seemed a million miles away and he kept picking up his phone, reading something while muttering to himself, then putting it down suddenly when he noticed you staring.

You were about to ask just what the hell was up, when the waitress came over to take your order.

“Hi, my name is Francesca. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you guys started with some drinks?”

Your face lit up hearing her speak, recognizing a familiar accent in her voice.

“Sei Italiana?”

“SÌ!” she responded

You talked for a few minutes, reminiscing in Italian about where you were from. Frank watched the two of you, smile on his face as he knew how much you loved speaking in your first language and meeting people from your home.

The waitress was so excited to connect with you, she even brought you and Frank free dessert at the end of the meal, delicious creme brulee the perfect way to end the evening.

“Wanna take the scenic route home?” he asked, offering his hand out to you

You nodded with a smile, happy to have a date night with Frank that didn’t involve him rushing off halfway through to go deal with ‘business’.

There was a chill in the air as you walked hand in hand along the pier of Hudson River Park.

Frank’s jacket was draped across your shoulders, ever the gentleman keeping you warm when you prioritized your outfit over dressing for comfort and the weather. 

You stopped walking after a while, leaning side by side on a railing and watching the lights of New Jersey sparkle across the water. Frank’s hand was splayed across your lower back, a quiet gesture of affection and protection.

After a few minutes basking in the comfortable silence of each other's presence, Frank finally spoke.

“Amore mio. My love.” he whispered in your ear

Your spine went rigid and goosebumps crawled along your skin. You’d never heard Frank speak Italian before. 

“Hai cambiato la mia vita. You have changed my life.” he continued, voice trembling from nerves “Non riesco a immaginare un futuro senza di te. I cannot imagine a future without you.”

Was this really happening? Had Frank learned your native tongue just to use it for the most romantic proposal ever?

His familiar touch disappeared from your side as he knelt down on one knee beside you, pulling a velvet box from his pocket.

“Vuoi sposarmi? Will you marry me?”

You could feel the tears coming on as his big brown eyes stared up at you, waiting for your answer.

“SÌ” you responded with a shaky voice, too overcome with emotion to manage much else.

A grin like you’d never seen spread across his face as rose to his feet and kissed you deeply.

After he slid the ring on your finger, you knew you had to ask.

“How long have you been learning Italian, mio caro?”

“Bout six months. Wanted to get it good enough to do this. Maybe we can do our vows in Italian too?” Frank responded sheepishly, pulling out his phone and tapping the icon with the green owl to show you just how much he’d progressed on his own.

Now you understood what he had been hiding on his phone from you.

“Perfetto. Perfect.” you said, kissing him once more 

[papapiusxiii]

Deep in Hawaii Cowboy Country, Female Pau Riders Keep Family Traditions Alive 

By Rachel Hahn for Vogue Magazine. Photography by Mayan Toledano. June 13, 2019.

[click images for details]

The hour-and-change drive across the island of Hawaii, from Hilo to Puuanahulu, curves along a highway partly carved into lava rock. Along that scenic route, the landscape changes drastically. Hilo’s lush flora slowly starts to recede and the sky opens up to reveal wide open land and grassy plains, verdant rolling hills and lava fields covered in deep pink and forest green moss. The climate, at first a bit humid, turns arid by the time I reach the rust-colored ranch house of Aunty DeeDee Keakealani Bertelmann on the west side of the island, where dusty boots are lined up along the doormat outside and rhinestone-studded belts—relics from rodeos past—hang from a towel rack in the bathroom. This is the heart of cowboy country.

Bertelmann is a fifth- generation rancher from a long line of paniolo, or Hawaiian cowboys. With her family, she raises cattle on 500 acres of land in Waimea, located about 20 miles north of their home in Puuanahulu, where they also keep herds. Just a few feet from the highway, the house is set on more than 1,200 acres of rolling hills that descend toward the ocean. Upon arriving I notice a large kukui nut tree shading a clothesline where an entire household’s worth of light-wash blue jeans are hanging up to dry. Walking around the back of the house, I’m first greeted by Spinner, a sweet, green-eyed Heeler puppy who excitedly paws my lap when I bend down to pet her. Bertelmann’s five-year-old grandson, Kayde, comes running after his puppy, and the two are inseparable for the rest of the day. Spinner chases Kayde, who in turn chases Peanut, the family’s black-and-white mini horse, in circles around a small shed until they all tire out.

This land has been passed down for years and years; Bertelmann can trace it back at least 15 generations. Her great-great-grandfather owned a set of plow horses and lived a bit further down the sloping terrain, and she later shows me an old framed photograph of her grandfather and granduncles, knee-deep in the water of the nearby Kiholo Bay, guiding cattle onto a ship headed for Honolulu, where the cows would then be shipped off and exported for their meat and their hides. Right now, Bertelmann and her present ohana—including her father, her two daughters, and her two nieces—are all seated in a circle underneath a white tent in the front yard. There’s chocolate and plain malasadas out on a table next to kukui nut leis; lauhala, or traditional woven hats made from the natural fibers of the hala tree; and handmade pau skirts, a garment rooted in the early equestrian practices of the women, like Bertelmann, who hailed from paniolo families.

In addition to running her family’s cattle operations, Bertelmann has worked the past nine years as a livestock administrative assistant at the nearby Parker Ranch, one of the largest in Hawaii. It’s the very same ranch where her father, Robert Kamuela “Sonny” Keakealani Jr., worked for 27 years as a cowboy, herding up to 50,000 cattle, rebuilding stone walls, and training horses, and their family legacy is just part of the state’s long history of ranching traditions.

The word cowboy may more readily conjure up images of ramshackle saloons and the austere plains of the Wild West, but Hawaiian cowboys actually predate those on the mainland by about half a decade. In 1792, after British sea captain George Vancouver presented King Kamehameha, the founder and first ruler of the Kingdom of Hawaii, with four cows, two ewes, and a ram, Kamehameha put a kapu, or a restriction, on killing the animals. The cattle, who were at that time enclosed in a large pen in north Kona, bred and proliferated rapidly. It wasn’t until 1830 that King Kamehameha III lifted the kapu, and by then the animals were wreaking havoc on the island’s farmlands and fields. In 1832, Kamehameha III brought in three Mexican-Spanish vaqueros (cowboys) from California to teach native Hawaiians how to round up the hordes of cattle, and over time these skilled Hawaiians, who developed a completely distinct style of herding, down to the intricate and idiosyncratic braiding of their saddles, came to be known as paniolos.

“Everybody has their own perception of Hawaii,” says Bertelmann. “They only think of hula dancers in grass skirts down on the beach. They don’t think of Hawaii as open space and ranch lands.” These perceptions even exist among the island’s residents. Bertelmann tells me she “was never able to understand that not everybody understood our way of life” until recently, when she was asked to give a presentation to local students. “There were children who had never even seen a horse and children who had never played on grass,” Bertelmann says. “That was a shock for me. It’s something that we try to instill in our children: that it is not something to take for granted and the open space that you have here today might not be there tomorrow.” Our conversation naturally veers toward how the family has managed to maintain their way of life in the face of skyrocketing land taxes and development that has priced out many other ranching families. What was once open pasture land just across the highway from the Bertelmann’s property now holds 300 homes, some of which were built on her ancestors’ burial grounds. Development shows no signs of slowing. “In a few years we will have 400 homes behind us too on the golf course, so our way of life is being encroached upon,” she adds.

This sentiment permeates all the work that Bertelmann and her sister—educator and preservationist Kuulei Keakealani, who joins us later in the day—do to pass on their cultural knowledge. Both feel a strong need to perpetuate that which has been handed down to them, though each in their own way. Keakealani teaches the Hawaiian language in schools and outside of the classroom; she works to restore native forests and fish pond ecosystems, while for Bertelmann, horse riding and all its accoutrements are her main priority. “Horses are my love. They’re my passion. I couldn’t live without one,” says Bertelmann, who currently has 30 horses (about 15 of them are still working animals, while the rest have retired). “That’s not my fault. It’s my grandpa’s fault.”

Which brings us back to pau, the draped skirt that Hawaiian ranch women, who always sat astride rather than in the side saddle stance of their Western counterparts, would wrap around their holoku gowns, to keep them from getting dusty or dirty as they rode in the early 19th century. “[A woman] would get dressed up in her holoku, get on her horse, wrap herself in her pau, and she’s off to the ball,” Bertelmann says. As cars replaced horses as the main mode of transportation around 1890, the once pragmatic pau skirt became a form of pageantry, relegated to riding club events or processions like the King Kamehameha Day Parade, which started in 1906 and continues to this day.

Now, there are annual parades, named after the once purely practical garment. In the same way that Bertelmann inherited her love of riding, each island’s pau parades are surrounded by a sense of duty to prior generations. Every paniolo participates from childhood, starting even as young as two years old. “We were born into it,” says Keakealani. “My children were born into it. It’s just your life. Much like how my dad was born into being a paniolo, it’s really just a maintenance of legacy and heritage. It’s really a family affair.” The parades differ in size, but on average, there are only a 100 or so riders in each. Bertelmann explains that she’s known many paniolo families who’ve had to relocate to the mainland due to the rising cost of living, making the ritual even more important to uphold: “When you’re taken off your aina, it’s very hard to hold on to your identity.”

Despite the relatively small number of participants, the pau parades are still the most visible celebration of paniolo culture with specific rules dictating what each pau rider must wear. Every island has its own traditional colors, for instance, and its own flowers that are traditionally used for leis. One usually rides within a pau unit, which usually consists of eight pau princesses (one to represent each of the Hawaiian islands, though this differs depending on the parade rules) who ride behind a pau queen, who leads the charge, all backed up by a few of their male family members on horseback. Women make their own pau. “It’s not an easy thing to do, to sew and make the pau, to make the lei,” Bertelmann says. Some islands prefer flashier paus and leis—Bertelmann says Oahu in particular has a reputation for sparkly, big, and loud self-presentation—but she insists that there’s really no wrong way to do it. “If that’s how they were taught by their kupuna, then so be it. They’re just trying to perpetuate what they have learned so hey, kudos to you, that’s how it should be. We need to lift each other up.”

For Bertelmann and her family, though, the pau parade is not about evoking the glitz and glamour of beauty queens. “We try to keep it more authentic,” says Bertelmann of her more traditional approach. “Today, there’s a lot of pageantry. Some people will use fake flowers, some people will have an entire forest on their head or on their horse lei, but . . . sometimes that’s how our stories get lost,” Bertelmann says. “There’s a lot of us who perpetuate our traditions of simplicity and the reasons that you’re riding. We ride for your ancestors, we ride riding to keep our legacy, to keep our culture. What we teach our teach our children is simplicity is best,” Bertelmann continues. “A pau rider showcased her riding skills, not her pageantry skills. That’s what pau is about to me: a woman who loves to ride.”

A few years ago for the King Kamehameha Day Parade in Kailua Kona, Bertelmann recalls as an example, she served as pau queen, though she is much more comfortable riding out on her pastures than she is in front of a crowd. For the occasion, she chose to imbue her pau, which she made herself, with personal symbols. “When I thought about the whole deal, I thought about where I’m from. I’m from Puuanahulu. When you go to Puuanahulu, all you see is the black lava, and every so often you see the red ohia lehua, which grows on top of the lava, and that’s my favorite flower.” She thus printed the black fabric of her pau with red ink and criss-cross patterns that referenced her grandmother, a lauhala weaver. When Bertelmann’s sister-in-law rode for Maui, she chose pink, that island’s traditional color, to represent her family, who make their living as kalo (a native plant) farmers. Similarly, when Bertelmann’s aunt served as pau queen at the King Kamehameha Day Parade a few years before she did, she made a pau in the exact same shade of the color of the ocean where she’s from.

There are many different ways to wrap and tie the pau, but unsurprisingly, Bertelmann makes her own rules. Most people use six kukui nuts to hold together the skirt, but Bertelmann only uses three or sometimes four. It’s how her father taught her, and it’s how his father taught him, and so on. “A lot of people are about presentation, but for us, we carry on the heritage,” says Sonny, Bertelmann’s father. “It’s not about money, it’s not about showing off. We go back to what we remember and we just carry on.”

[kayleygoestolondon]

Hola, Spain!

I’ve just logged on and realized that I haven’t posted since last summer... eek. In my defense, I didn’t travel anywhere exciting the first half of the school year, and by the time I went to Paris and Morocco, I thought people had surely lost interest in reading my posts. We have more important things to read about! Brexit! Donald Trump’s latest tweets! What bizarre name Kim Kardashian will give her newest baby! However, I had such an incredible time in Spain and Portugal that I figured I might as well write it down. Even if my grandparents are my only devoted readers, it’ll make a good memento for me to reflect on fondly when I’m 80 years old in a retirement centre in Camrose. 

My latest trip began with arguably the best flight I’ve ever had. Since I usually fly alone, I’m always stuck sitting beside one of the following Flight Ruiners™:

Crying infant who will not be soothed

Severely overweight person who insists on taking up most of my personal space

Armrest hogger

Somebody with a terrible illness (most likely the plague or Ebola) that coughs and sneezes the entire flight

NOT THIS TIME! I was seated with two guys from central London who were on their way to Barcelona for a bachelor party. At first, I expected the worst: when I flew to Morocco, an entire bachelor party boarded the plane at 6 AM already drunk and proceeded to be the most obnoxious human beings I’ve ever encountered for three hours. These guys redeemed my faith in good old British lads. They chatted with me the whole way about travel and insisted I have a drink with them to celebrate being hired at a new job! They even paid, which was great, because I am the stingiest person in the world and would never pay for a beer on a flight. It’s also part of my personal vendetta against RyanAir.  When we arrived in Barcelona, it was after midnight and pouring rain, so they offered to share their cab with me to make sure I got to my AirBnB safely. Chivalry isn’t dead after all!

My friends from Canada (Dillon, Candice, and Bal) were waiting up for me at the AirBnB with McDonald’s chicken nuggets and a batch of questionable homemade sangria. If that isn’t a welcome, I don’t know what is. 

BARCELONA

We had breakfast at the cutest tiny cafe and I had the best omelette of my life made by an equally cute and tiny Spanish woman. Also discovered that “cafe con leche” (Spanish coffee with milk) is pretty delicious.

We did a walking tour of the city and learned lots of interesting historical facts while seeing some of the main sights. On the tour, we met some other Canadians so we went for drinks with them afterwards. What a small world. 

Discovered you can go into a store and buy an entire jug of wine. Or, if you’re an efficient on-the-go type of person... wine juice boxes.

Checked out the Sagrada Familia. I’ve been to nearly every famous cathedral in Europe (#humblebrag) and this was the best one. If you go to Barcelona, it is 100% worth seeing.

Walked up to Parc Guell, which has a beautiful view over the city. Fun fact: the park was designed by Gaudi, the same designer of the Sagrada Familia. If you’re gonna read this all the way through, you bet I’m gonna give you some unrequested knowledge. His architectural style is pretty distinct and I really loved seeing how those elements were incorporated into the design of the park. 

Hopped in the car and prepared for the first portion of our journey. This is where it’s really important for me to note that we started our trip with “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under” by Shania Twain (more like Shania SPAIN, am I right? lololol). This song did not leave our heads for the entire week. I’m not exaggerating. We sang it constantly. In the car. At the beach. In the bar. SHANIA TWAIN EVERY DAY. 

DRIVING IN SPAIN

Since Spain drives on the right side like we do (sorry UK friends, but the left side is stupid and I will fight you about it), it was pretty easy to navigate... excluding the massive traffic circles with stoplights in them and no lanes marked. We circled those in terror, not knowing what we were doing but somehow avoiding collisions.

There are tolls EVERYWHERE. We paid 40 euros in tolls between Barcelona and Valencia, which is a toll-tally ridiculous amount (lol, I’m not even sorry for these jokes)

The highways are really well-maintained, but are virtually empty. We encountered almost no traffic at all and didn’t see any police either. Dillon did not take advantage of this and drove a respectable speed the whole way, rather than living out our Fast & The Furious fantasy

The Spanish countryside is really gorgeous. It’s much more mountainous than I realized, particularly the areas that we drove through. We got some really stunning scenic views along the way.

We all had important roles within the car. Dillon was the Driver, I was the Navigator/DJ, Candice and Bal were the backseat Snoozers and Snack Providers. This meant that Dillon was the MVP of the trip, because he drove without any road rage at all (how is that even possible... my driving is just like a constant stream of swearing), whereas my sole contribution was playing 500 Miles by the Proclaimers as often as possible. 

VALENCIA

We had the unfortunate timing of arriving Valencia just as a massive football game was ending; Valencia had won against Barcelona to win the Copa Del Rey. The streets were swarming with people and the honking was endless. Easily the second-most stressful part of our drive. Want to know the worst one? READ ON FOR MORE (#clickbait)

Spent our whole day there at the beach. The weather was great, if not a bit windy, and Dillon was magically transformed into a red lobster thanks to the sunshine. We all went home with sand everywhere. I think I still had some in my ears at the end of the trip.

We enjoyed beers and a selection of meats and cheeses on the beach. We ate so much meat and cheese during this week. You may be thinking, “Meat and cheese seem very impractical to eat on the beach because of all the sand”, and you would be CORRECT... but sandy cheese is better than no cheese. 

There were no toilets or change stalls at the beach so we had to go on a bit of an excursion to find somewhere. We eventually infiltrated a fancy hotel to use their lobby bathroom. Candice and Bal got caught going in the second time when the concierge asked if they “had enjoyed the toilettes, and would they perhaps now like to pay for something from the hotel bar”. They ran away. Classic escape!

We sampled a traditional Spanish drink, horchata, which is a “plant-based milk drink” according to Wikipedia. Sounds appealing, right? We collectively hated it. That’s what we get for trying something non-alcoholic. Therefore, it was logically much safer to stick with beer for the rest of the trip. At least, that’s what I told myself.

GRANADA

En route to Granada, we passed through a place called Lorca. High on top of a mountain, we could see a massive fortress. We spontaneously decided to drive up there and check it out. Turns out Castillo de Lorca was built in the 9th century and is one of the largest castles in Spain. Super cool... and we were the only tourists there!

Most Stressful Driving Moment: leaving Lorca Castle. Obviously because it’s on top of a mountain, the roads coming down were windy and steep. Our Google Maps got confused and took us down a side road into this local area that was hellishly narrow and we ended up going down a road that was like a 75 degree angle. I had visions of us driving our poor Volkswagen Polo off the edge of the cliff. Dillon, ever the stoic hero, got us out of it while I panicked and failed at asking locals for directions.

Our apartment in Granada was in the historic part of the city, within the old city walls. Think super tiny, winding cobblestone streets with high buildings. It was very charming, if not excessively sweaty climbing all the stairs. Good thing there was beer at the top!

In the evening, we went for a really great traditional dinner and then to a flamenco show. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip for me. For some reason, the waiter did not seem to think we were capable of drinking 2L of sangria when we first placed our order. We proved him wrong.

We sampled churros with chocolate the next morning. This is apparently quite a traditional thing and honestly I could eat it every day for the rest of my life. Who doesn’t want to start their day with deep-fried dough and chocolate dip?

As we left Granada, we stopped at Alhambra Palace & Gardens. It was founded in 889 AD and mostly constructed in the 13th century. The gardens were stunning and were more impressive than anything I’ve seen before, including the gardens of the Taj Mahal. (#humblebrag2) 

SEVILLE

It was a long walk from our AirBnB to the centre of Seville and it was about 35 degrees out, so we punctuated our stroll with frequent beer stops. This meant that we were feeling pretty good by the time we arrived at the Plaza de Espana. Some scenes from Game of Thrones were filmed here, so you could probably add our names to the credits now.

We then had the best seafood paella and sangria at a local restaurant! The paella was HUGE... and we ate all of it. No regrets. 

Seville was one of the friendliest places I’ve ever been. When we went for breakfast the next morning, we went to a local cafe where literally nobody spoke any English. The manager seemed really excited that we were there and got us our own separate table. There was no menu, so we managed to communicate that he could bring us whatever he wanted. We got this awesome selection of incredible sandwiches and he checked to make sure we were happy with them. Everywhere we went, people were super eager to please and would joke around with us, despite the language barrier. I’d go back here in a second.

FARO

We crossed the border into Portugal after leaving Seville and made a pitstop at Praia de Faro. It’s a small island that’s basically just beautiful beach and little bars and restaurants. We had some great beach time and beers because it was a scorching 37 degrees. Dillon attained an even higher level of lobster. 

Women on the beaches of Spain and Portugal often go topless... so when we asked a stranger to take a photo of the four of us on the beach, I realized afterwards that there was a mostly-naked lady in the background. Thank goodness for Photoshop; I made that disappear. 

LISBON

People in Portugal speak better English than people in Spain. I only managed to learn two words in Portuguese: “cerveja” (beer) and “obrigada” (thank you). I got along with those pretty well :)

The metro system in Lisbon is super easy and efficient, so for the first time we took advantage of public transit and spared ourselves walking everywhere in the extreme heat

When we went out for dinner that evening, we discovered that boiled meats are pretty standard in Portuguese cuisine. This was not my favourite :( On the other hand, Portuguese custard tarts (pasteis de nata) are phenomenal.  

We checked out the seaside and a couple of cool markets. We also took a walking tour here to learn more about the city. Our tour guide recommended a super cool bar underneath a church. There was some kind of street festival going on, so there were outdoor bars and decorations everywhere. We explored that and then ended at an outdoor cinema. 

I had to get up at 4:30 the next morning to get an Uber to the airport. Note to self: next time I have an early flight, don’t have so many cervejas the night before. Lesson learned. 

If you’ve made it this far, wow - you probably need a hobby! This trip was so much fun and so interesting; I really wanted to take the time to tell the story. If you haven’t been to Spain or Portugal, maybe I’ve convinced you to go. I couldn’t recommend it enough. I owe the biggest thank you to Dillon, Candice, and Bal for being my travel companions and for making me laugh a million times during the trip. What an amazing final experience before I head back to Canada in August :) 

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Audrey and CJ that is defiantly an interesting choice but might also work. Like Cheddie. Any other ships do you think would work?

TRUE STORY, THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LESS THAN A PAGE JUST TO ILLUSTRATE MY POINT THAT I CAN MAKE A SHIP OUT OF ANYTHING. NOW IT’S 3,000 WORDS, AND I CUT OUT THE PARODY/DUET SONG BECAUSE I COULDN’T MODIFY THE LYRICS, OR BE BOTHERED BECAUSE IT’S LATE

@saveshootingstar

Justask, and I’ll probably find some way to justify or explain it. Oncewe finally see the new VKs in action (Gil and Harry especially),we’ll probably see quite a lot of new ships and fics, headcanonportrayals aside.

If you want an example, I could actually see Jane and CJ workingout, the start of it being Fairy Godmother pairing the two up to tryand give CJ a good example to mirror… and someone with her at alltimes who knows how to physically restrain her, never needs to sleepor take bathroom break so she can watch her 24/7, and kick her ass,if need be.

(Jane has a LOT of spare time to learn all manner of skills—herfighting skills are a largely a matter of mind sabotaging body.)

The relationship obviously starts off rocky, what with CJ causingno shortage of (minor) trouble and (petty) crimes because she can,and her being proud of one of Jane’s biggest failures: her stealingthe wand at Ben’s Coronation and accidentally freeing Maleficent.

The two of them quickly start to bond when CJ relents with thecrime and teaches Jane how to be more free and assertive (becauseseeing her get used like a doormat is painful, especially becauseshe’s not the one taking advantage of her), bonding with theirfears and feeling like they’ll never live up to their famousparent’s legacy (”Only room for one Pirate King or Queen in allthe seas, I’m afraid.”), and of course, CJ discovering thatthere’s still a rebellious side to Jane, most of their activitiescentred around hanging out with the “Merry Men and Maidens,”children of the “Gray” people of Auradon who skateboard, rock,and engage in “technically legal mischief” like urban explorationand parkour.

Though CJ does legitimately have fun with Jane, I’d be lying ifher starting a relationship with her was just for the sake of it. Iwouldn’t put it past CJ to want to see if she can “corrupt”Jane and make her fall in love with her just because she can, likeshe did with the other girls at Frollo’s ill-fated convent beforeshe set it on fire. (See: God Loves You, Part 2)

She succeeds, mostly because Jane is new to relationships, she hasinsecurity issues that CJ plays with like a fiddle, andunfortunately, Fairy Empathy can’t tell WHY someone is so happythat you’ve said “Yes” to a date with them.

The other VKs warn her, but Jane largely ignores them, thinking toherself that CJ could change like they have, and because she haspersonally seen CJ slowly becoming able to integrate with society, ifjust with the MMnM.

Claudine is particularly vocal about this: “She set my house on firewhile I was still in it!”

She still spends her nights as she always does: ruminating,thinking paranoid thoughts, dissecting what the others have said toher to absurd levels of detail, what with being able to rememberexactly what they said, the tone, and the body language.

But just this once, she ignores all the warning signs, decides togive CJ a chance, because what’s what you do with the VKs: youassume the best of them, that they won’t revert back to their oldways, because treating them like criminals is the fastest way to makethem so.

All of this falls apart when Jane overhears a conversation at theMnMM’s Auradon City “hideout,” an abandoned warehouse in theindustrial park at Marigold Street. CJ gets into conversation withsome of the other rebels, and when the topic of their beingpleasantly surprised that someone like CJ could fall in love withsomeone like Jane, she finally admits she’s just toying with her.

“My evilness, she’s so desperate shepractically wrapped herself around my finger!” she says,before she laughs it off.

The other MMnM’s don’t laugh and scowl at her, and several ofthem start slowly backing away as Jane rounds the corner andslowly creeps up behind CJ.

Keenly aware of the signs that Something Terrible Is Right BehindYou, CJ turns around and sees Jane. “Oh, there you are, love!”she says nervously. “… Didn’t hear you coming…”

“I step very lightly,” Jane says, her eyes and her handsglowing with magic.

CJ has pestered and bullied Jane to show her some spells because“What good is being a full Faerie if you don’t ever use yourmagic?” She’s cajoled her from everything to a simple glow orbspell, to a prank or something to lighten up someone’s day, or evenincantations she’s lifted from Mal’s spell book when she gets tostealing it every once in a while.

And it is in that moment that CJ regrets all of that as Jane castsa Silence Curse on her.

(No incantation, sorry; it’s late and rhymes are hard.)

For as long as the curse is active, CJ can only make grunts andsighs, unintelligible gibberish, and hum, so the only real way forher to communicate with others is through the use of body language,facial expressions, and a whiteboard she has to carry around herneck.

(Before you ask: her phone was taken away from her as punishment,and if she actually needs anything important, it can be routedthrough Jane’s phone.)

CJ pleads and begs with Jane to undo it, but the normally warm andfriendly Jane is suddenly cold and hostile, acting completelyprofessional with her and communicating with the barest amount ofwords and interaction possible.

She attempts to say sorry, but Jane’s Fairy Empathy lets herfeel whether CJ is truly sorry, or just desperately trying to get thecurse off.

She tries alternative avenues, but Jordan she doesn’t grantwishes, and even if she did, “You gotta say it out loud, or havesomeone who will—sucks, I know;” Mal refuses for all the timesthat she’s “borrowed” her spell book; and Ben, Fairy Godmother,and the rest of the Faeries are actually quite proud of Janefor doing a well-timed-and-crafted curse to teach her a lesson, as istradition.

CJ tries to live the rest of her life with her curse, figuringthat she’s survived on the Isle and found a way, she can do itagain in Auradon. Unfortunately for her:

The VKs and the AKs are firmly on Jane’s side, and the formermakes a point to misinterpret all of her attempts at communication toannoy her and make things unnecessarily difficult (and entertaining);

The MMnM’s shun her for breaking their code, the one thatforbids ever “Playing your fellow Men and Maidens like fiddles.”,and she is completely shunned by the only friends and companionsshe’s had in Auradon (“Zevon doesn’t count,” she writes); and

She keeps running out of whiteboard space and marker ink at theworst possible times, and don’t get her started on when itrains

Life becomes miserable for CJ—even more so than on the Isle,because at least there, that was the standard, not the low you fellto after having a pretty good life that you personally blasteda hole in and sank to the bottom of the ocean.

In desperation, she tries to her the rowboat she used to smuggleZevon from the Isle (it was from a rental place for scenic rowboatdates and fishing trips), hoping that the power of the anti-magicbarrier will undo the curse.

Since her plan in Auradon failed so badly, she thought she mightcut her losses and return to her old Crew back on the Isle.

Unfortunately, this is nearly impossible to do when thestaff are already aware that you’re a boat thief and have taken theappropriate security measures (actually chaining their boats to thedock, and having someone watch the camera at night), and you can’tfast-talk anyone out of suspicion—she can only write so quickly,and there’s only so much space on her whiteboard.

And though CJ has several strokes of dumb luck and chancethat actually let her take a rowboat out to the water, she finds outit was all actually a setup as Jane was waiting under a tarp at theback of the boat.

CJ lets out a yelp and drops the oars.

Jane stretches the kinks out, before she sits down and faces her.“CJ,” she says.

CJ picks up her board, and uncaps her marker. “Jane,” shewrites.

“I suppose you’re wondering how I knew you were going to tryand escape back to the Isle…” Jane says.

CJ nods as she erases her board. “How did you know?”

“I could tell you were homesick and desperate,” Jane replies.“It was the same way with any of the other VKs when they havereally bad days.”

CJ nods.

Jane’s expression softens. “Do you really want to do this, CJ?Go back to the Isle?”

CJ sighs heavily as she erases and starts scribbling again. “Whatchoice do I have?”

“You could apologize, for one!” Jane said.

CJ blinks. Erase, write. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Jane said. “It’s why ‘Sorry, I’llmake up for it’ was invented—humans like you are inevitably goingto screw up, but they say that to let others it wasn’t intentional,and more importantly, that they feel bad enough to do something aboutit.”

CJ slowly erases her board. She bites her lip for a moment, beforeshe slowly writes: “I don’t really do sorry, Jane…”

“Well can’t you at least try?!” Jane cries, her eyesglowing with magic again.

CJ raises her whiteboard up like a shield. She quickly, messilyerases the words, until all that’s left is “sorry” give or takea few smudges.

Jane sighs, and relaxes. “Okay, that’s a start. How about youtry and make it more sincere?”

CJ cleans up her whiteboard. She writes, “How? Like, seriously,how? VK here” she writes, with an arrow pointing to her face.

Jane thinks of telling her to look back at what little sheretained from Remedial Goodness, before she sighs, and says, “Sayyou’re sorry, along with what you did, and what you’re going todo about it. Here, I’ll help,” she says as she raises her hand,and twiddles her fingers.

Magic surges from Jane’s hand and into CJ’s neck. She tensesup and whimpers as she feels it seep into her skin, and go down herthroat like the realm’s coolest, mintiest menthol drop. She picksup her board, and writes,

“WTF did you do to me now?!”

“I gave you back your voice,” Jane said.

“Holy shit, really?” CJ asks. She blinks. “Holy shit.Holy fucking shit cunt balls motherfucking fucking-fuckity-fuck—Ican talk again!” she throws her hands up into the air. “WOO!”

Jane stares at her.

“Hah, yeah…” CJ mutters. “Really pent up in the cursedepartment! Speaking of pent-up–” she stands up, snaps herwhiteboard in half on her knee, before she tosses it and her markersinto the ocean.

Splash.

Jane watches the snapped halves and the pens slowly sink beneaththe water and out of sight, even for her enhanced Fae vision. “…I’m just going to ignore your littering and polluting the ocean,and just let you try and apologize, alright…?”

CJ’s good mood quickly fades. “Oh, ah! Right! I was…supposed to say, ah, the s-word, right?”

“You’re supposed to start with that, yeah…” Janemutters as she crosses her eyes, and gives CJ her “cold” lookagain.

CJ instinctively flinches, before she sheepishly looks away, andtakes a deep breath. “Look, Jane… I’m s-sss…” Her facestarts to contort with strain. “I’m s-soo… s-sss… s-sorry.”

“Could you please try to look at me when you say that?” Janeasks. “You can just say ‘Sorry’ now.”

CJ looks at her, and says, “Sorry.”

Jane smiles. “There? Now was that so hard?”

“YES!” CJ cried.“Evilness, it feels so WEIRD!”

“Is that really such a bad thing?” Jane asks. “Seasalt icecream was weird to you when we first had it, now you don’t orderanything else.”

“It’s made out of salt, from the sea,” CJ mutters. “Ithought it was going to be like eating frozen seawater.”

“But it wasn’t. It was delicious, wasn’t it?”

“Twas… what are you getting at, by the way? Because now I’mgetting hungry for seasalt ice cream, and we’ve just got plain oldseawater for miles, and no freezers in sight.”

“What I’m getting at is just because something is weird or newdoesn’t mean it’s bad, maybe it just means that you needtime to get used to it!” Jane cries. “You can say ‘Sorry,’CJ—you can be sorry, and you can make up for theawful things yo do.”

CJ looks away and mumbles something under her breath. With her Faehearing, Jane catches it: “Pirates don’t apologize; they raid,they pillage, they plunder, but they never, ever apologize.”

“But do you have to be a pirate…?”

CJ scowls at Jane. “Jane, I’m the daughter of CaptainHook–”

“And Mal is the daughter of Maleficent, but look at where sheand the others are now!” Jane cries. “Just because you were bornfrom an evil tree doesn’t make you a bad apple!”

“But I’m not like them—any ofthem!” CJ cries asshe throws her arms out. “Look at me! I’m damaged goods! I’mwaterlogged, corroded by sea-air, and the crew members accidentallypeed on me sometimes when they were too fucking wasted from all thegrog!” she screams.

Then, she looks away, tucks her legs underneath her, and crossesher arms over her chest.

For the first time since she’s known her, CJ doesn’t lookconfident or proud; now she just looks tiny, scared, and the feelingsJane is picking up from her confirm that.

It’s silent for a while as the two of them bob in the ocean, twogirls in a rowboat in the middle of nowhere.

“Jane…” CJ mutters.

“Hmm?”

“Why… why did you think I was being totally honest with you,when I said I loved you?”

Jane sighed. “Fairy Empathy. I could tell you reallywanted me to say yes. I could tell you really wanted me. LikeI was worth more than all the treasures you have ever pillaged inyour entire life. You made me feel special, CJ—like I wassomeone people would actually want.

“… But then it turns out, you only wanted to steal my heartjust to prove that you could.”

She looks at CJ, her eyes watering, her mouth curled into a scowl.“Finding out that it was all a game to you, and only because Ioverheard you bragging about it to the others hurt, CJ. Itreally fucking hurt. Do you have any idea what it feelslike, to think that finally, somebody loves you for you?

“That someone finally sees you as a person and not athing they can use to get what they want, and they it all turns outto be bullshit again?!”

CJ looks away. “No… but I do know what it’s like to realizeyou’re permanently second-fiddle to the girl you love, soyou do stupid shit like steal the only silver she has in the house,then set it on fire because you were so pissed she’d choose her oldfart of a father over you.”

She groans and looks back at Jane. “Look, Jane: my love life’sbeen nothing but fucked up and messed up since I started havingcrushes, let alone girlfriends and boyfriends! I’m a pirate:I’m doomed to have one-off flings with nothing to remembermy lovers by except a kid left at my doorstep one day—or theirripped panties in my case, I suppose!

“I can’t be what you Auradonians want to love—someone who’snormal, who’s not damaged, who can actually get this shit right!”

Jane reaches forward and gently takes her hands. CJ flinches, butdoesn’t pull away. “Do you want to find out if we can make itwork anyhow…?” she asks quietly.

CJ finds herself speechless once more, this time without the helpof a curse. “… What do you see in me, Jane?”

Jane smiles. “I see someone who gets into a lot of trouble anddoes a lot of bad things, but who I like hanging out with anywaybecause she makes life so interesting.

“I see someone who’s broken and damaged like me, but shedidn’t let that stop her from being confident and proud and doingwhatever the fuck it is she likes and getting what shewants.

“I see someone who I want to be, or failing that, just be with,because for all her rough edges, and the fact that her breath smellslike cheap booze all the time, made me smile, made me feel special,made me feel loved.

“And someone who, by the way, made me voluntarily spendseveral hours out of my day investigating and orchestrating a grandmaster plan to catch you when you try to row back to the Isle.”

CJ stare at her for a long while, feeling the magical warmth fromJane’s hands seep into her skin. “… You’re a strange one,Jane.”

“I’m a Faerie, I’m inherently strange to mortals likeyou.”

CJ pauses. “You do realize making this work is going to take ahellaciously large amount of work, yes?”

Jane nods. “I’ve got the time, and I don’t need sleep, norbathroom breaks.”

CJ’s lip quivers. “… And this could all still run agroundand sink for good, you realize that, right?”

“Well at least I can say that I tried.”

CJ pauses. “… You’re willing to do this… all of this…just for me…?”

Jane nods. “Yes. I’m not sure if it’s because I really dolove you, or I’m just desperate… but I know I want to find outwhich is which.”

CJ’s lip quivers as her eyes moisten. The emotions pouring outfrom her and into Jane, she can only describe as “warm and fuzzy.”

“F-Fuck!” CJ cries as tears stream down her cheeks. “W-Whatis happening to me…?”

“It’s called ‘Feeling Loved,’ CJ,” Jane replies calmly.“Does it feel weird?” she asks as she reaches up and wipes thetears from her eyes.

CJ sniffed, feeling her cheeks burn red. “Yes…”

It was a weird she could see herself getting used to, though.

[talldarknsexy]

Russia in Julember and Humping Moose Antlers

Since my visa technically started 3 days ago, I shot off straight for the border and didn’t arrive until about 6pm in the pouring rain. It took a good 2 hours or so and I was proper soaked. I didn’t fancy camping in the wet forest, so pushed on another 60km to get to the nearest city of Vyborg where I saw some tourism and hostels on the map. I rode by forest, lots and lots of forest, there’s a lot of trees in Russia. 642 billion I’m told. I’m not sure who is counting, but I’ll bet he or she is still out there somewhere..

I made it to Vyborg by about 11pm. This may sound late, but it was the highest point on my entire route, higher even than my friend in Alaska. So, there was still an hour or two of light. At the first hostel I learned the Russian word for full, полно. At the second, I followed a guest in, but the owner wasn’t there and I found myself locked in for a few minutes. The third worked just fine.

Riding through Russia so far, the people had been polite and helpful. But, by no means outgoing. Riding into the city center, I was greeted by a good half dozen people, mostly girls, that did a celebratory “wave” for me. Weird I thought as I waved and rode by. But a suddenly slammed on the brakes upon realizing it was the cyclist gals from Riga. I’d planned on meeting them here anyways. But, certainly not by chance, in my tired/bewildered state, entering the city at dusk with 5.5 million other people.

Anyways, we got pizza and beer with some of their friends there. They went back to their Couchsurfing hosts and I found a hostel to crash at about 1am... Too tired to even shower.

The next day we met at a bike shop because the gals had a friend of a friend of a friend that mayyyybe could host us. Anyways, it worked out and a fella by the Name of Ilya graciously let us four squat in his shared, occupied apartment. His friends Vika and Pasha showed us around for that weekend. Vika was super sweet and spoke excellent English. Pasha was huge, disheveled at best with a somewhat spastic personality and always in a hurry, no matter he was doing. We had the same size and type of cycling shoes which made for some confusion...

That weekend we went to a punk rock show which was good fun. Evidentially Russian is a superb language for screamo/punk. We also went to a political art exhibition. We also got denied entry at the Hermitage, the worlds second largest art museum, and as in Riga, we went to go eat instead.

The gals left the city by train to Moscow. Ilya and I had another day of putting together a new wheel for me, as the one I got in Malawi and had now rebuilt multiple times was starting to resemble more of a potato chip. And while test riding it, my bottom bracket grenaded and we spent another afternoon replacing that as well. I went out with Ilya and his friends that evening for one last night out in St. Petersburg. It was interesting having fallen into a group of bike messenger, anarchist, vegan, hipsters (if I’m allowed to use labels like that.) They had all been great the past few days and it had been super nice going with the flow of a group and not having to make individual plans.

That next day I rolled out of St. Petersburg bearing for Moscow. The highway was less than stimulating and so, after only 40km, and very short Visa, I tried hitchhiking. People were confused, people were amused, people mostly stared- some even shook their heads. After about 3-4 hours, a truck pulled over and a guy excitedly asked me for a carton of cigarettes. Still cheaper and easier than the train, I certainly obliged.

Vladimir was a young guy with a small box truck headed home to Moscow that night. He asked me where I was from, and upon hearing Colorado, whipped out a piece of hash that must have been a good 5 grams at least... So yes, in Colorado marijuana is legal. But, in Russia is a felony with the classification of terrorism.

He liked telling stories. But, unfortunately I could only understand a very small percentage of that he was saying. He showed me a $2 US bill. When I incredulously asked if it’s origins, he google translated that he was working as a taxi driver and an American snorting coke the whole way gave it to him.

Vlad was headed far east of the city, and so I had us pull into a petrol station before the city so I could inquire about camping. In the end, he had been joking and wouldn’t allow me to buy him any cigarettes. There were some rigs there, so I asked the security guard who enthusiastically told me I could. This was about 3am. I woke up suddenly around 9:30am to my tent shaking violently. I instinctively punched back at the tent because maybe it was a dog. I swung open my tent fly to see what I think was a different security guard tell me something about 5 mins as he walked away. I guess this was not something discussing during shift change...

Feeling a bit groggy, but running on some adrenaline, I embarked on entering the largest metropolitan area I’d ever attempted on bicycle. It’s a city of 12-20 million. But nobody’s quite sure... They should find the precise fucker out there counting 642 billion trees and send them to Moscow instead.

Instead of being hosted as in St. P’s and going with the flow of social things I decided to balance that in Moscow by staying by myself in a hostel and making my own plans. I got into a nice and decent family run place in a good location for about $5. The owner happened to have lived in the states and spoke excellent English. The other staff hadn’t seen someone like me in months I don’t think. I do like that about Russia. Hostels are everywhere, even in small towns. They’re cheap functional places to relax, eat, and sleep typically for travelers or workers from Russia or neighboring countries. Unlike the chic and sterile backpacking factories in many parts of the world designed just for Chad and Tiffany on holiday

I spent the weekend in Moscow. That Friday I met up with a local from Couchsurfing who offered to show me around and I went out later for drinks with her and her friends. On Saturday, a friend of a friend, Ilya, rode into the city to show me around. He is in the process of orchestrating Russia’s first thru bikepacking route. He needn’t try too hard to convince me to try a segment.

I’d been having a good time in St. Petersburg and Moscow, but it still felt quite European to me at times. Riding through the countryside would be a good way to experience rural and authentic Russia I thought.

The next five days kinda blended together. The riding was indeed scenic. It was half dirt, half pavement, (which in this region tended to be a bit undulating at best anyways.) But mostly it got me off the busy highway and brought me through many small towns separated by endless wheat, corn, and my favorite: sunflower fields.

On the second day I went off course a bit and my navigation I was using for this route redirected me (unbenounced to me.) I rode about 15km partially through grass fields only to end at a river that appeared to be at least chest deep. Luckily Ilya had just messaged me and was able to notify my not only that I was now 17km off course, but he sent me a new file that is easier to navigate with on my phone. I did however, have to go back the entire 15km.

In the towns they have well and tap water. When I asked if the water was okay to drink I’d be met with either a blank stare, a slight nod, or a whole goddamn life story. Buying from shops was also interesting. In the cities people, and certainly younger people, recognize me as a foreigner and put up with my shitty Russian. Here, people either think I’m speaking what might as well be Chinese, or just think I’m a retarded Russian guy.

Even walking into a shop and saying hello in Russian, the old babushka lady will sometimes reply with “HUHHHH?” “ШТО КОТИТЕ?!” “ГОВОРИТЕ!” What do you want?! Speak! Most are very helpful though the language is sometimes terse but formal.

I can also only count to ten. Out of 8 other languages I’ve practiced, the teens were too difficult I determined. So, one lady had to show me on her abacus. My millennial ass not knowing how to count on a fucking abacus either... I had to just hand her an obscenely large bill for my bread and margarine.

Also sometimes annoying is that all the small shops are set up with the goods behind the counter. Only knowing half of the vocab, I have to resort to pointing. In one shop the drinks were inside a closed refrigerator. Now I haven’t lived in this village my whole life and hardly understood what she was saying. I asked politely if I could see for myself. And she jokingly asked me something like “What is this? A supermarket??”

It was some amazing countryside and it was interesting seeing all the old churches and the way people lived. They also had a lot of what appeared to be bomb shelters in some regions. There was also superb camping every night. The downside was, even though the people were quite funny and helpful, they were in no way outwardly curious. I had in 5 days, only 3 people ask me where I was from. And at least 2 of the 3 of them I’m sure were drunk. I did get a lot of stares though... A lot of stares.

I popped out of the route on Friday to stay with a Couchsurfing host Natalia in the next city. I’d come up about 100km short and opted again to hitch in a box truck. This time, armed with a pack of cigarettes.

Because I’d been camping all week and my phone only had some 5% juice and was out of data I accidentally arrived to Natalia’s address, but in another part of the city, 15km away. By the time I was able to get in touch with her and make my way back, it was almost 1am.

She was still awake though, and understanding. I spent the weekend there and caught up with a few things. Outside in Voronezh, I was fixing the derailleur alignment on my bike. I caught the attention of an old man peeing by his open car door. Maybe I’m slightly used to old naked Russian men from the gym I grew up by. But this guy, mouth wide open, just kept staring through the whole process... until he’d shaken out the last drop.

Anyways, as I was running out of time with my visa I again had to hitchhike to the next city. I rode the first 50km out of the city to a trucker rest stop. I got talking to an Armenian guy who liked the Marlboro cigarettes I was offering him and even though his truck was locked, he went out and found an empty big rig for me to ride in.

Igor was more than welcoming. I felt somewhat bad as he really liked to talk but I really had a hard time understanding. I made sure to buy us lunch, but it was a long 5 hours.

In Rostov-on-Don I stayed with Olya who had reached out. She had a separate floor for me on a small house a bit outside of the city. The next day she took me out on bike to see a bit of the surrounding area and then on foot into the city. She had hitchhiked all across Asia and had many a story to tell. I spent another day there in the library sorting out visas for Central Asia.

I was late setting off the next day and had a false start out of the city and hit some rain and a flat tire. I decided I should probably do one last registration for my Russian visa anyways and opted to get a hostel by the center. The owner was super excited to have an American there and to hear my ridiculous Russian accent. He had a lot of questions which I tried my best to answer. When he asked if I had a wife and kids I told him “я не думаю” or “I don’t think so.” He ran away laughing to go tell his friends. It was a great place and I spent that Friday night at a couchsurfing event turned dinner, turned bar, turned club. I made it back around 4:30am.

I’d had a good time in Russia. But some things had made me ready to move on. Firstly, you take your shoes off before going inside. This is something quite eastern, but something I’m familiar with in all of Asia. Additionally though, in Russia it’s bad juju to be whistling inside- it can cause you to be poor it’s thought. Apparently I whistle a lot. Sometimes I’m inside. When I go inside I need to take my shoes off, but also ensure I’m not whistling. This is asking a lot of me.

Also, most everyone had treated me with respect and was very generous and helpful. But, outside of St. Petersburg and Moscow, I could usually feel a reservedness and distance from a lot of the people I met. The idea of friendship is also a bit more eastern in that close friends are only those you have for life.

Aside from the bikepacking adventure, I’d basically been following the M4 for the span of Russia. Because of the recent war, there’s only one open border crossing from Russia to Georgia. So, I had about 150km left on the M4 before splitting off onto a lesser highway to the border. I rode a good 170km that day with some good wind and camped. This next road had very little shoulder and much less long distance traffic. I tried hitching for a few hours with a sign that just translated to “this way.” But to no avail. I rode another 60km to the next city and with only 2 days left on my visa and 500km to go, opted to take a train.

Waiting for the train, a father and son came and sat next to me on a bench. They were a little confused to be sitting next to someone in Kropotkin Russia who in fact didn’t speak Russian. But, after about 3 attempts they enthusiastically understood that I was American. They happened to be waiting for the same train in three hours, so I had some very long talks with them. Or rather... The father, Yura, talked at me for a very long time. They shared some vodka with me as it was getting dark. This was the first and last vodka I had and would drink with locals in Russia. Everyone, and I mean damn near everyone drinks beer.

I soon realized how drunk Yura was. He had a leathered skin and fake gold teeth. But his eyes had a sharp vibrancy and resiliency that shined through when he talked. The drunker he got, the less I understood, but of course the more he thought I understood. Some people make it easy with slow speech and gestures. But he was all over the place. I thought he was at one point explaining how hard life in Russia was, but then he’d throw me a goddamn curveball gesture like humping moose antlers... And then I’d be lost in left field again.

Anyways I sipped vodka with Mr. Moose Antlers and boarded the train that night. There was an announcement in Russian on the loudspeaker for the American to board the train which was a bit overwhelming. I was sweaty as hell, but managed some sleep in the bunk I was given.

The next day I rode off and stopped in a bike shop for a spare tube as a dog had ran off with mine a few days earlier. The guys were super nice there and despite my protests gave it to me for free. They also wanted to give me stuff like tires and food. But I needed to get to the border that day.

Riding out of Vladikavkav I finally caught a glimpse of the Caucus mountains. After months of the flatlands, they looked glorious. I hit the border about noontime. I had expected some questioning, as I’d been told by other tourists, and as I would find out later, there was slipping diplomacy between Georgia and Russia. Anyways, the passport officer was very impressed with my “Russian” and asked me for my motorcycle papers. He then popped out of his booth and was more impressed to just see a bicycle. I thought I was in the clear. But unfortunately, his colleague flagged me over to the office.

I was greeted by Putin’s long lost dejected cousin. And Judging by his grimace, I’d reckon maybe his cat had taken a shit in his coffee mug that morning. He asked me a lot of questions about my previous life and what I had done in Russia for the month of “Julember.” I had come up with the bare minimum hotel registrations at one per week. So, Couchsurfing and camping were not things I was keen to disclose as those may not have flown so well under a tourist visa. For my father’s profession I put down Chief Marketing Officer. I then had to do quite a bit of backpedaling to explain that he was not police in order to get him to calm back down. And after about two hours, I was told to go on, just as quickly as I’d been pulled aside.

Overall, Russia was nothing like I expected and everything I did not. Also, it’s a big country... in fact, the biggest. And only having received a month visa very much limited me on route and riding options. But I did feel I got a good glimpse of Western Russia as least... And I got a lot of stares in return 😅

[firstpuffin]

Syntax: putting together and expanding a sentence.

So this week I was slow starting this entry and so it will be a bit rushed. Yes, I write these on a week by week basis; I’ve been meaning to stock up on them for less stress but I’ve been too busy to do so. Anyway, rather than skipping an entry I decided to write it based on what I’m doing at the moment at uni. Again.

 So during first year we covered some of the syntax of language, that is, the way sentences are put together. There wasn’t as much focus on this subject as I would have liked as it is more along the lines of what I am interested in rather than what we moved on to. However, we are starting to move into the different areas of language again so for homework we basically had to refresh our memory on certain things. I figured I’d share some of this while reinforcing the knowledge in my own head. I enjoy the subject and heaven knows I need to revise.

              So I’m not going to cover all of the homework given, just a few bits that I personally needed to research and found particularly interesting. But for those new to studying the language, a bit of background information. The English language structures its sentences in the Subject, Verb, Object (SVO) order; for the sake of contrast, although you can ignore this if you choose, the Japanese language uses the Subject, Object, Verb structure.

              Basically, we say “Jimmy(S) kicked(V) the football(O)”, while the Japanese say “Jimmy the football kicked”. Sounds odd, but if you were to take “watashi wa suupa ni ikimasu” (I’m going to the supermarket) and used the SVO then it could be “watashi wa ikimasu ni suupa” and any native Japanese speaker would look at you like you’d just swallowed Jimmy’s football. Although given my level of Japanese then they might give you that look either way; anyway, that’s not totally relevant to the topic at hand, but maybe now some of you recognise the importance of sentence structure a bit better.

              So now that the subject, object and verb structure has been established, just what in blazes are they? I’m going to start with the simple one, verb; I’m sure most people know this, and if not then shame on the education system, not you, but a verb is a “doing” word. It represents an action like kicking, going, learning. Time travelling. Spitting. You do it, it’s a verb. Subject and object are a little bit harder, I never learned them at school and I still get them muddled.

              A subject is what does, or performs, the verb: Jimmy kicks. I shop. The Doctor time travels.

              An object has the action done to it: the football is kicked. The shop is gone to. Time is travelled.

              So, to expand on that, a subject will be a noun or a pronoun (I’m not going into noun phrases here, I’m not even sure what they are myself) and is the one doing the verb. Again, Jimmy(S) kicks(V). Without the verb it’s just Jimmy and a football. What’s happening? Don’t ask me.

              An object is also a noun or pronoun and is the thing that the action is being done to: the ball is kicked. Just to mix things up, because nothing in life is straightforward, that example just now has the subject before the verb, yes? Yes. “The ball is kicked” is a passive sentence that I will delve into once I actually know what passive and active sentences are.

 That… was just an introduction. If you didn’t understand what subjects, verbs and objects are then what comes next just wouldn’t make any sense. I’m going to start with verbs again as I suspect that is what people will understand best. But! I need to cover adverbs first. Yay!

              I’ve always had a bit of a problem with adverbs and adjectives; it seems silly but I would get them confused. I would honestly prefer them to be called adverbs and adnouns because that’s nice and simple, but whatever. An adjective adds on to a noun. An adverb adds on to a verb. And an adjective. And an adverb. The best way I can think of it is that an adverb is a complicated adjective, despite adjective having the complicated name. For this, I want you to remember adverb; if a word can be changed then there’s a three in four chance that it’s an adverb.

              What we are looking at now is an adverbial. So an adverbial is not necessarily an adverb, but it does the same thing: it modifies meaning. “Jimmy kicked the football that had a face”: the adverbial is “that had a face”.

              “After I shower I’m going to the supermarket”: here the adverbial is at the start of the sentence. So the sentence makes sense even without the adverbial but it adds more, possibly vital, information. A website that I like quoted somebody on the adverbial that I think really helps to clarify this: “An adverbial…is a part of a sentence that performs a certain function. An adverb, on the other hand, is a type of word…” and “an adverb may [be] an adverbial, but an adverbial is not necessarily an adverb.” (M, Strumpf and A, Douglas, 2004; cited in R, Nordquist, 2018)

              -Just as a side-note= you can probably find everything I talk about here on this site, thoughtco.com, I use it a lot but it’s not always the most concise or clear so I’m trying to simplify and condense the information for easier understanding.

 I have two more things to talk about and each of those has two parts and as I decide which one I am going to cover next, I realise that I may already have touched upon direct and indirect objects so I’ll do that one first, and I’ll start with direct objects.

              I’ve chosen direct object to start with for two reasons: the first, and absolutely subjective, reason is that the word direct feels like it would come first to me. The second, and the real, important, reason is that I believe it is what could be considered the default Object of any given sentence. The direct object is the recipient of an action: the football in the case of “Jimmy kicked the football”. Nice, simple; cut and dry.

              The indirect action appears to be limited to a second Object in a sentence. “The Doctor time travelled with Amy in the TARDIS”: the Doctor is the subject and time travelled is the verb, leaving Amy and TARDIS as the objects. So which is which? Nordquist (2018) on that website I mentioned earlier says that “the indirect object typically comes immediately after the verb and before the direct object” and while I’m not taking him at his word it matches what I know from other sources, so Amy is the indirect object.

              The way I interpret it is that the direct object is necessary to complete a sentence while the indirect object adds information. The problem that I have with the Nordquist quote is that most of the examples that I think of have the indirect object after the first; of course this doesn’t mean that he is wrong, the problem could be with me, but it does suggest that “typically” may be a misleading word. Then again, maybe my examples are passive or something.

              In “Catherine made me coffee”, “me” is the indirect object. The way I see it, a sentence is said for a purpose and the “direct” method doesn’t allow room for fluff: “Catherine made coffee” is the direct route to saying that coffee was made, for whom doesn’t matter. The moment you add “me” you are taking the “indirect” route. The same goal or object, but taking the scenic route.

              And finally we move onto subject and object complements. As my lecturer pointed out, it’s complement, not compliment. We aren’t praising the subject for doing something, or the object for dealing with the subject’s actions. Also, unlike an adverbial, complements are an essential part of a sentence.

              I figure the best way of thinking about subject and object complements is that they are just a name for a certain part of a sentence instead of something extra, like the adverbials or indirect objects; basically, a sentence will always have a complement.

              A subject complement (SC) follows on from a verb and expands on the subject: “He(S) is the Doctor(SC)”; “The coffee(S) is a latte(SC)”; “Jimmy(S) has a football”. I think that the best way to explain it is that everything after the verb is a subject complement as long as it expands on what we know about the subject.

              -another side-note= did you know that “is”, “has”, “are” and “was” are all verbs? I didn’t until I started this.

              And finally onto the object complement(OC). This is much the same as the SC, only this is what comes after and expands on or describes the direct complement. From what I can see, you can’t complement an indirect object. So for the examples. “He named himself ‘Doctor’”: He(S) named(V) himself(O) Doctor(OC); you could say “He named himself” and that would be a complete sentence (and “himself” is also an SC), but adding the OC “Doctor” really finishes the sentence. “Jimmy kicked the football home”: “kicked” is the verb, “Jimmy” did the kicking and the “football” got kicked making it the direct object and finally “home” locates the object as being, well, home.

 Before I close up I want to include an honourable mention: the predicate. I didn’t bring up the predicate earlier because the best way to lose someone’s interest is to flood them with terminology, but it might be worth knowing for future reference. A predicate expands on the subject and so I think is everything that comes after it. Julius Caesar’s famous quote “I came. I saw. I conquered” is an example of subject, complement. Subject, complement. Subject, complement. A sentence is made up of clauses and a clause is made up of a subject and a predicate, so Caesar’s quote is “Subject, predicate. Subject, predicate. Subject, predicate.”

              All of that is for another time though.

I could cover things such as clauses and predicates later; as well as there, their and they’re; your and you’re; to, too; and even its, it’s and similar if that is interesting. Once you understand the rules then they are usually pretty simple.