Life of Do: First Post

So, I'm new to this whole blogosphere business, so don't butcher me if I don't meet your expectations (though why are you reading this if I don't?). The layout right now is freaking hideous, I know. When I get my hands on photoshop again, I'll change it up. This blog, however, should keep me from being lazy about posting pictures and saves me the breath of telling the little stories 32094 times to 1938 different people (projected from a supported theoretical model). Here goes nothing.

The morning of my flight, I notice that I only have one check-in bag and my backpack to take with me. Unfilled, my carry-on luggage lay on my bed, empty and seemingly forgotten. It seemed like a waste to just not bring one, so I threw in a pair of socks, a pair of goggles, and a pack of batteries. The TSA agent who scanned that bag must have drooled in envy of all my nice things. My uncle comes to inherit the trouble of looking after the flora and fauna of the Do biodome and to take me to the airport. Of course, before actually leaving the DFW area, by some heavenly intervention, we manage to miss the exit to the airport twice, so I got one last look at home. Well, two last looks--but from different angles.

I won't bore you with the details of the flight and train ride. Basically everything went smoothly, and I miraculously slept quite well during my eighteen hour intensive mechanical vibration massage and industrial-strength sound-therapy session. After debarking the train at Lyon, I find myself in a shopping mall of sorts. Apparently the French zone their train stations as commercial fiestas as well because that place was bustling with people. I wander my way through the station, looking for a payphone to call my cousins. Lucky for me, however, as soon as I discovered the secret location of the mythical object and began decoding its mysteries (i.e. I had no idea how to use the thing), my cousins Gaston, Amélie, and Laétitia somehow got a feeling to stop their train-station-induced shopping spree and triangulated my position. Hugs and salutations exchanged, we dashed off toward the metro to catch the next train. I followed a bit mindlessly to keep my sanity because I swear the Lyon metro system is built like the fourth layer of an Inception heist.

I spent the afternoon engaged in various conversations with my cousins and their parents (who were more overly worried for my well-being than my parents) involving broken French, accented English, and Vietnamese. I'm 99% sure, however, that 50% of those conversations involved food somehow. That night, we went out for a preliminary tour of Lyon. If I remember correctly past the jet-lag-induced haze... never mind, I don't actually remember where these pictures were taken.