For all the travel I’ve done these past few weeks, I have very little to report. That’s what happens when you’re on vacation on not worried about taking pictures or making blog posts. You don’t even take a real camera. You enjoy life and drink too much wine with lunch and shop for t-shirts with mustaches on them. You buy chocolates for breakfast and have midnight espressos. You stroll the cobblestone streets of Colmar and taste copious amounts of Alsatian wine at the Zind-Humbrecht Vineyard. Maybe you get a tattoo at a weird sex shop in Aix-en-Provence. You (really) hope the guy understands you. Your girlfriend finds pink cowboy boots at a second-hand store in Pigalle, and for pocket change at that. You buy more than a month’s rent worth of 4×5 film. You walk around, a lot, with nowhere to really go. You say Fuck it when the line to climb the Eiffel Tower is too long. Same with the Catacombs, because who cares really. Not me. It’s been a great trip. I’m glad I have so little to show for it.