Saturday, November 30, 2013
Nice Small Cars For Girls photos
Some cool small cars for girls images today:
IMG_2456
Image by Wootang01
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn’t. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world – men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole – that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own – her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue’s cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets – it’s amazing to consider how 0RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around – a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn’t see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn’t spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English – and Putonghua, these days – opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions – timber; stone; and coal – were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China – and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! – still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I’m sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel – a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls’ scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son – who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel – by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are – each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
Tags:Cars, girls, Nice, photos, small
Nice Car With Girl photos
Some cool car with girl images today:
mjc-2013-10-12-IMG_9920
Image by wiccked
I love the expressions on some of these faces!
And especially the little girl in the green car with the pink hat who keeps pulling down over her eyes 
mjc-2013-10-12-IMG_9896
Image by wiccked
I love the expressions on some of these faces!
And especially the little girl in the green car with the pink hat who keeps pulling down over her eyes
Tags:girl, Nice, photos
Cool Car Names For Girls images today
Check out these car names for girls images today:
IMG_2439
Image by Wootang01
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn’t. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world – men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole – that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own – her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue’s cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets – it’s amazing to consider how 0RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around – a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn’t see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn’t spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English – and Putonghua, these days – opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions – timber; stone; and coal – were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China – and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! – still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I’m sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel – a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls’ scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son – who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel – by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are – each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
IMG_2481
Image by Wootang01
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn’t. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world – men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole – that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own – her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue’s cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets – it’s amazing to consider how 0RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around – a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn’t see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn’t spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English – and Putonghua, these days – opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions – timber; stone; and coal – were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China – and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! – still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I’m sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel – a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls’ scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son – who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel – by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are – each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
Corn on the Cob Garbage
Image by Wootang01
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn’t. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world – men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole – that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own – her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue’s cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets – it’s amazing to consider how 0RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around – a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn’t see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn’t spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English – and Putonghua, these days – opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions – timber; stone; and coal – were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China – and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! – still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I’m sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel – a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls’ scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son – who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel – by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are – each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
Tags:Cool, girls, images, Names, today
Friday, November 29, 2013
Cool Sexy Car Girl images today
Some cool sexy car girl images today:
Toyota iReal
Image by Daniel Gasienica
Tags:Cool, girl, images, Sexy, today
Nice Hot Girl Car photos today
Some cool hot girl car images today:
DSC_0022-95
Image by Studio5Graphics
Grid Girl Madison
DSC_0951-25
Image by Studio5Graphics
Grid Girl Madison
DSC_0995-69
Image by Studio5Graphics
Grid Girl Madison
Tags:girl, Nice, photos, today
Nice Girls In Cars photos
Some cool girls in cars images today:
Smokin’
Image by rustman
Billetproof -The World’s Least Important Car Show
Antioch, CA
2009.09.20
Tags:Cars, girls, Nice, photos
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Clémentine - Inconnue #37/100
Some cool cute cars for girls images today:
Clémentine – Inconnue #37/100
Image by Enthuan
Comme à mon habitude, je passe par le terminus du métro pour me rendre sur Lille le jeudi soir.
J’avais déjà photographié quelqu’un ce jour là mais j’avais aussi eu beaucoup de refus ou de regards terrifiés et j’avais envie de tenter à nouveau ma chance, histoire de ne pas finir la journée frustré.
En entrant dans la station, j’ai repéré quelques personnes, mais j’ai surtout repéré les agents de médiation du service de métro.
J’ai déjà eu une expérience malheureuse avec un agent que je souhaitais photographier : il avait gentiment refusé et m’a informé qu’il était strictement interdit de prendre des photos dans le métro ou dans les stations, et qu’il valait mieux que je range mon appareil… Bref, même si je ne pense pas avoir de problème avec tous les agents de médiation, je préfère éviter de photographier dans les stations de métro quand ils sont là.
Dès que je les ai vu sortir de la station, j’ai abordé Clémentine, l’inconnue #37 qui attendait visiblement son bus.
Même si je n’ai pas appris grand chose sur elle, elle fait partie des gens que j’ai adoré aborder.
Les réactions des gens sont très variables quand j’explique mon projet. Certains refusent, d’autres n’écoutent même pas. Certains acceptent mais s’en fichent un peu. Et d’autres sont enthousiastes. Ou simplement amusés. Clémentine semblait surprise mais amusée.
C’est la réaction que je préfère car je n’ai pas la sensation de déranger et ça me met plus facilement à l’aise. C’est pour ce genre de réaction que je continue ce projet.
Un grand merci à elle !
Plus de portraits d’inconnus sur la page de mon projet 100 inconnus sur mon portfolio.
Vous pouvez voir d’autres portraits d’inconnus réalisés par des photographes du monde entier sur 100 Strangers Flickr Group page
Lille, 2013.
English Description:
As usual, I go through the metro terminal to go to Lille on Thursday evening.
I had already photographed someone that day but I had a lot of denial or terrified looks and I wanted to try my luck again, in order not to end the day frustrated.
Upon entering the station, I spotted a few people, but mostly I spotted some mediation officers of the underground service.
I’ve had a bad experience with an agent that I wanted to photograph: he politely refused and told me it was strictly forbidden to take pictures in the subway or in the stations, and that I’d rather putting my camera away… So, even if I think I will not have any problem with all the mediation agents, I prefer to avoid shooting in the metro stations when they are there.
As soon as I saw them out of the station, I approached Clémentine, the stranger # 37 which was obviously waiting for the bus.
Even if I did not learn anything about her, she was part of the people I loved approached.
People’s reactions vary greatly when I explain my project. Some refuse, others do not even listen. Some accept but do not care at all. And others are enthusiastic. Or simply amused. Clémentine seemed to be surprised but amused.
This is the reaction I prefer because I did not feel I’m disturbing and it makes me at ease. It is for this kind of reaction I’m continuing this project.
Thanks to her!
Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the 100 Strangers Flickr Group page
Canon EOS 500D
Canon 50mm f/1.4 USM
Tags:#37/100, Clémentine, Inconnue
Nice Best Car For Girls photos today
Check out these best car for girls images today:
On bringing sexy back …
Image by hortense.r
On Sunday, January 18, yours truly and hollacheeks witnessed ourselves a little Justin Timberlake. Gentle reader, a few questions should immediately spring to your mind: Justin Timberlake, in Charlottesville? You and hollacheeks? You’re how old? Why? And how much did you spend on this when you could have been buying cute shoes and skirts for spring? Or contributing towards the fight against poverty and inequality?
Let me start by saying that I’ve seen two "arena" shows: U2 in 1992 and REM sometime in the mid 1990s. I don’t think all those sun-drenched outdoor festivals count as arena shows. My very first show was Crystal Gayle and Alabama at the Columbus Auditorium in 1983 – not really arena, but closer to one than my most frequented establishments in Athens, Atlanta, or Austin. I went to private school in the late 1980s, so I didn’t experience pop music in the prime of my girl-ish screaming youth (never understood New Kids or my best friend’s undying love for Poison’s Brett Michaels).
College radio, some few years in Austin and Athens, blah blah blah and now I’m jaded and sleepy. Charlottesville is not a Friday night sort of town — no one worth my money and sleep swings through on a weeknight. I’m a working girl who can’t hold more than 4 week night beers without leaving early to sleep in the backseat of the car while my younger man sticks it out in an effort to prolong his youth and upstage my resilience.
So Justin Timberlake and I were seemingly made for each other. Direct references to Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean? Check. Timbaland present? Check. Show started at 8:30 and was over at 11:00? Check. Seats? Check. Lots of beer with hollacheeks beforehand? Check. We skipped Pink like it was 2001 and she was Of Montreal.
I didn’t plan for the 20,00 squealing / screaming preteen girls who filled the arena with their mothers. I don’t know what I expected, but at one point hollacheeks and I simultaneously looked at the 12 year old screaming girl standing next to me — just to squeeze in a split second observation of her masterful performance. She looked back, suddenly stopped dancing, and froze her face in this horrible omg-they’re-judging-me way and shrank to her seat. I had completely forgotten what it was like to be 12 years old and the most insecure, pitiful thing in the world. It was really sad.
Back to Justin, some basic thoughts: the show was really egalitarian — Timberlake wasn’t set up to be any more exciting than his back-up dancers. In addition to never being a girl in a booty rap video and never playing Wimbledon, I will never be a Justin Timberlake backup dancer (it looked like fun!). We needed more Timbaland, but that’s just what the world needs now. Overall, it was the company that couldn’t be beat. I clung to hollacheeks a mere two weeks ago when I was certain that the Southwest Airlines pilot was going to crash us into the BWI runway; on Sunday night we shared some special moments, ranging from lots of beer to frightening preteen girls to seeing in the flesh the Timberlakemagic. Good times.
My Speech
Image by sevitz
My brother weighs 55 kilograms. He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
I don't know what Zoey weighs, but she's not heavy, and I'm proud to welcome her into the family as my sister …. Finally we will have a Sevitz who can sing
My brother is a very lucky man today. I'm sure everyone here is a little bit jealous. If you think about how few people have a such a good looking, intelligent, fun, witty, charming, awesome, humorous and all round fantastic …. brother who they can ask to be their best man. Zoey of course also has these attributes in spades, and to this we can add beautiful, pretty, gorgeous and someone who is lovely to be around.
I must be honest I don't know Zoey as well as I would like to, having moved to London before my bother and her started dating. Of course Zoey is one of those extremely friendly people who are really easy to get along with, and it's been a pleasure meeting and getting to know her these last few years.
Zoey is also called Zoo. Either it's because of her love of animals, … or more likely because my brother doesn't know how to do deel tekkens on the keyboard.
My brother Jonathan, is also called Jon. But only by his friends and only when my mother isn't around. When we were growing up , if a friend called and ask to speak to Jon my mother would say – "no one by that name lives here" – and would hang up the phone. I'm not sure how many social arrangements my brother missed out on as a result but he then adopted the nickname of Nodge, which is Jon spelt backwards. In hindsight I think my mother should have let his mates call him Jon.
Let me give you a little flavor, a potted history if you like of Nodge, Jon, Jonathan, my brother …
One day when we were kids, during a family braai we decided to play hide and seek. When it was Jonathan's turn to hide, we counted to the requisite number and started looking for him. After about half and hour we couldn't find him at all, and went to watch TV or do something else.
Several hours pass and the grown ups ask where Jonathan is. We said we didn't know, that we were playing hide and seek and couldn't find him so gave up. Naturally this worried the parents and all the adults walked around calling out his name to try find him. My brother could hear his name being called but assumed we were just trying to trick him into losing and stayed hidden.
More time passes. More worry ensues. Eventually, just shy of calling the police to report him as missing – he was found. Quietly standing … as he had been for the last 4 plus hours … not moving …. behind the curtain in his bedroom.
And that's my brother. He doesn't look competitive but likes winning in the never give up, even if you have to stand not making a noise … perfectly still … behind a curtain. For 4 hours.
My brother's also the kind of person who's intensely loyal and high on my list of people to come bail me out of jail should I ever need it. As way of example, when I was last in South Africa, we were stuck the Vaal river, and fancied coming back to early. Jonathan kindly came and picked us up, on a Friday, in rush hour, from the Vaal. Which isn't something anyone wants to be doing on a Friday afternoon.
Although I have also been told that when Zoey asked the same thing of him, he said no. So maybe this loyalty is related on the fact I'm a blood match, if he ever needs a kidney. I mean there Zoey was, locked in her bedroom – in fear for her life. She phones Jonathan and says he he has to come help her. Now. Right now. Jonathan says No, he's just landed in Durban. Zoey nearing tears, insists Jon get on the next flight, and comes to save her. Jon holds steadfast and says firmly, no, she's going to have man up, get a weapon, unlock the bedroom door, deal with that spider herself.
Growing up, my brother and I were quite different. If we were given three sweets, mine would be gone in about 7 seconds. Jonathan would manage to make his last several hours. Which as an older brother is about the most frustrating thing on the planet. In fact to this day I'm not entirely unconvinced he didn't do this just to annoy me.
As he grew up my brother my brother excelled through out school scoring well academically showing that my claims to be the smart good looking one in the family where only half true.
My dad tells me that when it came to his matriculation, he vaguely mentions that he thinks he might have won some award. "Some award" turned out to 6 separate academic awards for excellence, as well as being named "dux scholar". I'm not sure if that means we can add "humble" to the list of his attributers, or just oblivious.
Leaving school, my brother took a year off and went to Israel with Netzer. After spending a year in Israel with about two dozen Australians, the main thing my brother appeared to learn was how to walk around the house in dirty underwear whilst belching and breaking wind a lot. Fortunately for Zoey we broke him of this habit and off he went to study at Wits, in the family tradition; engineering.
Continuing to show me up academically, he followed this with a masters in environmental engineering. For this I am actually quite grateful, as it's allowed me the excuse of being shoddy at recycling by claiming that karma wise having an environmental engineer as a brother compensates. To date this excuse has not held water with my girlfriend, but I remain eternally the optimist.
Somewhere during this time he went on holiday with a few friends from Netzer. One of those friends was a girl called Zoey who he had met about 10 years prior, at camp. At the time he met Zoey he was dating someone else and him and Zoey just became friends. He was also "just friends" when he went on this holiday with Zoey. He was not, "just friends" when he returned. Which all in all was a good thing as it leads us to today.
My brother also has a love for adventuring. He enjoys the outdoors , hiking and I recall him taking up canoeing at one point. Clearly this is something Zoey shares, a highlight of which is their climb of Kilimajro a few years back. From what I understand it's the kind of achievement made slightly easier by the dog minded personality of someone who can stand behind a curtain for 4 hours.
Of course this stubbornness has also led my brother to do things like getting his car stuck on a sandbank. And then after getting towed to safety, driving right back onto it and getting stuck again.
So that's my brother. Academically gifted, loyal, steadfast, reliable, moderately stubborn, an adventurer and working for the greater environmental good of society. All in all for all the fights, and veribbles and sibling rivalry I couldn't ask for a better brother, nor could I claim not intensely proud of my brother and his achievements. I have no fears or worries for him or the future, as I know not only will he achieve everything he wants to but a great deal more to boot.
Zoey whilst my brother is the kind of person who will land up getting your perfume confiscated at airport security, stuck on sandbanks and never cook you anything more complex than a slice of toast, he will never let you down in anything that really matters. As someone who has lived with him far longer than you, I can safely say, your life will always be entertaining, always full of humor and you'll have someone by your side who will always love you.
Of course this does lead me to ask … when he is at your side, what do you talk about. I'm not entirely sure it's each other. Let me explain
On the stag do, we asked him a few dozen questions in the format of "What would Zoey say if asked the following question and then got Zoey to answer all the questions before the event. For example, What would Zoey say if asked "What is Jonathan's favorite ice cream".
My brother got somewhere in the region of 80% of the answers wrong, which is quite a spectacular fail rate. This did however reveal the following …
Zoey knows more about my brother, than my brother knows about … himself.
My brother agreed with all of Zoey's answers upon hearing the correct answer. I suspect this is the secret to a long and stable relationship. God knows I've not yet learnt this lesson.
My brothers favorite ice cream is not fudge as he thought but mango as Zoey correctly established.
If my brother was a super hero he would be "Excel-man – saving the world one spreadsheet at a time.". In other news my brother needs to perhaps get out slightly more.
Both Jon and Zoey's ideal night out is dinner and a movie. Which is one of the few questions he got right. And probably just as well.
and finally … It would be considered highly romantic if my brother purchased a 4×4 for Valentines day.
It was also reveled by Jon's friends that he goes to gym a lot more when interested in a girl. Zoey I've checked up on his gym records since he met you, and his attendance has been exemplary. I think you might be in there.
I started this speech with title of the Hollies song "He ain't heavy, he's my brother."
The song starts with these words
The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
The road so far has brought you to each other. The next winding turns and bumps, potholes, traffic calming zones and robots that are out of order is the next step in this journey. Aside from Jon's tendency to get lost, and Zoey's map reading I have a lot of faith for your future on this road together.
My only advice I feel you need for an enduring relationship is this. Buy a satnav.
That aside, the love and affection you have for each other is obvious. Keep this as your bedrock and you'll be fine.
If everyone could all please rise I'd like to make a toast to my brother and his lovely wife.
… everyone rises …
"to the bridge and groom" … "to the bridge and groom"
And with that, I'd like to introduce my brother. Who will thank me profusely for being awesome. He might also say a few nice things about Zoey.
——-
Note I spelt Zoë name as Zoey so I would pronounce right and not say Zo (rhyming with Low)
Just Some Random A-Hole…
Image by Joe Plocki (turbojoe)
You probably can’t really tell from looking at this, but the Gemini symbol is atop a 8 or 9 foot stone thing with organizations and names inscribed in it. They are, to the best of my knowledge, the contributors to the Gemini space program. Right after I got to the park, a group of 4 or 5 teenagers showed up, and the guy pictured above figured he’d just climb on up there. Shortly after, the girl climbed up there, too.
Funny side note… I know I’m getting old, because when I walked by, the guy was talking about getting all the way on the top, and I just could not stop myself from saying "I think I’d be more careful up there than climbing to the top." Or something lamer like that. Even more amusing is the boy and the girl both looked at me and said in unison, "oh, we’re being careful." First of all, like I really gave a crap one way or the other. Secondly, like they had to answer to me in any way… what the heck?
So, I’m walking by, and the kids are asking their friends to take a picture. I stood there and watched, with thousands of dollars of photography gear strapped to my person, and they looked at me and asked if I wanted to take a picture. Then, the boy on the monument pointed at me, and said "hey, is that your dad?" Thanks, dude – I ain’t that old… And again, lamer response "No, I’m just some random dude." Gimme a break, I was tired.
So, obviously, I took their picture, and went about my business (which was to retrieve the tripod I left leaning against the rear wheel of my car – kind of need that – I was waaay tired – I even had to go back for the other tripod I put on the ground while I was taking this picture before I could go back to the car to get the other tripod).
On the way back into the park, the kids are off the monument, so I set up the tripod to take some pictures of it (the lighting sucks – too bright in some areas, nonexistent in others, won’t be seeing those). As I’m fiddling with the camera, one of the kids, barely within earshot says something, and the part I hear is "No, just some random asshole." Heheheheh. For some reason, I think that’s funny.
So, I posted this photo of those zany kids on the Gemini monument, just so I could tell you the story.
My video of this launch is here.
Tags:best, girls, Nice, photos, today
Christmas 2008
Some cool sports car for girls images today:
Christmas 2008
Image by jimforest
18 December 2008
This afternoon we went out to look for a Christmas tree. We always put this off until the last minute. Christmas creeps up on you so stealthily, after all, that you don’t even realize it’s here until it’s almost too late. And this is Holland, where the big holiday is Sinterklaas, the Feast of St. Nicholas, December 5th, which is a big-time Dutch gift-giving event that is preceded by hectic shopping. By the time Sinterklaas is over the shopkeepers are exhausted, so you don’t get the frantic Christmas rush to remind you that you’d better go out and buy that tree.
Since we don’t have a car, we usually shop for a tree at the stand run by a guy who sells flowers on one of the main shopping streets in Alkmaar, within walking distance of our house. Most of the time this guy has pretty decent trees up until the last few days before Christmas. But not today. Today the trees were all sorry pine specimens that I couldn’t bear to pay good money for. What to do? We didn’t feel like tramping all over town looking for something better. It would take too much time, which is why we put this off in the first place.
For years, Jim and I have been having this low-key dispute over real tree versus artificial. Jim has been pushing for artificial. He’s the one who ends up having to hack off bits of bark to fit the thing into the Christmas tree stand. Artificial trees actually look pretty good, is his argument, and once you have one you can use it over and over again. I’m one of those nostalgic people who thinks that a plastic Christmas tree is just about the worst thing you can consider. It represents everything that our modern world has come to stand for (vacuous falseness, etc.), and besides that, it doesn't smell like a Christmas tree. It doesn't smell like anything..
But looking at those pathetic conifers, and then glancing over at the big department store right across the sidewalk where there was a vast assortment of Christmas products just waiting to be bought, I suggested timidly that perhaps an artificial tree wouldn’t be such a bad idea. In ten minutes we were in the V & D Christmas department, deciding whether to get the 150 cm. or the 180 cm. model. It didn’t hurt that they were 50% off.
On the way home, Jim tried to soothe my conscience by explaining that this way no tree will be cut down to decorate our home, we won’t have to water it, and it will last until Russian Orthodox Christmas (January 7) without dropping any needles. So we set it up, covered it with lights, and decorated it with the charming little things we’ve been collecting for these 26 years, and I’ll be darned if it doesn’t look great. (Still doesn’t smell like a Christmas tree, though.)
The moral of the story is this: if you’re the sort of person who could never imagine living with an artificial Christmas tree, imagine it. It’s not so bad! Loosen up! Make room for change! Let it happen.
Life around our artificial Christmas tree is fine. All is well. Jim’s new kidney is taking good care of him, and my lone kidney is being a good sport (probably because its mate is never very far away). The kids are all doing well. Dan has been nominated the Teacher of the Year at the University of Amsterdam, Wendy is working with Musicians Without Borders and has won a valuable prize to help continue the work they’re doing setting up a Rock Music School in Kosovo, Tom and Kylie are doing well at Nike in Hilversum, Cait and Bjorn were married in May and are now expecting their first baby, a girl, in late April, and Anne has switched schools and is very happy studying art at the Royal Art Academy in The Hague. . Ben continues with his home-based business helping people with their computer problems while Amy continues to direct the New Jersey Environmental Federation.
My translation work is going very well.
Jim has had a very productive writing year, with the publication of The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life and new revised editions of Praying with Icons and Living with Wisdom: a Biography of Thomas Merton.
My mother Lorraine is still living with us. At age 91 she’s still making beautiful paintings, and Jim has set up a special part of his Flickr site to show them off (http://www.flickr.com/photos/jimforest/sets/72157603780115420/).
We wish you all a blessed new year. It’s going to be challenging, but we’re not going to go into that except to say that you may end up having to switch to an artificial tree, or to make some kind of change you never thought you’d ever make in your wildest dreams. Be strong and keep on loving. You’re not alone.
Much love,
Nancy
(writing some of this in the third person)
Tags:2008, Christmas
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Nice Sexy Cars And Girls photos today
A few nice sexy cars and girls images I found:
2013 Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Squadra Corse
Image by Georg Sander (GS1311)
Visit my Facebook page!
- – -
The Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Squadra Corse is considered the street-going version of the Gallardo Super Trofeo race car. Though the Gallardo Squadra Corse's mid-mounted 5.2-liter V-10 makes the same 562 hp and 398 lb-ft of torque as the rest of the Gallardo lineup (and the Gallardo racecar), the extensive use of carbon fiber and aluminum, has allowed Lamborghini to get its all-wheel-drive supercar's dry weight down to just under 3000 pounds. This special edition is given a rear wing that reportedly produces three times more down force than the standard Gallardo's spoiler, while the carbon composite hood is equipped with a quick-release system, and thus removable. The Gallardo Squadra Corse is distinguished from the rest of the Gallardo lineup by its Italian flag-inspired green, white, and red decal strip that starts just ahead of the V-10′s side-air intakes, and a black-painted hood, diffuser, air intakes, and wheels. The Gallardo comes in yellow, white, gray, or red, while its brake calipers come in red, black, or yellow.
(Wikipedia)
Tags:Cars, girls, Nice, photos, Sexy, today
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Cool Nice Cars With Girls images today
Some cool nice cars with girls images today:
Istanbul (70).jpg
Image by TijsB
Part 10: Istanbul and Prince Islands
7th of May 2004•17:58 hours
At last I have some time to write again. Now I am on the boat, coming from an island to the mainland, together with Oytun from the hospitalityclub. Since my arival yesterday morning we spent all time together. He picked me up from the station and after I dropped my backpack in his car and we eat someting on a terrass, we went sightseeing. First we visited a large underground cover from the 6th century, the Yerebatan Sarayi (sunk palace), a splendid dark space with water dropping everywhere from the ceiling. Then we went to the Ayasofya Camii Muzesi (Hagia Sofia), the most famous religious colossus from early Christianity, of splendid natural stone. Built in 532 as a church, but turned it into a mosque by sultan Mehmet in 1453 by renaming it and adding some tours. In the same area is the castle complex Topkapi Sarayi, where we spent a couple of hours examining the superb buildings, art treasures and weapons. Especially the harem labyrinth was very particular, although tourists were pushed through the complex in rapid speed. Afterwards we made a walk through the park to the car and visited the art academy, which is directly on the waterfront and has a terrace with a wonderful view. While Oytin and his girlfriend followed a lesson I enjoyed the time dreaming away and enjoying the view on passing ships. After Seray, his girlfriend, was finished with her sculpture, we drove to the central Taximquare on the hillock with a taxi to walk along the busy but car-free mainstreet. Underway they let me taste their favoriete snacks in the passage. Downstairs we ended up in a narrow street full of chairs for terrases. While drinking beer and eating fried potatoes we spoke about Dutch and Turkish singularities. On the way back we passed Seray’s loved clothing fair and found even more delicacies. Underway to the apartment of Oytan’ s parents I felt tired and dirty. I took a delicious shower at Oytan thuis and whereas I had not much more to say, he let see his photocollection on his computer. Once in bed I ! slept already before my host had turned offt his computer .
The next morning I woke up at half past six again, but fortunately I was able to sleep a little further. Still half sleepily Iexamined a little guide book about Istanbul and I discovered that I had seen already much of its main monuments. On a small square for the corn bazar we had breakfast with tosti’s and tea, whereupon we went to smell the sesonings inside the bazar. We passed the Yeni Camii mosque with so many cupolas and minarets and then strolled towards the water, where decided to take a boat to the Kizil Adalar (prince islands). Several beautiful old steamers were ready for departure and quite regularly a ship arrived and left, leaving behind hundreds of suburbians. On the water I am totally in my element and a considerable wind was blowing, so big waves were splashing against the ship. But Oytan found it pretty cold near the water and went sitting inside. On the first island, Kinaliada, we got off right away, Here he had also never been. It was still cuite calm on the island, we were the only tourists. At many places people were reparing their houses and prepare the streets for the summer. Also in the little restaurant we were the only guests. The traditional Turkish salads with small fishes and köfte (meatballs) tasted delicious and two cats enjoyed head and tails of the fish. After a walk we could obtain still exactly the boat to largest of the islands. On this island beautil villas can be found; surrounded by huge gardens with palm- and pine trees. After a second walk we came on picknick place, where we enjoyed the view, the smashing waves and the spring sun. On the boat Oytan was considerably exhausted and slept almost the complete trip, whereas I had enough time to write again in my diary.
9th of May 2004•10:52 hours
I had not seen that not only the times and the airport changed but also the day of my cheap flight from Corendon. I had therefore gone for nothing to the airport and had to endure a strict terrorist control. No matter if I wanted or not, I had to remain one day longer in Istanbul. It was not possible to stay again at Oytun’s place for an extra night because he got family visit, and I also did not want to bother him as well. But still he wanted to pick me up by car and bring me to a place to sleep. We decided to try it at the youth hostel but ended up in the traffic-jam. Hours later, with a side-trip through the Russian market district, where we first could not get out anymore, we succeeded nevertheless to come at the youth hostel. Moreover, there was enough place, so I could select a bed select and afterwards I went roaming round in the district Sultanachmed. I had the time to examine all large mosks from in- and of outside. A certain Moustafa addressed me and walked up with me for a while. He wanted to help me by accompanying me as a guide, but rapidly I thanked him for that and said goodbye. I finally wanted to be on my own again. Afterwards with sunset I nicely paraded on the bridge over the Golden Horn and twisted up through narrow streets and stairways in the direction of Taksimsquare. Underway I came along a beautiful old hammam, which seemed interesting to me. Unfortunately it was quite dissapointing. Dirty and onhygienic, expensive tourist tariff, the sauna was not really warm and quite soon it was closing-time. While I dressed again I talked with a half-turkish german man. He had funny jokes and proved ‘bi’ as well. Although he was totally not my type, we are nevertheless went to eat together in a place frequented by many gays, as he told me.
After dinner we walked a little firther, when two young guys said ‘ hi’ to us. They wanted to show us the nearby park but this was not safe, the german indicated. But drinks something in a cafe could do no harm. One of them seemed to me a nice guy. The german man wanted to get back to his hotel because he would have an eye operation on the next day . I went alone with the two of them to a dance club, but as soon as we entered the place I did not trust it. Too chique service and too little public, who stayed drinking along the tables. A couple of girls from Belarus came sitting next tu us and although it was quite amusing, I had no good feeling about it. I said that I rather wanted to leave but the pretty guy asked me nevertheless to stay a little longer and we went dancing. The girls drank champagne all the time and I thought: this is getting wrong. So I said that I wanted the bill. On the bill there was written an amount of 6 billion lira, which is about € 4000,-! So in trouble, I think , let’s clear off here. I make a lot of noise, put € 50,- on the table and leave. The boss seizes me at my collar and I start to shout loudly against him that I do not let swindle itself. He gets some more big guys and tries soothe me. I show my (second) purse and say that I do not have more cash money and also no credit cards. He does not get to mee my real purse. I explain him that I am just a poor student and stay in the youth hostel, therefore that there can not be taken any more from me. Then he obtains the other boys and says that I must solve it with them. I run out of the door to a taxi while the two boys come running after me. The taxi driver closes the door and I close the window. Fortunately, he drives away and they canot do anything anymore. This never again, I thinks while the taxi crosses the bridge.
Istanbul (21).jpg
Image by TijsB
Part 10: Istanbul and Prince Islands
7th of May 2004•17:58 hours
At last I have some time to write again. Now I am on the boat, coming from an island to the mainland, together with Oytun from the hospitalityclub. Since my arival yesterday morning we spent all time together. He picked me up from the station and after I dropped my backpack in his car and we eat someting on a terrass, we went sightseeing. First we visited a large underground cover from the 6th century, the Yerebatan Sarayi (sunk palace), a splendid dark space with water dropping everywhere from the ceiling. Then we went to the Ayasofya Camii Muzesi (Hagia Sofia), the most famous religious colossus from early Christianity, of splendid natural stone. Built in 532 as a church, but turned it into a mosque by sultan Mehmet in 1453 by renaming it and adding some tours. In the same area is the castle complex Topkapi Sarayi, where we spent a couple of hours examining the superb buildings, art treasures and weapons. Especially the harem labyrinth was very particular, although tourists were pushed through the complex in rapid speed. Afterwards we made a walk through the park to the car and visited the art academy, which is directly on the waterfront and has a terrace with a wonderful view. While Oytin and his girlfriend followed a lesson I enjoyed the time dreaming away and enjoying the view on passing ships. After Seray, his girlfriend, was finished with her sculpture, we drove to the central Taximquare on the hillock with a taxi to walk along the busy but car-free mainstreet. Underway they let me taste their favoriete snacks in the passage. Downstairs we ended up in a narrow street full of chairs for terrases. While drinking beer and eating fried potatoes we spoke about Dutch and Turkish singularities. On the way back we passed Seray’s loved clothing fair and found even more delicacies. Underway to the apartment of Oytan’ s parents I felt tired and dirty. I took a delicious shower at Oytan thuis and whereas I had not much more to say, he let see his photocollection on his computer. Once in bed I ! slept already before my host had turned offt his computer .
The next morning I woke up at half past six again, but fortunately I was able to sleep a little further. Still half sleepily Iexamined a little guide book about Istanbul and I discovered that I had seen already much of its main monuments. On a small square for the corn bazar we had breakfast with tosti’s and tea, whereupon we went to smell the sesonings inside the bazar. We passed the Yeni Camii mosque with so many cupolas and minarets and then strolled towards the water, where decided to take a boat to the Kizil Adalar (prince islands). Several beautiful old steamers were ready for departure and quite regularly a ship arrived and left, leaving behind hundreds of suburbians. On the water I am totally in my element and a considerable wind was blowing, so big waves were splashing against the ship. But Oytan found it pretty cold near the water and went sitting inside. On the first island, Kinaliada, we got off right away, Here he had also never been. It was still cuite calm on the island, we were the only tourists. At many places people were reparing their houses and prepare the streets for the summer. Also in the little restaurant we were the only guests. The traditional Turkish salads with small fishes and köfte (meatballs) tasted delicious and two cats enjoyed head and tails of the fish. After a walk we could obtain still exactly the boat to largest of the islands. On this island beautil villas can be found; surrounded by huge gardens with palm- and pine trees. After a second walk we came on picknick place, where we enjoyed the view, the smashing waves and the spring sun. On the boat Oytan was considerably exhausted and slept almost the complete trip, whereas I had enough time to write again in my diary.
9th of May 2004•10:52 hours
I had not seen that not only the times and the airport changed but also the day of my cheap flight from Corendon. I had therefore gone for nothing to the airport and had to endure a strict terrorist control. No matter if I wanted or not, I had to remain one day longer in Istanbul. It was not possible to stay again at Oytun’s place for an extra night because he got family visit, and I also did not want to bother him as well. But still he wanted to pick me up by car and bring me to a place to sleep. We decided to try it at the youth hostel but ended up in the traffic-jam. Hours later, with a side-trip through the Russian market district, where we first could not get out anymore, we succeeded nevertheless to come at the youth hostel. Moreover, there was enough place, so I could select a bed select and afterwards I went roaming round in the district Sultanachmed. I had the time to examine all large mosks from in- and of outside. A certain Moustafa addressed me and walked up with me for a while. He wanted to help me by accompanying me as a guide, but rapidly I thanked him for that and said goodbye. I finally wanted to be on my own again. Afterwards with sunset I nicely paraded on the bridge over the Golden Horn and twisted up through narrow streets and stairways in the direction of Taksimsquare. Underway I came along a beautiful old hammam, which seemed interesting to me. Unfortunately it was quite dissapointing. Dirty and onhygienic, expensive tourist tariff, the sauna was not really warm and quite soon it was closing-time. While I dressed again I talked with a half-turkish german man. He had funny jokes and proved ‘bi’ as well. Although he was totally not my type, we are nevertheless went to eat together in a place frequented by many gays, as he told me.
After dinner we walked a little firther, when two young guys said ‘ hi’ to us. They wanted to show us the nearby park but this was not safe, the german indicated. But drinks something in a cafe could do no harm. One of them seemed to me a nice guy. The german man wanted to get back to his hotel because he would have an eye operation on the next day . I went alone with the two of them to a dance club, but as soon as we entered the place I did not trust it. Too chique service and too little public, who stayed drinking along the tables. A couple of girls from Belarus came sitting next tu us and although it was quite amusing, I had no good feeling about it. I said that I rather wanted to leave but the pretty guy asked me nevertheless to stay a little longer and we went dancing. The girls drank champagne all the time and I thought: this is getting wrong. So I said that I wanted the bill. On the bill there was written an amount of 6 billion lira, which is about € 4000,-! So in trouble, I think , let’s clear off here. I make a lot of noise, put € 50,- on the table and leave. The boss seizes me at my collar and I start to shout loudly against him that I do not let swindle itself. He gets some more big guys and tries soothe me. I show my (second) purse and say that I do not have more cash money and also no credit cards. He does not get to mee my real purse. I explain him that I am just a poor student and stay in the youth hostel, therefore that there can not be taken any more from me. Then he obtains the other boys and says that I must solve it with them. I run out of the door to a taxi while the two boys come running after me. The taxi driver closes the door and I close the window. Fortunately, he drives away and they canot do anything anymore. This never again, I thinks while the taxi crosses the bridge.
Tags:Cars, Cool, girls, images, Nice, today
