Phase 2 (Perhaps): France or Some Place Like It.

Hello. This is your guest host, Mariana (Felice's sister), who is writing a short entry for Felice and Ryan because they have recently realized that internet access is not readily available in the Pyrenees. And since my toothbrush is some sort of lime green affair, I'll write this in...green. I guess.

Felice and Ryan are still alive. They're about to start a long leg of the trail--about eight days--through the Pyrenees National Park; I'm guessing that it'll take them over the French border in Spain, where they'll finally be free from the Nazi forces that have doggedly pursued them for so long. Or...they'll just switch from eating nothing but brie and French bread (which in France, I imagine, is just called "bread") to eating nothing but Mahon and, I don't know, whatever kind of bread they eat in Spain. Tortillas? Probably tortillas.

Felice tells me that this national park is really special in that Napoleon forged a lot of its trails so he could use the timber in the forest for his ships...or something. I don't know. She was very vague about the whole thing. But I'm 89% sure that Napoleon or some of his minions walked through what is now the Pyrenees national park in an effort to rape its resources to further his desperate grasp of world domination etcetera etcetera etcetera. On second thought, it might've been King Louis XIV. But you get the picture.

Ummmm...what else...Felice and Ryan are having a lot of fun. Felice tells me that they're going to eat a can of ratatouille tonight, which I mention only because I think it's a horrible idea. Ratatouille should not be canned. It should be served to you on a plate by a lovable French rat that can talk. I'm just saying.

And I think that's it. They're going to try to update this blog themselves (and post photos) once they hit a town with Wi-Fi, which will be in a week or so. I hope I did this blog justice. And I hope they never ask me to write in it again. Because, man, I think I just ran this thing into the ground.

(Oh, also: they're not getting much--if any--flak for being American. In fact, the locals seem to get a kick out of it. Which I think is nice. The end.)

-Mariana.