St. Petersburg

I wanted to come to Russia for many reasons. Some of it stems from my past early life experience steeped in the Cold War. But much more than that- some of the great artists, literary figures and intellectuals that the world has ever seen are from Russia. Russia has a facinating history. Russian people are legendary for being friendly once they get to know you. But also I think that I wanted a real travel challenge.

I studied Russian for a year and a half and it is a good thing that I did. Most Russians speak very little English. Then there is the Cerilic alphabet. I have had a good chance to practice my Russian when odering meals and mostly asking for directions. "Pajalista, gdea..." "Pardon me, where is..."

A little update: When I arrived in Finland Station, the same place Lenin arrived on the eve of the Russian Revolution, teams of taxi's were waiting for me. But I wanted to get some rubles first so I walked around to the front of the station to the ATM. When I came back, only one driver was left and the remains of a mass of Japanese tourist about to go. I toyed with taking the Metro but I am happy that I didn't.

As one is suppose to do I asked "how much is the fare to Hotel Nevky Grand?" "There is four Nevsky Hotels", he says. I reach in my pocket and find the address. He nods, "one hundred rubles". I think, "Holy shit, one hundred rubles, I am going to like this place." One dollar is about 30 rubles, so I thought that my taxi ride would cost about 3 dollars. He knew just where it was. Had I taken the Metro, I would have been lost, with my bags for a very long time. I only had rubles in the 1000's from the ATM. When we arrived I gave him a thousand (say $32) expecting about 900 rubles change. Quickly he said, "Oh, I mean, one thousand rubles." He laughed and shook my hand. He did not get a tip.

Breakfast at this hotel is everything a Russian Grandmother would be proud of. It comes with the room and maybe a choice of 30 different dishes. I will give you some idea: hot dogs, macaroni, rice, lintels, hard boiled egges, bread, meats and cheeses, several kinds of sourkraut, mayonase filled mixtures, cheese cake, nice apple fritters and I can't remember what else. I can tell you that it keeps me going until about 5 PM.

I decided that my first stop would be the Hermitage. How can I tell you about the line? I met a nice young student from Ukraine who helped me practice my Russian. I met a couple- the woman from Russia and the guy from near Naples. They lived in Baltimore now. I practiced my Italian with him. So there we stood for three hours.

When we finally got in I made my way to the Dutch Masters. By the way, the Hermitage has more than three million pieces of art and someone estimated that it would take six days of walking for 24 hours to see the entire collection. (Much of that is in storage.) Of the Dutch paintings I saw a room full of Van Dykes, twenty one Rembrants- all of them very large except two, I never found the Vermeers but I saw I would estimate about a thousand works by Dutch masters.

That was from 2 PM to 5 PM. For my last hour I just rushed through the French, the Italian, skipped the British and others and took a quick look at their amazing collection of Roman artifacts.

(By the way, it is now ten minutes before midnight. It actually looks like it might get dark. It is like 8 to 9 PM in California. But it never gets dark. In an hour it will be getting light again. That is why it is so hard to get to sleep in this town. Also the town stays open all night. Crowds still fill the street at this moment.)

Today I decided to take a famed walking tour of St. Petersburg that was to begin at 10 AM. I thought that giving myself one hour to walk what seemed to be a reasonable distance was enough. I was in the neighborhood within 45 minutes. Then the chaos of Russian street organization hit me. It seemed simple enough. Sovietskya Ulitza. Despite flawless initial directions and multiple repetition of the words "Gdea Sovietskaya Ulitza, pazjalista?" I could not find it. Eventually I found the street, but I could not find the address.

Russians rarely put numbers on the flats, atleast in St. Petersburg. Well, let's be more honest. The flats are numbered on maybe two of block long street. Then there are these confusing numbers on places, that I still do not understand- 20-10. It has nothing to do with the street address as far as I know. Finally I found Sovietskaya Ulitza, not the International Hotel and wandered around some more. I saw what I thought was a nice Russian, and he was- and asked him first "Pazjalista, Gaverete pa anglese?" (Do you speak English?) He said, "yes, little." He was really trying to help. Then he was joined by three of his fellow office mates. Together they agreed that it was the next street over. What I did not know at the time was that there are three Sovietskaya Ulitza's - all fortunately parellel. I had obviously missed the tour. The hostle was friendly. (It just struck me- the word "hostle" has strange overtones.) They also gave me a good reference where I could book my trains. More about trains in another blog. I have really gone on tonight in the other land of the midnight sun.

Suomenlinna, Finland

Just a word about Helsinki.

It was a chilly but pleasant (with a jacket) 45 degrees when I arrived there. Anchorage, Alaska; St. Petersburg, Russia; and Helsinki, Finland are all on the same latitude. Let me say that the sun did not actually go down. Around midnight it started to look a little dusky, then by 2 AM it was getting bright again.

I made it a point to try all of the foods (that I could find) that Finns love. The first evening I had reindeer meat with loganberries- very good. The next afternoon I had a very delicious smoked salmon soup with potatoes and dill. The day I was leaving I had a fish plate- a big piece of salmon and these little fried fish with thier heads still attached. It was all very good. One other food item: I was attacked. I ordered ice cream from an ice cream stand near the docks. As I walked away, a flock of seagulls attacked me, or rather the ice cream. They only got a little, but the cheeky buggers are definitely a gustatory hazzard when eating outside in Helsinki.

The real purpose of writing this blog is to tell you about Suomenlinna Island. I was able to take a ferry to this nearby Island that I had never heard of before I arrived in Helsinki. In the 1700's some Swedish general assembled some thousands of men to build a massive fortress on the island to protect it against the Russians. Over two hundred years it has been the site of battles between the Sweeds and the Russians, the Russians and the Finns and the Sweeds and the Finns. Finally in World War II the Nazis took a stab at it.

Acres and acres of gorgeous land, walking paths, museums, resturants, lots of the fortress walls, including tunnels, and enough room to get lost in one day. I happened to go there on a particularly wonderful day with the sun shining and a light breeze.

I move on to St. Petersburg tomarrow. Das vadanya!

Helsinki

Prologue: Since one is able to edit a blog at any time, I have decided to insert new subtopics that come to mind. I realize that most of the time when I write these blogs, it is late at night. I am tired and a few days later I think "I should have written about that other think that happened." Also I am alone now. Last night while out at a restaurant I wrote four pages in my journal about an event that took place within an hour. One other thing- I have been able to download some of my pictures, so I will be able to post more pictures. I will add those photos to previous blogs where relivent. So go back and check if you like.

After a wonderful last few hours with my wife at Covent Gardens, then a stroll along the Themes, we parted for our respective destinations. Donna was taking the train to Heathrow to go back to California. I was to take a flight to Helsinki by way of Gatwick Airport. We both had to spend the night in the airport. I was lucky. There were slightly cushioned seats in the waiting area and I joined about 30 other sleepers, each taking a bank of seats as a bed. For the time that I slept, I slept well, but every 15 minutes a proper English voice came on the loudspeakers- and these were LOUD SPEAKERS. "This is a very important message. Please check your luggage for liquids and creams..." You get the idea. I got up at 4 AM and occupied myself in a variety of pleasurable airport activities- walking from one end of the waiting area to the other, reading, browsing the shops, people watching and finally a little breakfast.

Downtown Helsinki is dead. I mean empty of people, except tourists. It is a shock after the massive crowds in London and Paris. It is empty because of a holiday the Finns call Midsummer. I am not sure how long that the holiday lasts but just about every person goes to the country for a holiday. As I understand it, Friday night was Midsummer Eve and there was a gigantic bonfire on a quaint and historical island Suomenlinna.

There are a few places open- a coffee shop here and there and a restaurant or two. I ate at a traditional Finnish restaurant- Zeton's last night. It was decorated in period chicken decor- farm implements, chicken wire, country signs and of course stuffed chickens. I like to try different things and the roast reindeer looked great but since it was €28, I decided to opt for the reindeer casarole.(Spell check is not helping me here.) Braised reindeer and gravey over mashed potatoes and (I assume) red gooseberries with two warm pickles. It was quite delicous. Today I take a bus tour of Helsinki. I will let you know how it goes.

Bonne Jour

If you ever go to France, the two most important words that you will ever need to know are "bonne jour". It is a must in French conversation for anything. If you need directions, if you get on a bus, if you are ordering in a cafe, if you must ask any kind of question for any kind of reason, you must begin your words with bonne jour. Actually I knew this. But despite it, I found myself in several situations where one can detect the difference in the way that the French treat you.

We were trying to get to the train station on time and could not figure out how to work the ticket machine. I went to the man at the ticket counter and asked in my best French- which is not all that good- How can we get a ticket? His reply: BONNE JOUR!!! emphatically, like that. His meaning was obvious. Say hello, asshole American- and I felt like an asshole American, because I knew better.

Most Parisians know enough English to help you out. They would love it, if more Americans spoke French, but this really is not that important to them. They just want you to say hello before initating a conversation. So if you go to France, remember to begin every conversation with these magic words. I guarantee that it will make a difference.

My apologies- I do not know if jour is masculine or feminine. I could use that French Spell check about now.

Cafes Abound

Cafes abound in Paris and Donna, Bill and I love to visit them often. There is a little place just below our apartment where they heat up the croissants and make wonderful espresso. Trouble is that we found in almost all of these cafes, they serve only croissants, not the kind of sweet things I like in the morning. Now across the way is what is said to be the best boulangerie in Paris. They serve amazing escargot de raisonne- raisin snails and tart de pomme - apple tarts. But one has to sneak in the pastry to enjoy the expresso with the pastry.

Another problem with cafes is that we want to visit them too often. Since we walk about 5 hours a day, we should be losing weight. I have not seen any evidence of that on myself, but Donna claims that she is gaining. Bill on the other hand has a noticeable sweet tooth, especially for what they call glace or ice cream. As you may guess their ice cream is incredible, always with some kind of flourish. I think that I am ready for desert.

Blogging from overseas

I found an Internet cafe the other day, right near the Panthenon- a place where the greats of French history, art and literature are buried. I paid 3 Euro for one hour. He asked me- with a French accent of course- Do you want laskdfjoawi or wlfmvoi? Three times I asked him to repeat it. Then he said, "Just take any computer that you want." I went to the computer and started to log in. It was not working. I looked down at the keyboard and suddenly I understood what he meant. It was not a QWERTY keyboard. I guess there are other styles of western keyboard and the one I was sitting at was the one that they use in France. Suddenly I knew what he was talking about. So I searched around for a QWERTY keyboard and found one.

Now I am in Finland- and it has all kinds of letters with single and double circles over the A and misplaced keys abound. The regular letters are fine, but when I have to find a question mark, a parentheses, quotation marks, dashes, @ sign, all kinds of symbol keys, I just have to hunt for it. Now supposed I tried to type it with the keys that are here, I am find until I have to say0 uh dash I_m fine or am I: question mark. Do you see what I mean:

hmmmmmmm!@#$%^%&&(*_))_|":{?>|

Paris Overview

The last time that I was in Paris was three years ago. The last time Donna was in Paris was thrity years ago. At Bill's suggestion we took a bus tour- only three Euros more for another day. Imagine seeing the Eiffel Tower, Place de la Concord, Tuileries, Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, Musee du Louvre, Ecole Militaire, Champ de Mars, the Louvre (at least the outside) and many other sites all in one day. My memory was of walking down the long, long Champs Elysees on a hot day feeling that I would never arrive at the Arc de Triomphe. This bus transports us all over town, viewing from the top of a bus and free to jump out and explore whereever we wish. It is the first time that I feel that I have a geographical handle on some of Paris's more famous sites.

Uh, the "Your time is almost up." sign has just come up. Better go.

Ah Paris!!!

Ah Paris or C'est bonne. What could be better? It was enough just arriving with our heavy bags and settled down a bit with the help of Stella Artois. Bill, Donna's father in law (beau pere) arrived the day before. He arranged with a friend from the Alliance Francaise to rent a small apartment in the Moufftard. The Moufftard is in the Latin Quarter, fifth Arrondisement and one of the oldest neighborhoods in Paris. It received its name from the French word for skunk- Mouffe. It became a dumping place for garbage in the neighborhood, and supposedly stank to high heaven. Now it is one of the most enchanting little areas of Paris and still unknown by most tourists. (Rick Steves will tell us about it soon.) It is a fairly narrow street lines with resturants, cafes, fruit sellers, cheese shops, wine merchants, boulangeries, and gormet chocolate shops. The street has the look of a classic French neighborhood, a neighborhood that really does not exist anymore in Paris, except on the Moufftard.

Bill had a wonderful little snack waiting for us in our quaint and lovely apartment- 2 kinds of cheeses, fresh baggette, wine and cherries- all from the market. We are in Paris and what could be wrong?

Another forward- this is our last day in London. I am sure that there are people out there trying to live the vacation life in Europe vicariously, but I am not being much of a help. For those who want to know where we went and what we saw here is a quick synopsis- being that this is the last day in London.
Tuesday, June 9: a walk along Bankside, a tour of the Globe Theater with a special look at the blacksmith's mermaid on the Globe gate, created by Donna's brother- Liam Denevan; A tour of the excavation of the Rose Theater (locked tight underneath a modern building); Scavenging on the banks of the Themes; the Tate Modern (Donna found a nice comfortable couch there to take a three hour nap. A night cap at our local pub in Kensington, the Castle.

Wednesday, June 10: First day of the Tube Strike: Walked to St. Paul's Cathedral ( Check out Holland Park, London to St. Paul's for distance- I don't know, but boy, were my dogs tired!. A stop at Buckingham Palace; Fleet Street; St Bride Church with Roman, Saxon and Norman ruins included; a lunch of pasties; Covent Gardens; Westminster University and a wonderful dinner at the Academie Resturant in our own neighborhood of Holland Park.

Thursday, June 11: The Tower of London and a play at the National Theater: "Death of a King".

Friday, June 12: Ed does Holland Park, South Kensington and meets Donna in Regents Park then to a wonderful percussion concert at the Royal Academie of Music. Maybe Joey can go there. Ed and Donna split up again. Ed spends several hours at the National Academie of Art.

Saturday, June 13: Portabello Road Market, Buying flowers for our hostess, Jean; then a short look at the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Ah, Saturday, June 13- Our train, the TGV or Eurostar to Paris was to leave at 4:26 from St. Pancras station. We left Holland Park in what we thought was plenty of time. We had to do just one transfer to the Victoria line north to St Pancras. Although I like to travel light, I have to admit that I am a bit overburdened this time and had to pack an extra small shopping bag. I ended up putting my leather jacket in it. My leather jacket contained my passport, my Russian visa and our train tickets to London. All seemed to be going well until as we made the turn in the tube to go to the Victoria Line, it was closed! Sealed up, I assume temporarily. We paniced a bit because the instructions to get to St Pancras were a very complicated alternative. We rushed through several corridors and up a long escalator, when I realized that I had left my bag back at the detour. (yes, passport, train tickets and all). I asked Donna to wait at the top of the escalator. I rushed back- but what a maze of tunnels and corridors. I could not find the place where we had stopped. I found a train attendant- or guard and told him of my problem. He was fast on the job. I descibed to him the place but he still was not sure, and we tried a couple that were not the ones. Finally he said he knew which one. We went there, and just as we turned the corner, another guard had my things in his hands- miracle of all miracles. Now we had to catch the train. We needed to take a taxi but I had only five pounds. Donna hailed a taxi and told him our dilemma. Oh, I had five pounds, five Euros and two dollars. He said he would take us "for that amount".

Fortunately for us he was a native cockney who loved Americans, Country Music and the American Civil War. We chatted about all three on the way to the train station. At the train station we still had to go through customs and we were hearing them announce- "Last call to board Eurostar to Paris- 4:26 PM train" Our train. Customs went quickly and we had to rush up a long ramp and saw the train huffing and steaming as they do just before they leave. I showed one of the staff our ticket and he said "Car number fourteen."-- way toward the end. We ran and jumped on in time- barely. And so this was the way that we got to Paris.

My First Cell Phone

Forward

I just checked my last blog and I see that it clearly leaves the date that I have written it. So all know how many days behind that I am. Yes, I am in Paris now - and I love it, but more about that in a later blog.

Perhaps you have noticed. This blog will probably not be a list of things we saw or ate. They are my reflections on traveling. In fact the events that I seem to be relating are relativly minor, but I think will speak volumes on the ups and downs of traveling. A small example: I am not a great speller and I rely on spell check a great deal. Well I am in Paris now at an Internet Cafe. The spell check underlines just about every word that I type- obviously because it is set up for misspelling in French. So please forgive my spelling and grammar errors. I will fix them when I get home (maybe).

Friday, June 12

Donna left early this morning and I started out on my own through the Kesington Park. The beautiful day contrasted with the rain, the previous day. I had been inquiring about renting a cell phone. I heard that 30 Pounds ($1.90 now times 30) was a good price. I went to a cell phone store and found out that I could buy a cell phone for 20 pounds, a chip worth 10 pounds- and some extras like insurance and VAT and other things made the total price 35 pounds. You may imply from the title that this is my first cell phone and it is. Before I left the store, I called Donna, just to make sure it worked. -- INTERNATIONAL CODE-- 001--AREA CODE--707 and so on. And yes it worked.

For those who have noticed, yes, I was dialing an international call for my wife who was only several blocks away. ( will continue later- my internet time is up.)- I am back again. THIS PHONE THING: I am new with cell phones but I read up a little before I went on my trip. American cell phones are locked. This means that you sign a contract for a period of time- a year usually, I think, then have some freedom when you contract is up. Cell phones in Europe are unlocked. Of course you can sign up for a long term service but many people just buy a chip in the drug store and use it until it runs out. Donna successfully called me in England, but when we came to France, she has yet to figure out how to call me. I am still able to call her. This subject brings me to another problem- changing the phone. England has big funky plugs like nowhere else in Europe. I came with a whole range of adapters but still we are having problems finding the right adapter for the right plug. In addition Europe, including England and Russia have 220 current running through their systems. There is a danger that if one only uses an adapter and not a voltage transformer, a person can burn out their electronic device. Last night as I was trying to charge my ipod there was a strange buzz coming from the transformer and I was afraid that I was burning out my ipod as I was charging it. Also I bought an plug adapter for my phone in the rest of Europe today. It was 25 Euro- that is more than the cost of my phone. To sum it up. I am able to call Donna long distance, and I am able to call her Dad (who is with us, did I mention?) but they are still not able to call me. I still have not figured out my cell phone. Noone knows my number except Donna- and I have one message from her and five more from some mystery person (probably some kind of cell phone advertising)and I am still not able to retrieve my messages. But I am able to make a phone call if I get the right country code. Adios!!!

Postscript:
My tour of the National Gallery took in my favorite painters- the great Dutch of the 17th century including of course Rembrandt and Vameer. But in my evening stroll through the museum I came upon one of my favorite painters and certainly my favorite British painter- Wm Turner. At an early age I saw a certain painting of his and endeavored to paint it. It has a name like -Dragging in the Ship (What's its name?) for the last time. The effect is a spread- splashes of light and smoke and sun and water - all over the four foot by four foot canvas. The painting is really a plunge into twentieth century abstraction done by a man born in the early nineteenth century. I have always been quite taken by the painting, but staring at it closely, seeing the thick layers of paint and color exploding on the canvas - in three dimentions was a transporting experience. There were four of them there- similar style but all wonderful in their own way. I urge you to look them up - Google: Turner "National Gallery" London in the image mode. I am sure that you will find them.

Making Judgements

As a forward- I must apologize for the photos posted and lack of photos. The previous photo is of the Blackfriar's Bridge and bridge construction. The beach is the one where Donna and I found artifacts and bones from previous centuries. But it was not the photo that I had hoped to post. I realize that writing a blog overseas is full of compromises. I was able to hook up my camera at the Internet cafe, and see numbered icons but was not able to see what photo that I was posting. So I took a guess from hundreds of photos, where the one that I wanted would be. It was very close to the photo that I had wanted for the previous entry. Also you may realize that my blog is late in appearing. Let me tell you that it is several days after the day that I am writing about. I will not tell you how far behind that I am, but I am behind.

Thursday, June 11

Just the day before we went dining at a wonderful resturant on the South Bank in the Oxo Building- top floor with a lovely view of the Themes. A wealthy American family was having dinner nearby. I heard them say something to the waiter about not having much time for dinner and that they had to catch a show at 7:30. I thought "ugly Americans" rushing down their dinner in a nice place like this. The next day June 11th we had just spent the afternoon at the Tower of London- I recommend it (especially the exhibit in the Norman Castle about the armour of Henry VIII. (I would skip the torture chamber.) We walked down the South Bank looking for a place to eat right before (Let's say 80 minutes) before the show we were to see at the National Theater. We took a walk across the Tower Bridge, then a little down the bank of the river. (Subtract 15 more minutes.)

We chose a comfortable French cafe and ordered our meal. The meal included an appetizer, main dish and dessert. By the time we were finished and paid the check, we had ten minutes to run ( a 15 minute walk) to catch our show. Breathless we entered the theater, to the announcement that the doors were about to close. (Noone let in during the show.)We bypassed "will call" just to see if they would give us seats- ours were the cheap ones on the third floor- We had then to go to the second floor to pick up the tickets and back up to the third floor. Yes, we made it barely. But I thought about those rushing Americans the night before.

The Tube Strike

Ok, my photo for this one is a line of buses- on Oxford Street- all stopped. Our second day was the beginning of the Tube (or Subway) strike in London. We are staying in a lovely little flat in Holland Park, Kensington. We began this day (June 9, I believe) walking from the flat across Kensington Park in the rain- Hyde Park then caught - a certain changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. I was told that it was the real changing of the guard but a shorter version. But the guards changed! I got on film!!! Well digitally. And several carriages and fancy horses and military men marched into Buckingham Palace. It was an hour delay on our walk- I am not particularly fond of the Royal Family but exciting nevertheless.

We continued our walk to Picadilly Circus- check that on a London map- a good distance. Then a bus for about a mile and we came to St. Paul's. Again, luck was with us. We heard an incredible vocal group from Ottawa, Canada. In St. Paul's the sound was gorgious and erie at the same time.

We walked then in and around Soho and Bloomsberry and head back to Holland Park, the long way. Took an extra few blocks north to Westminster University, a little south again. Donna and I figured that we walked 10 to 12 miles. Maybe someone could check that.

I must go now. Donna is waiting for my phone call.

London: Here we are

We arrived last night into Heathow after coopting the flight attendants seat. And indeed it was a comfortable ride from Boston to London. From Heathrow- two hours in what should have been a 25 minute transportation ride. Our flat, in Kensington, owned by a BBC celebrity was warm and welcoming. The full, traditional and very delicious English breakfast with free stories of life in British reality telli satisfied us for almost the whole day.

We started out for Bankside and the Globe Theater. But first a wonderful side track walking on the low tide beach next to Blackfriars Bridge. We found all kinds of interesting artifacts from hundreds of years ago. I mean to post a photo of just one of those artifacts, a jawbone- from an animal that I am not sure of. Perhaps I will post it when I am able to unload my photos. We think that maybe it is the jaw of a mastif jaw. They were bred in Shakespeare's day for bear bating. I will leave that for you authorized opinion when I am able to post it.

We took an extended tour of the Globe Theater with a special costume presentation including some very cute junior high girls and boys from France. Also we got a rare tour of the archeological dig of the Rose Theater- submurged in water for preservation.

The Tate Modern afforded Donna a good two hour nap. I took in a big portion of the extensive colleciton- fabulous group of abstract expressions- a large number of Francis Bacon's work and many Picasso's. Donna now patiently awaits while I finish this blog- near Chinatown and Picadilly Circus- on a bit more gaudy than Time Square. I must go.

Two Hours from Leaving Home

I have been in a manic state, trying to think of everything that I may have forgotten. At the same time I am enjoying every instant of these busy last minutes. Dennis and I went to the French class reunion yesterday. Lynn and her husband have a gorgeous setting for a get together. Earlier Saturday I was stressing about a bread that I was making for the get together. I use the New York Times "No Kneed" Bread recipe. Look it up. Actually the stressful part was my improvisation. I saw a delicious looking loaf in my French cookbook (French Cuisine) - country bread with raisins and hazel nuts. I looked up the ingredients on line but as I told my wife today, I am not good at following directions. The difficult part was making sure that the dough was the right consistency and temperature for rising. I added the currents (soaked in VSOP Cognac) and hazelnuts last. It turned out well. So this is the close-up that I leave for your inspection.

Last night I was up late trying to send a mass email, ridding it of the misplace periods so I could actually send it out. I pulled my ipod out of my computer improperly and got a big grey apple on the screen. I thought that I had ruined for good. But I managed to look up a fix and it seems as good as new. Another mishap is that I locked my keys in my classroom. One might say that the lights are on but nobody is home.

So, bags almost packed- heavier than I would like. I plan to put together one more email list of my buddies in French class. I am listing to Russian tapes and typing this blog. Ya niyi punyimayo. Do you?