Exthellent.

It has come to my attention that part of my visit home will be spent on a little family trip to Barcelona. Thith meanth I will begin thpeaking with a Cathtillian acthent now.

Needleth to thay, I hope to thee thome Velathqueth at the mutheum.

One of the many cool things about an expatriate family is the how the family vacations have changed. Growing up in NH, we stayed within driving distance and had some great times on Cape Cod, in Maine, and at Waterville Valley. Vacations were, however, fairly relaxed affairs. Beaches, hikes, cross-country skiing.

Now that our family vacations are in places like Paris and Rome (and now, Barthelona), and we're not little kids with short legs, my father has felt comfortable releasing his inner Power Tourist. No food, no sleep, just sights. Which is fine. You've got to get your money's worth (even my friends on their drunken world tour of Eastern Europe get up at the crack o' dawn to take pictures of themselves with WWI sculptures). How can you enjoy the dogshit slalom of Rome's streets if you're in bed at the hotel? You can't, that's how. The Vatican museum and Notre Dame aren't going to see themselves.

These days, Fam. T. Mohan death-marches itself accross Europe's most beautiful cities and it is great fun. We take this show on the road, people. We power through museums, parks, and famous streets. We shower on our knees in the hotel bathtubs. I nearly miss the train at Gare du Nord (oopsie). And Bridget photographs pigeons.

Bust out the cava, Barcelona. We're on our way.