As you read this, I want you to think about your insanely high health insurance premiums. Also, know that I was thinking of younotreally.
If you were a company with some extra cash and you wanted to throw one helluva party, where would you go? Exactly. Portugal.
And since you’re going balls out, why not invite 1300 of your friends? No reason. ‘Cause what could possibly go wrong when you put people from 30 different countries into the same room?
Something must have gone wrong before. That’s the only explanation I can think of for the Code of Conduct forms greeting us as we departed Baggage Claim. I read. I understood. I signed. My reward? The key to my room at the Four Seasons.
Thanks for that, by the way.
This was a new one for me. Not that being an American abroad doesn’t already make me feel like a terrorist target, but police escorts for our coach? Fu*king. Cool.
I tried taking a few more pictures for you, but they all came out a bit fuzzy. I’m guessing due to the freakishly high speeds placed upon our top-heavy bus as we tried in vain to set a land speed record through the downtown, hilly streets of Lisbon. During rush hour.
Speaking of top-heavy, the traditional Brazilian entertainment with dancers, stilt-walkers and percussion line made for an elegant entrance into the Pavilhao Atlantico for our Gala Dinner.
That didn’t suck, so thanks for teeing that one up.
And just when I thought you had blown enough of your income to finance my habits and desires, you come along and do something like this:
You rent out some late 16th century convent, put up a stage, bring in some food, booze and a smoke machine. The band was a nice touch.
My only complaint is this European-greeting-kissing-on-the-cheek thing. I can’t keep track ya’ll. Some of the French do it twice, some three times. The Swiss three or four times, and the Italians? Well who the fu*k knows what the Italians are doing. I opted for all 1300 of us just to go do a mass dry-hump greeting extravaganza and get it over with.
That led to yet another Code of Conduct signing.
And an aching liver. Sorry Grandma. I meant soul. An aching soul.
If you were a company with some extra cash and you wanted to throw one helluva party, where would you go? Exactly. Portugal.
And since you’re going balls out, why not invite 1300 of your friends? No reason. ‘Cause what could possibly go wrong when you put people from 30 different countries into the same room?
Something must have gone wrong before. That’s the only explanation I can think of for the Code of Conduct forms greeting us as we departed Baggage Claim. I read. I understood. I signed. My reward? The key to my room at the Four Seasons.
Thanks for that, by the way.
This was a new one for me. Not that being an American abroad doesn’t already make me feel like a terrorist target, but police escorts for our coach? Fu*king. Cool.
I tried taking a few more pictures for you, but they all came out a bit fuzzy. I’m guessing due to the freakishly high speeds placed upon our top-heavy bus as we tried in vain to set a land speed record through the downtown, hilly streets of Lisbon. During rush hour.
Speaking of top-heavy, the traditional Brazilian entertainment with dancers, stilt-walkers and percussion line made for an elegant entrance into the Pavilhao Atlantico for our Gala Dinner.
That didn’t suck, so thanks for teeing that one up.
And just when I thought you had blown enough of your income to finance my habits and desires, you come along and do something like this:
You rent out some late 16th century convent, put up a stage, bring in some food, booze and a smoke machine. The band was a nice touch.
My only complaint is this European-greeting-kissing-on-the-cheek thing. I can’t keep track ya’ll. Some of the French do it twice, some three times. The Swiss three or four times, and the Italians? Well who the fu*k knows what the Italians are doing. I opted for all 1300 of us just to go do a mass dry-hump greeting extravaganza and get it over with.
That led to yet another Code of Conduct signing.
And an aching liver. Sorry Grandma. I meant soul. An aching soul.
