I left, miffed, that no one wanted the story.

The protest was over the bloody conflict in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. As the protest organizers were supportive of the Palestinians, they jointly called for the cessation of Israel's aggression in Gaza.

According to International Coordinator of the World Council of Churches, Rifat Odeh Kassis, "We should not be patient against aggressive occupation." Instead, Kassis urged "All free people should write to put pressure on Israel."

I marched along (but not quite in tandem, so I could remain "objective") up the street a mile or so, until we stopped in front of the Israeli Embassy. Five guards in bullet-proof vests with serious weaponry stood waiting to greet us.

I mumbled something about not wanting to die by massive firepower, and a protester on my right chuckled softly.

As this was a peaceful protest — shouting and demonstrating, without physical violence — I reasoned that it was safe to stay.

After jotting notes and taking pictures of the 400+ sized crowd around me, I returned to the car.

Little did I know another story was waiting upon my return.

With a camping stove's transient flame, two drug users were squatting by the driver's seat of the car, melting white powder to liquid form. Others, in groups of two and three, were also crouched over their drugs. Although I was taken aback by this open-air consumption of what appeared to be crack cocaine, others around me were taking it in stride.

In fact, an eight-person movie crew was filming a bedraggled, drug-addict actor as he stumbled hazily through set-up piles of trash. The director, standing nearby, told me he was filming a scene for a short German film about loss.

Observing the many lost individuals squatting pitifully around me, I realized that another, closer-to-Bern protest ought to have happened.

Unfortunately for them, their voices were not heard.

I'll admit it is difficult having French phrases drilled shrilly into my brain in the early morning — drilled so securely in fact, that I often find my teacher's voice screaming, "Où habitez-vous? Où??!!" piercing my idle thoughts during the train ride home.

Yet it is also satisfying to know I am finally, finally, learning the common language of Geneva. Rather than becoming tense when addressed in French, I am calm in response because I know that, although currently incapable of conversation, I am at least not totally lost. And I can prey on people's sympathy.

(That always lead to an awkward pause in conversation. Once, at a Frisbee tournament I heard that we were supposed to wear shorts, which sounded absurd since it was cold, windy and hailing off and on.
"Do you think it would matter if we wore pants instead?" I asked some of the girls.
"What??!!" they said, horrified.
I suddenly remembered that pants means underwear.
"I mean..."
"Trousers, yes. We figured.")

I crammed as much as I could into my last day in London. As I walked back from Sainbury's, I suddenly stopped and looked at everything I would miss: Tottenham Court Road, the traffic, the shops, the construction. Yasemin and I took a walk to bid adieu to our adopted turf. We strolled down to Covent Garden and continued to the Strand. Visited the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square and popped in to see Monet's curvy bridge and Van Gogh's textured sunflowers one last time.

London, I must say this: Bravo! Bravo! Bravississimo!

It's been hot here. Really hot. So I opened my windows to air things out, and went to go brush my teeth.

When I returned, my room was crawling with bugs. Literally. Hundreds of green winged things were flying and crawling about, pushing other bugs out of the way to get closer to the light. It was sick. The bigger mosquitoes were playing hard to get, intent on showing their greatness by claiming the center ceiling light.

I decided to let the obnoxious creatures be, vainly hoping they would fly toward the window, entranced by the moonlight. But not ten seconds after I turned out the light, I heard a distinct humming. A bone-rattling type of distinct humming. I tried hiding, burrowing, bribing--all for nothing.

Not to be defeated, however, I called upon all the jumping muscles varsity volleyball exercises had instilled in me, and attacked the critters creatures right and left. Not caring about the shape of my bag once the killing was through, I took another glance at the ceiling. To my dismay, it was littered with bug bits, thoroughly dismembered. Hoping to remain on good terms with my lovely host mom, I vowed to clean the ceiling in the morning.

My exchange program officially ended with a fancy dinner and student skits. My friends and I jokingly offered to perform and were forced to, even after we explained that the song we wanted to dance to was "inappropriate." We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, closing out the night with an interpretative dance to, yes, the Divines' "I Touch Myself."

Yesterday Charles and I took off on what will be, we hope, the longest bus ride of our journey. We left Buenos Aires in the morning and arrived at the Bolivian border nearly 27 hours later! We managed to find our way across the border despite warnings that it might be closed because of the elections. We had planned to take the train today to a smaller town nearby, but we were informed that the train doesn't run Sundays; the bus terminal was also closed--due to both it being Sunday and election day.
In Bolivia, apparently, people are not allowed to leave town on election days, tourists included!

A small border town is not the ideal place to be stranded, especially when The Lonely Planet´s "South America on a Shoestring" recommends going to the Argentine side for food. Ah, well, Charles and I have managed to work everything out so far. We're a good team -- and we're even ahead of schedule on our whirlwind three-week tour of Bolivia. Stay tuned.

I stand awkwardly; uncomprehending the fast, fluent French swirling around me. As I valiantly try not to look out of place or feel uncomfortable, people approach with warm smiles, open hands and French pleasantries, I respond in kind, carefully pronouncing, "Bonsoir." As the wine begins to flow, conversation becomes increasingly comfortable.

Slowly sipping my wine and surveying the scene, I am suddenly struck by the similarities to home. Three little girls run about and are soon joined by a Portuguese boy. All four children ask their parents to play with them, but after faced with the all-too-familiar parental protest of fatigue, they quickly become bored and play with one another instead, laughing with wild energy and acting rambunctiously.

I soon make friends with the Belgian, who tells me of the first time he visited the United States. Plopped into an East Coast middle school at age 11, he was forced to put aside Flemish and French for English. Although he learned the language in the brutal and ruthless atmosphere characteristic of junior high, he seems to have survived unscathed.

Besides the attentions of the Belgian, I found I was being eyeballed by an elderly Italian man, who, had he been thirty years younger, would have been quite the catch. He was good-looking, expressive (naturally) and funny. I caught some of what the Italian man was saying, and even felt confident (three glasses in) to add my own broken-Italian quips. Roaring with laughter, he complimented me on my attempts. His kind words, however, were owing to the bubbly and not my pronunciation.

I moved on from the intoxicated Italian to a French-speaking man who told me he had been born in America. He seemed reticent, so I began peppering him with questions like the journalist I hope to be. He finally admitted he was a former journalist, who cynically proclaimed he didn't even follow the news anymore.

On the north side we saw a man painting Chinese characters with a giant homemade calligraphy pen. He let us try writing our Chinese names and told me I looked funny when I wrote with my left hand. I think it is great how leisure and recreation are so important here, how they dedicated this beautiful and scenic lake--which reminds me of Lake Whatcom--entirely to leisurly activities. In one of the gazebos along the park we saw a man playing folk songs on the er hu (a two-stringed instrument similar to the violin) and other adults would stop by and sing along.

Today was EXTREMELY hot and humid, but we still hiked up the summer palace and it was most definitely worth it. After that we went to the zoo and saw pandas. More later.

Driving toward our host university was so amazing! It was strange how so many brand-new high rises and large office buildings were existing in the same space as older neighborhoods that are crumbling into dust and sand--right across the street from one another.

The professor hosting us at the university introduced us to our student host, WeiWei, and arranged a large meal at the hotel restaurant. I wouldn't be exaggerating to say it felt like eating like royalty; each dish was more delicious than the one before. The most interesting thing we ate, though, wasn't even that exotic: it grows in the backyard of my house in Bellingham--we ate fern! They lightly boiled it, put a type of vineger (I think) on it, and served it chilled. It was AMAZING. We made a rule to try new things every day, and not eat the same dish more than twice this week, though we made an exception for the fern.

Later, we hopped on a bus to Sierra de la Ventana, a small mountain town in the Buenos Aires province. As luck would have it, I forgot the address of our accommodation, but fortunately we were staying at the zoo. "Eco-Parque Kooch," to be exact, but all of the signs we followed led us to the zoo.

We arrived at 6:30 a.m., so the splendor of the zoo was hidden in the darkness, and we headed off to bed. At about 9 a.m., the caretaker woke us when she came to our cabin to see us by the light of day. Her hand was wrapped in toilet paper and, by the looks of things, was bleeding profusely. When we asked what happened she told us that one of the monkeys had escaped and attacked her.

We rushed quickly to to see this dangerous creature and found the caretaker's ladder still propped up against the monkey hit.

Adorable little French kids are sneaking looks at me and Yasemin. We're reading in the grass near one of the rectangular pools in the Versailles Gardens. They heard us speaking English and dash up every now and then and say something to us in French. Then their parents try to instruct them in English.

Parent: "Jean-Paul, say, 'How are you?'"

Jean-Paul: (Giggles and runs away)

A toddler just waddled up to me and said...something. I folded a little paper airplane and a game of catch evolved. His father played the role of translator between us, but all the little guy would say is, "Avion avion!" ("Airplane, airplane!") Bon garcon!

Our hostel has no electricity in the outlets and the walls are peeling white flakes of paint from the walls and ceiling. There's a little computer station downstairs where you can buy six minutes of Internet for a euro. I ran out of time at the end and just barely managed to send my parents the message "In Paris. Good." before my account shut down.

We took in L'Arc de Triomphe, the immense victory arch that Napoleon commissioned in 1810. We had to walk through a rather apartment filled area to get there. The buildings here are so ornate and each window has a small balcony. Reminds me of New Orleans, only the balconies here are free of drunk merriment and flower pots instead inhabit the curvy metal fenced in ledges.

After the game was over my friend Adam and I headed over to the Obelisco, one of the most famous monuments in Buenos Aires. It is also conveniently the location for the congregation of fans and the celebration of a soccer victory. This party was amazing! There was a band there with an assortment of brass instruments and many drums, the crowd would spontaneously break into song, everyone dancing, singing, lighting firecrackers, and just generally having the time of their lives.

The next Argentine game is Friday morning; I imagine that many people will be skipping work and school to watch the game, and hopefully partake in the celebration festivities afterwards!

The only real adventure I've had of late was a trip with my program across the Rio de la Plata to Uruguay. We went to a small town called Colonia; it's a sweet little place which is a popular weekend destination for wealthy Argentines. It poured all day on Saturday, which put a damper on some of the activities, but Sunday was perfect blue skies. I was too scared to rent a moped — a combination of the rain and the cobblestone streets, the answer just seemed like a big no. I had some lovely typical Uruguayan meals; one of them was chivito, a type of fancy hamburger. The beefsteak was adorned with lettuce, tomato, cheese, ham and a fried egg. It was surprisingly delicious!

More exciting adventures are to come when my finals are over, and possibly even sooner when my boyfriend arrives.

JANE PENG / SPECIAL TO THE SEATTLE TIMES

Roof of Rossyln Chapel, May 25, 2006

They recently built a roof to cover the Chapel to protect it from the rain, but it only destroys the view from the outside. Inside, it feels like you are entering another century filled with medieval saints and the Knights Templar.

JANE PENG / SPECIAL TO THE SEATTLE TIMES

Edinburgh at night from Calton Hill, May 25, 2006

Later we walked up Calton Hill and got an amazing view of the city. It's a great place to gaze at clouds and the Palace of Holyroodhouse, where the Queen of England vacations every summer.

This morning Jane went off to Dundee and I scouted out some museums with Laura. She was leaving Edinburgh a couple hours after us to fly back home to Spokane. I saw Dolly the sheep in the Royal Museum of Scotland - she's been stuffed and is standing on a revolving platform, which I found slightly distasteful. I don't see why they have to make such a spectacle of her. The museum had some really good exhibits though, and more stuffed birds than I've ever seen in my life.

JANE PENG / SPECIAL TO THE SEATTLE TIMES

Edinburgh at night from Calton Hill with the Greek Acropolis in the foreground, May 25, 2006.

We surveyed the city from the top of the Royal Museum of Scotland as the rain fell lightly and made my fleece damp.

"I'm really going to miss it here," Laura said, and I nodded, because I realized that I will be leaving London soon. I will really miss London! And I just met this guy, and now I am going back to Seattle in two weeks! It's funny how life works like that.