Snapshot #1 — Monday afternoon. I am in Berlin and sit in a bus and chat for half an hour, in German, with a Russian philosopher (a Kant scholar, unfortunately).

Snapshot #2 — Monday afternoon. A glass of sparkling water in hand, I catch up with a Chinese anthropologist, in English.

Snapshot #3 — Monday evening. I am in Berlin, drinking wine with two Australians, one Canadian, one American and one extremely funny British lady, all scientists in various domains, laughing in the warm evening.

Snapshot #4 — Tuesday morning, too early. I sit in a bus and talk with a linguist from Malta, first in German then in French. We discuss manuscript dating, French texts from the Middle Age written in Hebrew, classical music from the nineteenth century, and European politics.

Snapshot #5 — Tuesday morning. I am in Berlin on a hot, sunny day. A glass of sparkling water in hand, I discuss scientific careers in French with a young Canadian physicist and a French professor who has been teaching microbiology in Germany for twenty years.

Snapshot #6 — Tuesday lunch. I sit with two Australians (a chemist and a geneticist) and a German linguist onboard a boat that cruises the Spree. We chat away in English, with a little bit of German here and there.

Snapshot #7 — Tuesday afternoon. I lay down in the grass by the Spree, beer in hand, with the two aforementioned Australians. We talk about science, feminism, and a lot of other topics. Later, we move to a "beach bar".

Snapshot #8 — Wednesday afternoon. I am on the phone, complaining about the suddenly cold weather and having spent hours and hours in a train making stupid slides about projects I do not know anything about^[1]. "Wait," I am cut off, "you spent the best of 12 hours yesterday chattering away on your favorite issues^[2] with two Australian guys in bloody Berlin." This is a valid point.

Snapshot #9 — Thursday, early afternoon. I am in the middle of nowhere, Swabian Alps, and check into my hotel room with my Georgian^[3] roommate. We speak German with the woman at the front desk and a mix of English and French together.

Snapshot #10 — Thursday evening. I am outside in the cold Swabian night, sitting crossed-legs between two German scientists. The one at my right speaks with a heavy Californian accent, the one at my left has an almost perfect British intonation. A dozen of other scientists, coming from China, Argentina, Spain, Luxembourg, Japan, Northern America, Australia, and, for a minority, Germany, complete the circle. We talk about science and academic careers and America.

Snapshot #11 — Friday afternoon. I am sitting in a bus, talking about French literature with the Georgian roommate, again in a mixture of English and French. Behind us, a colleague says a few words in Greek in his cellphone before leaning towards us and asking in German who it is we are talking about^[4].

Snapshot #12 — Monday morning. I am in Paris, boarding a train back to Germany, pestering against rude people made ruder by the abandoned-luggage alert that delayed us. My chest is tight as I remember the lovely weekend spent, somewhat oddly, speaking French with French people in France (well, mostly). If there's anywhere I belong, this could well be it; but I might have attained a state of permanent déracinement^[5].

Nevertheless, the above is about 29.7% of why I love my job.

List of the skills acquired or perfected during the last five years that I put to use here during my intensive German classes:

• ability to speak English fluently;
• ability to cook;
• ability to take decent pictures;
• ability to sing along with a good number of Belle and Sebastian songs;
• ability to talk about beers / wines / vodkas like I really cared about anything else besides whether or not I like them;
• ability to plan a trip;
• ability to dance;

List of the skills acquired or perfected during the last five years that nobody gives a shit about:

• ability to give a scientific presentation;
• ability to do science;
• ability to use a computer and know what I'm doing with it;
• ability to write a fucking PhD dissertation.

List of the skills I've had for over ten years and that impress the most people:

• ability to speak French fluently;
• ability to pronounce "an en in on un" in French;
• ability to book train tickets and take the train without it turning into a nightmare;
• ability to wander around a medium-sized city (called, in that context, "big city") without panicking / losing myself / getting robed / noticing anything unusual about the situation;
• ability to know where the car is parked and remember where the post office is;
• being French.

Reverb10 is now offering "one tool each day to help you plan your year ahead".

So far we've had "How to create your personal manifesto", "Soul biographies: thoughts become things", "MicroMOVEment Support Sheets" and "The Next Step After Vision". This is all self-flattering, time-consuming, utter bullshit, if you want my informed opinion. Well, not so informed, as I couldn't bear reading through any of the entire articles.

For example, I read just enough of the "MicroMOVEment" thingie to learn it is about breaking down big, seemingly unconquerable tasks in more manageable sub-units. OH SUCH AN INCREDIBLE REVOLUTION STOP THE PRESSES.

I didn't even have the courage to click on the "Next Step After Vision" link. I'm pretty sure it's action, though.

I think I've had it with Reverb10.

And in any case I'm running a bit out of time as tomorrow the mom and I are hitting the road to Germany, with my boxes an' stuff in the boot (take that, American English) of the car, on the way to the lovely flat (take that again, American English) I have found last week. So I am a bit busy. With such things as mapping the trip, booking a hotel halfway there and back, purchasing train tickets^[1] for when I return there by train next Monday, and packing my crap into the proper suitcases.

So off I am, waving to you frantically with my little tiny hand, and wishing you a very happy 2011 indeed.

This is, supposedly, "Spring Break".

I do not know what is this "break" you are talking about.

I will attend a wedding, late Sunday morning, then fly to San Francisco with two of my partners in adventure and science. Then I will present a poster, all dressed up in my business suit — if our flight is on time, I should have time to change from my lovely dress.

Conferencing will ensue for the next four days, until the three of us fly back into the night, together with the friend (a partner in tango and late night conversations, if you will) who will join us as a tourist and share my hotel room.

The weather forecast assures me it is going to be warm and sunny. I do not quite dare believing it.

Today I received an email from a former lab mate. "The three of you together in San Francisco?" it more or less said. "What could go wrong with that?" We have a reputation to live up to, and will therefore try to squeeze in restaurants, breweries, coffee shops, and art museums when we're not presenting our work or asking smartass deeply relevant questions about that of others.

It is going to be brilliant.

And you can email me your address at krazykitty [at] amrhaps [dot] net if you reside in either Europe or the US (for I have stamps for both) and wish to receive a postcard from San Francisco. (This, obviously, is only necessary if I do not already have it; if I have already sent a postcard to you in the past, chances are I am not going to stop at one.)

My plans include walking aimlessly in the streets, seeing friends and family, staying up late, laughing until my abs hurt, not letting Christmas drive me nuts, drinking hot chocolate, giving a research talk, taking pictures of Notre-Dame and the Christmas store windows, getting started on my dissertation.

I'll be back on January 2nd and I should go finish packing.

I don't think I have yet fully realized that I am leaving for the whole summer, which I am going to spend as an intern for one of the research labs of Big International Company in Israel. I am both thrilled by the new experiences that await me and slightly scared to be on my own in a foreign country where I have never set a foot and the language of which I hardly speak at all. I am leaving tomorrow morning, and will spend a week in France on my way there. In the meanwhile, I still have a good deal of packing and last minute work to do so... off I am after no more than one paragraph. Can you believe it?