Dix-sete, dix-huit, dese NUTS! or WE SURRENDER!

The journey has begun. The LADS are beginning their take over of the old continent. After almost missing our taxi, we made it to Paris, la ville de l'amour, le centre des arts, le coeur de la haute cuisine. After meeting our amazing, yet undecipherable, hostess Joséphine, we decide to make our way through the city. Due to the weather we did not have the privilege of enjoying the beautiful sights with appropriate sunshine and feeling. It did not hold us back. We started out to see the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the beautiful Notre Dame. Sadly at all of the attractions we realized something quite upsetting. We chose the wrong time to come to this city.

This is traditionally the time during which the French have their version of the Exodus and migrate to the Mediterranean beaches. It is also the time when most tourists come to Paris. It leads to quite an interesting phenomenon. While the French are stranded in never ending traffic on the highways for roughly half of their annual 4 weeks (!) of vacation a never ending throng of tourists besiege the various attractions by forming giant queues in front of them... Sneaky French. That did not hold us back either.

As LADS we did what we do best, we were obnoxious little buggers that have an insatiable desire to poke fun at everything and everyone. Nonetheless we also did all the touristy stuff there is to do. Took pictures holding and leaning against the Eiffel Tower, marched to the Louvre and witnessed the beautiful I.M. Pei pyramid. Paris will also always be thankful, that we contributed to keeping the inverted pyramid from falling through the roof. Joséphine was not only facilitating our photo documentary, she was also encouraging us to explore new heights of radness. Once the sun came out she made the genius suggestion we take a nap in the Notre Dame gardens. I never felt more French or like a tourist.

We stormed la maison du fashion, Les Galeries Lafayette, trying to find the famous French Macarons. Let's put it this way they were the dogs bollocks. Try it, love, it, crave it forever! Then we crashed.

Power to the People, Comrade!

How to get a Russian Visa for Dummies:

As most of you know getting a visa is a pretty bureaucratic and monotonous process. However, attaining a Russian visa surely, puts all these stereotypes to rest. The usual applciation process contains:

• Napkin numbered one to one hundred,
• Several old Russian grannies;
• A cramped outside pagoda;
• A grey drizzly Berlin morning;
• A strict no smiling or laughing policy;
• A former KGB bureaucrat;
• Lots of chaos;
• Inefficient time management; and
• The paperwork, of course.

After arriving one hour and a half before the Consulate opened, names were crickle crackled onto said napkin as numbers 40 and 41. The napkin was in the process of disintegrating into white pulp, due to the light drizzle. Amid of the excitement, a Russian granny urged us to part ourselves from our passports, so that she could start a collection, unheard of, I hear you cry, in any other bureaucratic process. However, this is no normal bureaucratic process/is bureaucratic even the right word. This is Russia 101. After said napkin has passed the 100 mark, a new napkin was produced for numbers hundred onwards. While this mass of white pulp, was angrily thrust into the hands of aforementioned KGB "bureacrat", who dared to open the front door right on time.Promptly, each granny fought nail and tooth to attempt to pass their collection of ten passports to the half bewildered/half hungover looking KGB officer.

Once inside, it feels like time travel is possible. Welcome to East Berlin, July 4th 1968. A waiting number was silently allocated, except for a disapproving grunt. This waiting number was expertly placed on the magic counter "NUMBER 2", where a miserable young man took the waiting number, and placed it expertly on a pile of other waiting numbers, giving him the option to call up numbers as he pleases. Once called up (40 minutes) and a lot of confusion which number he called, the young protagonists faced their toughest test to date. The applications were handed in, and to the protagonists surprise, Brazilian passport holders do not need a visa. In the midst of having the papers for passport A thrown back at them, elation broke out, an act in stark contrast to the no smiling/laughing rule. Irked by such elation ("Was ist hier lächerlich" heavy Russian accent, please), Passport holder B's application was declared void, thrown back, and instructed to be redone for no particular reason. After the Russian Bear calmed down, the new application form was submitted, without any acknowledgement whatsoever receipts were made out for a seemingly random figure.

The LADS continued their adventure in the Consulate, proceeding to counter one. Payment of the fees were heavily handicapped by the corrupt nature of the state, an unwillingness to accept foreign debit cards, and a fear of cash. Receipt of payment was returned to magic counter "NUMBER 2" and the application was miraculously complete.

Picking up passport plus visa included repeating as many steps as aforementioned.