Girard n'existe pas.

So we went to reception to pick up my passport, with my visa in it.

Except that it wasn't there. And the person who signed for it, "Girard", apparently doesn't exist. So Stephanie or Sophie or whatever her name was trotted down the road to the other office we didn't know about and about seven hours later she returned with this:

Let me show you my happy/relieved/excited/terrified face. I'm going to Korea!

There's only one thing left to do now.

Me, my Dad, and a little something called Poire William. Yum.

Oh, and I built a snowman, but we didn't have any carrots. So I made one that looks like a typical beginner skier.

My father is comparing this to Henry Moore.

Love to hear what you think!

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