I don't remember the name of the children's book where the French man eats the magic figs and wakes up without his clothes and it's Bastille Day, but I was strongly reminded of it today. Last night I unknowingly ate my first fresh fig at Altromondo, a restaurant we were taken to by the people from the Institute. It was sort of a second welcome dinner, and also served the purpose of getting us together to sign a few more papers. They divided us up into about six groups for these dinners and took us out to different restaurants. It was a lot of food, but very good. Erica, one of my roommates, and I went for gelato afterwards. I was stuffed, but I was glad I had the gelato once I tasted it. Hopefully this
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