Ryan and I skipped the group’s dinner at Mamy Rabe’s home Tuesday night so we could work on the blog, but Ryan started having bouts with vomiting in the early evening, which will put a kink in our blogging progress as well as his own comfort. He’s being a trouper, but is really sick. We are offered various meds by the group when they return to the hotel, and I move down the hall into another room in case he’s ailing with a virus rather than a food- or water-borne bug of some kind. The luggage arrives on a flight from Paris about 11 p.m., and I’m in the lobby working on its underperforming WiFi connection when John finally arrives from the airport in a van packed with suitcases for everyone except Joe and Nancy Powell and Vicki Anderson. It’s now 1 a.m. but no one minds being awakened with the long-lost clothes they packed and left home with on Saturday. I put Ryan’s bags in the room – one was severely damaged – but his gratitude for them is overshadowed by how truly crummy he feels.