Rome: The Sights

No, we do not mean Rome, Ohio. Or even Rome, Indiana. Weather.com, I would like to suggest you get your act together. Sorry, needed to vent.

There are a million things to see and do in (the real) Rome. Undoubtedly, a person could stay a year, nay live there their whole life and not see all the sights Rome has to offer. Needless to say we had not the time nor the patience to “see it all”. We did manage to hit up the Big Ones though. Please refer below for a numbered list followed by a witty description of each sight.

1. The Vatican. This place is a doozy. It's got the immense St. Peter's Basilica on the one side and then gracefully encased in the remaining walled-off area there are gardens and buildings and, more notably (and accessibly), the Vatican Museums, ending in the infamous Sistine Chapel. Basilica: cool. It's giant, it's got light flooding in, it's epically decorated*. Museums: boring. So much stuff that nothing looks spectacular compared to all the glam around it. It's hot, it's crowded, we had no guide. No photos allowed in the Sistine Chapel and if you take one, you get harasses like you're an 8 year old who just stole a candy bar**. It just wasn't for us.


2. The Colosseum. You know, the old Colosseum thing? In Rome? On all the post cards? Cool place, very neat. They need to get it together though with the people offering tours who flag you down outside the place and negotiate you into their tour. It feels like they're conning you even though they're really not.


3. Palatine Hill and The Roman Forum. This is all the excavated ruin stuff just next to the Colosseum. It's sort of a smattering of parts of buildings from 2000-3000 years ago. It's really cool stuff, but again, there aren't any signs so you have to either know what's there already, have a guide, or not really care what you're looking at. We were in group 3 and had a good time.


4. The Pantheon. Old, simple, free. What's not to like?

5. Trevi Fountain. Iconic fountain in old town Rome. Apparently one of the first non-religious commissioned art projects in Rome, or at least that's what I think our new friend from the language class told us (she's a professor and author of Art History). Very pretty at night.


6. Spanish Steps. In my opinion, not really one of the more exciting sights in Rome, but for some reason very famous. Nice place for a sit down on a hot day or to do some people watching. Also, just near our language school which made it (the school) easy to find.

This along with countless hours strolling the backward, mish-mosh of streets that they use for a downtown, which is a sight in and of itself, really. Rome is the only major modern city I've ever seen that didn't, at some point, bulldoze all the nonsensical cobbled alleyways built a thousand years ago and install a more organized system of streets. Some towns in Germany or England will have the cute little preserved "Old Town" area of town where gift shops and ice cream stands linger triumphantly, but they certainly don't use these areas as the living, breathing heart of their city. Rome doesn't seem to mind.

So that was Rome. We took a zillion pictures that I still need to sort through and post to Picasa, but that will have to wait. Off to other parts of this crazy country!

*Apparently they didn't have Ikea back then. Too bad for them, they had to use more than just allen wrenches to construct the thing.

**Paraphrased dialog between random stupid tourist and security guard:
Security: Mam, you're not allowed to take pictures in here. Do you want to be escorted out?
Dumb tourist shakes her head.
Security: Because if you take pictures in here, you will be made to leave. Do you understand?
Dumb tourist nods.
Security guard meets up with other guards and continue to loudly "SHHHH" the hundreds of people crammed in the room together.

A Whole New Language

I'd thought of taking a language class in Italy a while ago, when we were planning this trip. Once I realized we'd have a few weeks here at the end of the trip, I thought the opportunity was perfect.

I looked up a few language schools around the country and found a nice looking one in Rome. We were originally intending on starting in Venice and working our way South through Italy, but since many of the schools are in Rome, we decided to start there and train North.

We registered for a relatively expensive (in my opinion) one-week long class at Italia Idea language school right in the heart of Rome. People typically register for longer than one week, but we didn't have the time to stay longer. We started last Monday, attended four 3-hour classes (and one relatively useless city tour and cultural orientation - they were in Italian), ending last Friday. We were wary of doing this for a few reasons: a)It might be a waste of time since you can't learn very much of a language in only one week; b)The school might be total crap and not be enjoyable or helpful at all; c)The class might be paced too slowly or too fast and be very frustrating.

Also, it was a bit pricey and you know how I hate wasting money. But, after a week of class with 3 other people (2 Americans, 1 Aussie, all girls) and one excellent teacher, we learned a good amount and had some fun. We are far from fluent, but I can count to one hundred*, ask how much something costs, greet people, etc. We got as far as all that plus learning the indefinite and definite articles, learning plural and singular nouns, and some random vocabulary based mostly on restaurant menus and items in the room with us (table, chair, window, etc).

It really was a solid intro to the language (it's very similar to Spanish, by the way) and it gave us a nice focus for a week, which we haven't had for a long time. Our schedule was such that we woke in the mornings for breakfast and internet in our hotel, did some sight-seeing for a few hours (usually a different sight each day; there are many in Rome), and then made it over to our class at 3:30, usually having dinner afterward around 7.


We had five very full days with lots of walking (and sweating - it's still warm down here), learning, and picture-taking. Io amo Italia!

*I can never remember the number for 17 because it's far too long of a word and doesn't follow the same rules as all the rest of the numbers. (Diciassette is seventeen in Italian - but I cheated to tell you that)

In-Flight Italians

Our flight from Munich to Rome last Sunday (Sept 27) was not exactly our first time on an airplane. It was, however, our first time on a flight to Italy. I had not expected anything different than any other flight I've ever been on, but that's where I was wrong. This flight was full of Italians.

Even though the flight was leaving from Germany, most people appeared to be speaking Italian rather than German. Though it is hard to tell since Italian appears to be spoken at a far louder volume than other languages.

To start, the people milling around terminal were rambunctious. I thought there were just some larger groups of people together and that they were excited to go wherever they were going, so they were a bit chatty. Fine, no big deal. Unlike other trips though, this continued throughout the entire flight. It was like a damn family reunion on the plane. There were at least half a dozen people standing in the aisles for the entire duration of the flight so as to be able to chat with their friends or family or whatever. For all I know, these people didn't even know each other and they were just very happy to meet. It was like going to the library and getting stuck there with a group of bubbly high school kids decked out in Prada and D&G. No one else seemed to notice.

So, we continued to read our books and doze off for the duration of the 2 hr flight, ignoring the animated chatter taking place all around us. We chuckled as the surly German flight attendants had to repeatedly ask each Italian, one by one, to move so they could maneuver the drink trays down the aisle.

But the best part came right at the end of the flight. We had descended through the clouds, the sun having already set, and were approaching the runway just like normal. The cabin was a bit quieter since everyone had been forced back into their seats. As soon as the plane successfully touched down onto the runway, everyone went nuts. Huge applause, whistles, and cheers filled the cabin. Like we just won the damn lottery or something. It really made me think about how excitable these people really are. The flight landed like it was supposed to and they act like it is the best thing that's ever happened to them. I can only imagine what would have happened if the flight attendant had rolled the drinks trolley over their toes or something – I picture extravagant gesticulation and animated arguments. Because I don't think it's fair to imagine that they would be so exuberant over a plane landing and not equally "animated" if someone accidentally gave them a flat tire.

Anyway, the joy continued; a raucous round of applause was given as the first of the luggage started spewing out of the conveyor belt in the baggage carousel. I can't even imagine having that kind of energy. They're a bit like children. They are loud, impulsive, and generally happy. I am relatively quiet, introverted, and most certainly sarcastic. Two different approaches to life, eh? Well, let's see if I can't learn something while I'm here..."when in Rome" and all that.

Lucerne + Oktoberfest = Final Stretch

Hello. Welcome back to our continuing adventures around Europe. Thank you for joining me. I realize that it probably gets a bit tedious to read about every walking tour we've taken in every major European city for the past three months and I would like to thank you for your dedication and interest thus far. And, since I shouldn't make assumptions, I would like to thank you for being here now and reading about this intermission in our trip.

That's a bit like what this week was: an intermission. Or maybe a 2^nd intermission since it isn't exactly the halfway point anymore. Six days spent between the big attractions of Paris and Rome, where we didn't do very much except a bit of walking and a lot of watching Season 3 of House, M.D.

Last Sunday (the 20th) we arrived in Lucerne, Switzerland and stayed for three nights in a really nice dorm-turned-hostel. We didn't do too much during our two days in Lucerne, mostly because I'm not sure if there really is much to do. We walked around the town, enjoyed the cute shops, strolled the river banks, and ate some local “traditional” bakery fare (see pic of Kane posing happily with these foods; it wasn't as bad as he is making it look).

It was nice; it was relaxing. We didn't get to see much of Switzerland, but it appears to be a fine place. There are no homeless people. Drivers are habitually and extraordinarily accommodating to each other and pedestrians. All signs and labels are in three languages: German, French, and Italian. And since most people seem to speak at least some of each of these languages, it is not uncommon to find most people knowing a good amount of English also. They're like Germans but without the attitude and with large amounts of disposable income. I suppose being rich probably would put you in a good mood. Can't fault the Swiss, can you?

After our tiny stint in Lucerne, we dropped our beloved car off in Strasbourg and caught a train over to Munich. We had our little Clio III for 70 days and put exactly 10,667 kilometres (6628 miles) on her. She was a fine car and we treated her well. She will be missed.

After our goodbyes, we said hello to Jon, yet again, as we bunked down in his house in Munich for four nights. We spent one day getting serious about Oktoberfest, staking out a table in one of the tents early in the day with some of Jon's friends. While they planned to stay all night until closing (11pm), Kane and I were quite ready for a nap around 5pm after being there for over four hours.
Kane managed to drink two liters of beer during that time (they are sold in liter glasses, a bit more than a quart, and way, way too much for me) and he was down for the count. The burly security personnel who so kindly encouraged us to remove ourselves from the table we were occupying at 5pm (by picking up the ends of the benches we were sitting on and growling angrily in German) left Kane no other choice but to guzzle the last 1/3 of his 2^nd glass. Which pretty much did the trick.

Twenty minutes after leaving Oktoberfest Kane was unconscious on our air mattress in his undies. He remained this way for three hours, getting up to pee twice. At 8pm Jon came home unexpectedly early, which worked out since I thought I might starve to death shortly thereafter. Kane arose with an early onset (albeit mild) hangover and we had pasta with our House. At least one of us got to receive the full Oktoberfest experience, eh?

The next two days we spent mostly sitting around in pajamas with Jon*, finishing up Season 3 of House, and screwing around on the internet. We did make it back to Oktoberfest just to walk around and take some pics and we also went to see the movie District 9 at the English language movie theater. All three of us enjoyed the movie. And, I even got all our hotels booked for Italy; I am sparing no expense at this point. But don't tell Kane that.
Which brings us to now: the final stretch. It is Sunday the 27^th of September and we're on our way to Rome (upon writing; now we're in Rome). We will spend three weeks touring around Rome, Naples, Florence, Cinque Terre, and Venice before returning to Munich one last time to see Jon and collect all of our stuff (we keep leaving select items there so that we don't have to carry unnecessary things on each leg of the trip) and heading to New York.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the end! It's been a long journey and we're pretty ready for it, but we're also looking forward to Italy. Kane has set ambitious pizza goals that he will need to work hard to achieve. We are taking an Italian language class for five days in Rome. Our accommodation budget has gone heinously over allowance. This will be a good end to our epic Europe travels.

*Yes, Jon does have blue hair. Isn't he so hip and alternative?

Best Decision of the Trip

It started to get bad in London.

We knew this trip would be expensive and we tried to organize a budget that was tight but realistic. We thought we cut ourselves enough slack, but the UK was throwing everything off. One meal out would spend all the money allotted for an entire day's food. Forget buying a beverage; cokes and spirits are outrageous and not worth it. Every activity costs about twice what we had anticipated (example: a half hour ride on the London Eye costs £17! That's about $27 USD or $36 AUD per person – ridiculous!). I was spending hours upon hours, day after day searching for our upcoming hotels to find places that were under budget but weren't completely horrible. We were getting very bogged down.

And then we went to Ireland. Ireland, though thankfully on the Euro instead of the stupid Great British Pound (doesn't seem so Great to me), is even more expensive. Our first night we had “gourmet” hamburgers for about $20 AUD each ($15 USD). A non-refillable coke in a restaurant, say 12 oz, will run you about 4-5 Euro ($7 or so USD or $8-10 AUD). We were freaking out. The trip all but came to a stand still.

We were eating at grocery stores and still breaking the budget. The hotels were all over budget no matter how hard I tried, and I was getting worn out looking so hard. Fortunately there isn't much to do in Ireland, so our budget for “activities” was doing ok. But still, we were stressed.

And so, in Cork, we decided to forget it. We had been discussing it pretty much constantly for the past week or so. What do we do? Do we just spend more money? Should we just forfeit eating the food we want to and staying in nicer places to save? On the one hand, we already have the money, it's not like we're racking up the credit card bills; we had, in fact, saved it specially for this. On the other hand, we didn't need to be traveling so luxuriously; we could cut back on the restaurants, hotels, desserts and just see what there is to see.

I remember specifically having a conversation with Rhonda about it (Kane's mom) over Skype and discussing how we should be spending more and worrying less. What I was saying was true, but I was essentially arguing against myself. Then, in the restroom at the Jameson Distillery outside Cork, I made a decision.

The decision was not to go crazy and spend it all, but to spend more and stop worrying; to listen to my own arguments. Our collective anxiety over this was really destroying the fun of our trip. Eating at restaurants, staying at cute hotels, and nibbling fancy desserts are my favorite things to do. We're not hardcore travelers; it's not worth it for us just to be in a place. I want to enjoy the tastes and sights of a new city without eye blinders and handcuffs stamped “BUDGET” on them. The concern for money was significantly inhibiting our enjoyment and I was done with it.

I would still try to find budget accommodation and we wouldn't eat at five-star restaurants or anything. But we would not freak out when dinner cost $60 AUD, which is what a normal meal with no frills costs at a decent restaurant in Ireland.

It was amazing how quickly the change happened. Kane embraced it right away too, he's good about stuff like that. We'd both been mulling over what to do and when I concluded, not illogically, that we either need to sacrifice more money or more enjoyment (and only one is replenishable), he was right there with me. We were enjoying ourselves more already.

This might be one of the reasons I enjoyed Paris so much; we were encumbered by nothing in a wonderful city. And that's why we're here, not to save for a plasma tv for when we get back to the US. We can save for the rest of our lives (and we probably will), but for the next month, we will SPEND and we won't worry!

Incompatible

You know we spend every moment together. Kane and I have pretty much spent 24 hours per day, 7 days a week for the last 5 ½ years at a distance of no more than 20 feet from each other. We live together, we work together, we have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. We go to the gym, volunteer with the cats, and wash our cars together. Obviously, we're pretty damn compatible. Either that or we're using up all the time we're supposed to spend together for the rest of our lives before we even turn 30, and will be breaking up in the next couple of years. But since that explanation doesn't really make any sense, I'll stick with the compatible thing.

The other day, however, we discovered something. We were on a four hour train ride from France to Germany with nothing to do and motion sickness a constant threat. Neither of us wanted to read and it's a bit crap when one of us bogarts the computer. The only two-person card game we know besides Go Fish (Speed) has gotten tiresome.

Were there any little games on the computer that we could play together? Indeed there was: pinball. I took the left Shift button and he took the right; we each had a flipper. We took turns launching the ball into play. And here is where the differences between us shine like a hundred-watt eco-friendly light bulb.

Kane is patient, calculating. He likes to hold the flipper up when the ball comes down the side chute so that he can stop the ball and put it back into play at his leisure. He will let the ball bounce off his flipper, thinking it is going to bounce over onto mine where I would have a better shot, and let it accidentally fall down the middle. He pushes the flipper one single time just as the ball lands where he wants it, always aiming each shot toward whatever area of the board is lit up for bonus points.

I mash the shift key like it's got a cockroach under it. If the ball is somewhere in the vicinity of my flipper, including heading for or currently touching Kane's flipper, my flipper is flapping wildly. I smack the ball away the second it touches my flipper, regardless of which direction the ball might fly.

I'm a spaz. Kane is a damn guru.

When Kane does the thing where the ball bounces off his flipper and down the gutter (he stopped doing this after a while when he got the hang of how the physics of the game worked – thank goodness) rage rises in me as though he's just slapped my mother across the face*. How could a person possibly be so patient?! We played probably 20 games before tiring. Our scores increased steadily during our practice and we actually seemed to be working well together despite our radically different techniques.

I like to hit the ball as hard as I can** all the way up to the top of the board where it pings around for a while, giving us extra time on a play. Kane likes to follow the lit up arrows on the board to activate extra points. We ended up with a high score on one round of about 1,600,000. This is a good score, trust me. Kane played alone for long after I was sick of the game and in about an hour of solo play, he never broke a score of a million.

And so, I conclude, the sum of our talents is better than one of us alone even when we seem completely incompatible. Isn't that cute?

*He would never do that.

**I could not get away from the idea of this being an actual pinball machine that responds to how hard you engage the flipper, when, in fact, I'm fairly certain that the Shift key only flips the flipper at a set speed when you hit it.

Paris

Ahh, Paris. We did well in Paris. We spent 5 nights there but, unlike London, we actually got out and enjoyed the city to the fullest. It felt like we walked a million miles – our feet complained as such. But that didn't keep us down, oh no.

Before I get into the thick of Paris, I'd like to make mention of our trip over to France. We took a 19 hour ferry from Roslare, Ireland to Cherbourg, France. This was our 3^rd ferry of the trip (with automobile in tow, of course) but it was by far the longest. It also by far had the least access to the internet. By which I mean that there was no internet. Nineteen hours overnight on a rocky boat with no internet - not exactly a paradise. The kicker was that the website quoted about €120 (US$175 or so) extra for a room for the night on-board, or, you could not pay anything extra and receive a luxury chair in which to sleep (read: struggle) the night. You can probably guess which option we went with.


We had pumped ourselves up for it – it's just like being on a plane, right? But once onboard, one look at the sad, salmon-colored attic on the ship where our seats were hidden away and we ran crying to the on-board concierge. Apparently, for those of us who are horrified by our overnight seats and are suddenly willing to pay any price for a room with a bed, they have mercy. It was only €53 to upgrade from our chairs to a room. Four fold-up bunk beds (no room mates though), a tiny bathroom, no windows, and everything made of the same smelly plastic as on an airplane – totally worth it. And so we slept normally and both managed to restrain from vomiting even during the rough patches of water. Crisis averted. Welcome to France.

So, back to Paris. We drove straight there from Cherbourg on the 15th; about a five hour drive. We spent 4 glorious days treading up and down every adorable alleyway. Here's the rundown of our visit:

Day 1: 1pm: Free walking tour. Our tour guide was a totally adorable Aussie girl who reminded me very much of Jolene. She introduced us to all the best sights around town, witty commentary included. 6pm: Meander around the Louvre for a couple hours when admission is cheaper on Wednesdays – score one for the discount! 8-9:30pm: Wander around the city in search of a famed falafel stand that apparently does not exist. 10pm: Settle on pizza and salad dinner near our hotel which was delicious.

Day 2: Leave hostel almost too late to make the 2pm Monmartre tour with the same tour guide from the day before (we really liked her). This is a famous artsy district of Paris where people like Van Gogh used to hang out. Now it's mostly cutesy boutiques, people hounding you to draw your portrait, and restaurants aimed at tourists. Still cute though. 4pm: re-walk most of the Monmartre district looking for a cute place for dinner; settle for pizza and salmon with french onion soup and a crepe from a stand afterward.

Day 3: First sunny day! See the sights in depth that we only passed by on the first day's walking tour! Climb the 284 steps to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, photograph the Eiffel Tower from the gardens out front, soak up the Gothic architecture of the inside of Notre Dame, and have a stroll through the famed and funky Pompidu Centre. Find cute, casual cafe in the middle of the Latin Quarter in which to feast on a gigantic tuna sandwich and delicious slice of quiche. Follow it up with a strawberry tarte and, of course, a crepe at the end of the day.


Day 4: Drive out to Versailles but decide that we're not excited enough to actually pay to go in the Palace of Versailles. Yeah, that's how we roll. Have a little lunch in Versailles, enjoying the warm sunny day. Drive back to the hostel for a nap and some reading. Take to the streets again just before sunset and stop by my favorite tart shop (chocolate tart tonight) and then on to enjoy the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe lit up for night time. Return to hostel at 1am!!


Those were our four fantastically fun* days in Paris. Tally this onto my top 5 list; Paris knows how to show a girl a good time.

On a more cultural note, I would like to state for the record that Parisians are a bunch of fine, friendly folks. We had no problems with people being snooty or refusing to speak English, and everyone we encountered was very friendly and nice to us. I know the French have a bit of a reputation for being jerks to foreigners, but as far as we experienced, they have long since turned over these obligations to the Germans.

Additionally, not to hate on Germany constantly, but I would also like to mention that French is significantly easier to read and understand than German. When looking at a restaurant menu, French (like Spanish or Italian) actually looks very similar to English. There are so many common cognates that menus and signs are often about half-understandable even when I don't know any of the language.

This is a huge contrast to German where the only cognate we have readily found is “tomaten” for tomato and "milch" for milk. Other than that, very few words look the same and most words have their modifiers crammed together with the nouns to form huge, unwieldy words that further intimidate the non-native speaker. As an example (in English), they might say something like Cheeseburgerbaconavacado instead of separating the words out to be less confusing. Probably a bad example, but you can see where I'm going and why that would be even worse for me and the three words of German I know.

Anyway, to summarize: Paris is fun; French is a fine language; French people are quite personable; I love pastries (from previous entry but I'm not getting over it any time soon). Please have a gander at the rest of our pics from Paris.

Next stop (well, the stop has already been made, but I need to post about it) Switzerland, then Munich for a few days to drop off some of our crap with Jon and Oktoberfest it up. Then, the final stretch: three weeks in Italy!

*I love alliteration and I hope you do too.

Patisserie

This is my new favorite word. And my new favorite place. Patisserie. It even sounds beautiful, if I can say it correctly. We were in Paris for four days and I'm pretty sure the only site my eyes really took in were these lovely shops. Eiffel Tower? Arc de Triomphe? Louvre? These do not hold my interest*. But tartes, pies, croissants, cakes, coulis - these are why I like French people so much. They know how to deliver, oh yes they do.

Patisseries are everywhere in Paris. They adorn every block. They are truly appealing places all by themselves with their artistically displayed and well-lit offerings, cute seating areas, and cozy entrances. My main questions is: why are they not everywhere? Paris is certainly unique, but there is nothing holding these establishments from, say, the upscale streets of Berkeley or Fitzroy. I will submit this request to the powers that be; this needs to change.

Fun fact from Wikipedia: "In France, [patisserie] is a legally controlled title that may only be used by bakeries that employ a licensed maître pâtissier (master pastry chef)". They really are serious about this stuff. Fortunately, so am I.

And let's not forget the Creperie. Sometimes situated as an odd outcropping tacked onto a streetside restaurant, other times parked as a stand-alone kiosk in high-traffic (i.e. tourist) areas, the creperies in Paris are ubiquitous. As they should be. I can see why Parisians are such happy people, how could they not be with a sweet supply like this?

*We actually did go to these Parisian favorites and had a great time too. Just needed to drive my point home about the desserts, you know?

Ireland

So, apparently we call the entire island Ireland*, including the Republic of Ireland (the bigger one to the south that uses the Euro) along with North Ireland (the smaller area in the north that is part of the UK). The confusion never ends. But our trip there did!


We arrived in Belfast via ferry from Scotland (2 hrs, internet access on board, excellent) on September 1. We had a rainy, cold two days and three nights in North Ireland during which we took a bus tour around the city (screw a walking tour in this weather), and made a trip out to Giant's Causeway which is the only UNESCO heritage sight and the most popular tourist attraction in North Ireland (and is, incidentally, worth a visit).

On the 4th, we headed down into the Republic of Ireland, which we duly named Regular Ireland. As in, "Where is this place? In North Ireland or Regular Ireland?". And whatever the question was, the answer is probably Regular Ireland since there is far more down here to look at and eat. We spent three days in Dublin, which was not nearly enough but was still certainly fun.

During our travels we have encountered many cities (obviously) and a select few of them just jive with us right away. Dublin is one of these cities. Compact, easy to navigate, friendly, full of restaurants; this is a good place to be.

It is, however, an expensive place to be. We realized this almost immediately and were dismayed to find that this trip just keeps getting more expensive. I thought London would be the height of overpriced lunches and hot chocolates, but I was mistaken. Ireland takes the cake, or perhaps, the beer, as it were.

But moving on from our continual and mildly obnoxious fear of spending our own money, we had an excellent time in Dublin. We met up with my cousin Monique's husband's sister, Maria (a diagram would help, wouldn't it?), who graciously showed us around the city and gave us handfuls of advice on where to go's and what to do's. She's an exceptionally intelligent, interesting, and sweet person and we clicked immediately (at least Kane and I thought so...). And she helped with quite a few recommendations for foods, bars (yep, we went in bars!) and activities around the city. We could certainly spend some more time there; a way cool city indeed.

Then it was over to the west coast to stay in a town called Galway where we did a bit of relaxing and made sure to hit up the magnificent Cliffs of Moher as a day trip. The weather had turned sunny and (relatively) warm and we were happy as seahorses (clams are over rated - and rubbery).
Our last stop in Ireland was the best - Cork, in the south. We had a really great experience in Cork for these reasons: 1) The weather was sunny and warm; 2) Our hotel was plush and had a great view and I got it on sale; 3) The entire region is very beautiful. Granted, 2 of 3 of those reasons were circumstantial, but we won't complain. We spent our days kissing the Blarney Stone at Blarney Castle, taking in the famous views along the Kerry Ring Road, and becoming master whiskey tasters at the Old Jameson Distillery. We meandered through the odd little town of Cork, bought some new books, read, used the internet to our heart's content from the comfort of our hotel room (this is key), and even ordered room service. A truly luxurious end to our stay in this gorgeous country.


Please view the rest of our Ireland pictures here, which shows a bit more thorough run down of our trip through Ireland. For now, we've braved the 19 hour ferry directly from Ireland to France and are enjoying the lights and sound of beautiful Paris (say: Pair-eee)!

*Map courtesy of http://www.teachersparadise.com

Back in Time: Edinburgh Fringe

Let's step back in time for a few paragraphs...to about a month ago when we were in Edinburgh, Scotland. You may recall me discussing our excellent experiences in England and Scotland along with the differences between the terms "United Kingdom", "Great Britain", and "England". Ring any bells? If no, the wonders of bloggular technology will allow you to be whisked back in time and read all about it. Either way, it is a fact that I mentioned the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, albeit briefly, in my exposition about this part of our trip and I had meant to expand a bit.

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival is noted as the world's largest arts festival. It is a city-wide jubilee, if you will, of theater, dance, comedy, music, and anything else you can conceivably do on stage (don't use your imagination too much). To give you a feel for the monstrous size of the event, Wikipedia informs us that "Fringe 2009 sold 1,859,235 tickets for 34,265 performances of 2,098 shows in 265 venues, over 25 days, for an average of over 74,000 admissions and 1,300 performances per day. There were an estimated 18,901 performers, from 60 countries."

So, 1,300 performances per day. Not too shabby for a city of just under half a million. As you might imagine, this thing takes over like Oprah in a bakery. The city is bursting with people passing out fliers, signs pointing to hundreds of venues, and thousands upon thousands of visitors who travel from all around to be entertained by the plentiful performers. And, as luck had it, our visit happened to coincide with all this madness.

I originally thought this might be a bad thing since this festival drives up prices of everything from hotels to happy meals, but I now realize that this may be the best time of year to visit Edinburgh. The city is alive day and night. People are everywhere and are frolicking in a festive kind of way rather than bustling in a business-as-usual fashion. The vibe is electric. Street performers coax you from around every corner. The smell of food fills your nose, the call of street-side vendors fills your ears, and tiny, colorful 4x6 fliers for every kind of show imaginable magically appear in your hands. Artists, actors, mimes, acrobats, comedians - they all converge into one tiny city for three short weeks as the rest of us scurry to gorge ourselves on the open buffet of revelry. It's quite an experience.

Though the "big" shows are sold out far in advance, Kane and I had our eye on a couple shows that we wanted to see. We bought tickets just before they sold out for Stephen K. Amos and then, in typical Kangie style, scoured the internet for someone with extra tickets to Jimmy Carr who was willing to part with them at a reasonable price. And so, we saw these two fine British comedians one night after another, with good seats to boot.

Stephen K. Amos also played at the Melbourne Comedy Festival earlier this year (which we attended heavily) but we were not able to acquire tickets to see him there. He also frequents one of our favorite Aussie shows Good News Week, so we had high hopes for him. Jimmy Carr is relatively famous (mostly in Britain but also some in the US) and was performing in a larger theater that was sold out far in advance. They were both pretty funny, but I have to say that Stephen was the better of the two in my opinion. He had a very personal show and I think, since this was one of his last shows of the festival, he was winging it a lot that night. He even said so. There were some really classic lines and I even got to be made fun of for being an American (I had to cheer when he asked if any Americans were there...).

Jimmy Carr's show was definitely good; it was a very planned, regimented show where you could tell he had everything (except the one hysterical heckler-laugher in the audience) very well rehearsed. Though he did deal with crazy laughing lady quite well, so he can obviously hold his own with the improv. He does happen to be more prone to dirty, uncouth jokes which, though they can be funny, tend to not appeal to me as well. He was still very good and Kane and I were really happy to have acquired tickets.

But, as for my very favorite part of Stephen K Amos's show? I wish I could find a video of it on the interwebs but YouTube is failing me...his intro was two girls doing Beyonce's 'All the Single Ladies' dance (if you don't know it, it's been excessively parodied by the likes of SNL and everyone else on the internet) during which he joins the dance as his segue onto the stage. It was unexpected and hilarious. He was brilliant. Here's a random clip of him since I couldn't find one from the actual show we saw:



And, unfortunately, that was it for our Edinburgh Fringe experience of 2009. I highly recommend visiting this fine city at any time, but the Fringe was definitely a special treat. Yeay for the arts!

On an Unrelated Topic...

My friend Alicia kindly offered to let me post on her blog, and my guest post has been published! I thought I'd brag all about it on my own blog so that everyone can read something that I wrote that is not pertaining to travel or Australia or my bodily functions. Granted, it is still completely and totally about me, myself, and I - so do not fret, it doesn't deviate from your standard reading too terribly much. Someday I will learn to write about thing that actually matter.

Anyway, please check out her blog (it's a good one - she is a damn good writer, what with Masters degrees and all) and check out my article about how I hate to run! Yeay!

Glendalough

Glendalough is a tiny town about an hour and a half south of Dublin. It was a real find for us as we drove across the country to get to our next destination, Galway. It is an old monastic site with an old stone church, a stone tower, and lots of old graves. It was really photogenic and just had a really cool feel to it; hence it gets it's own (albeit brief) blog post. The collage above includes some of the best pics of the small area. Ireland is so pretty!

Healthy Irish Diet

I drank an entire pint of Guinness beer. By myself. Under no duress except that it was free, which is, actually, significant duress for me. It was absolutely repulsive and I am totally amazed that I was able to do it. I hate beer. And, unlike most college students, I refused to rid myself of this innate distaste in my early 20's just so that I could be cooler at parties. I'm not cool and I'm ok with it. No need to torture myself to try to disprove it.

But, in my old age I'm getting quite adventurous. Keep in mind that this is more beer than I have ever drank in my entire life combined. You probably know that I rarely drink anything - it's just not worth the time, effort, or money to me - but never, ever have I drank a beer. But I did it and I hope Ireland can be proud of me because that was almost certainly the last time that it will ever happen. Ever.


On a more enjoyable but even less healthy note, Kane and I finally tried the infamous, the coveted...deep fried Mars bar*. This is where you take a candy bar, batter it in the same stuff that your fish (as in fish 'n chips) is lathered in, and deep fry the whole thing. It sounds a bit gross - and it is, a bit - but mostly it's just a melty ball of chocolatey goo covered in a thin layer of donut. Definitely good, but don't think I'll make a habit of it.

Needless to say, we're having a grand old time in Ireland and they're treating us well (or, at least, just like they treat everyone else). More later!

*A Mars bar is what we in America call a Milky Way.

Sharing with Strangers

There comes a time in every budget traveler's trip where the coveted double room is not available. Where the cost of a real hotel is far too high, and/or the desired town is fully booked. At some point, to save money, a room must be shared with strangers.

Depending on how much money you're trying to save, you may have been sharing rooms all along. Kane and I are far too old for this. We are not 18 anymore. We want our privacy even if it's in a bite-sized room with bunk beds. It's still better than sharing with strangers.

But, here in Dublin, we have arrived in our first quad-share situation. We have a lot of stipulations for the rooms we book (parking, free wifi, under $100AUD/night, etc) and sometimes we have to compromise. Lord knows I would prefer to compromise on price and just pay up the yin yang, but my frugal friend Kane leans toward a less luxurious solution. And so we sometimes stay at less-than-desirable locations.

We won't do a 20-share room with who knows how many drunk children trickling in at all hours in the night. We will, however, go for a 4 or 6 person mixed share room. We've done it before and it isn't so bad. Yesterday we met one of our room mates: a nice Aussie boy (from Sydney) who is traveling around Europe, not unlike us except that he is solo and has many tattoos. Fine with me, seemed like a perfectly nice guy. We have yet to meet our other room mate, all I know of him is that he crept in not long after we went to sleep and put himself quietly to bed. Yeay for nice room mates.

But having nice room mates does not necessarily mean that all room-sharing problems are solved, though we can certainly not be thankful enough for this good fortune. There are still some...bodily function related issues that make room sharing difficult.

Let's face it, Kane and I have been dating for 6 years; we can keep our hands off each other for three nights. But as for unpleasantries such as...how do I say...well, passing gas - each person must do what he or she feels fit when controlling his/her bodily demands in such a situation.

Let's not be shy about it: I've had bad gas for the past 3 days. I'm not sure why but it's not been pleasant. I'm not usually so gassy, but I was dreading the 4-person share room based on this recent affliction, hoping it would pass (no pun intended) in time. And the worst of it did. But last night I still sat in my bunk bed faced with a dilemma.

To fart or not to fart, that is the question. How long can a person hold in gas of ever-increasing pressure? If I were out to dinner or in a public place, sure, I'd make the effort. But all night in my own room? Even if there are other people, need I kill myself for them? I know Kane's answer already: you do what you gotta do. For me it's not so black and white. Not only are his flatulents typically without odor, they are often silent. And even if he does choose to expel a classic whoopee cushion sounding toot, he works the "it had to happen, just ignore it" angle. Which generally works when you're a boy and there are no lasting effects of your indiscretion.

I, however, am a woman. A dainty soul. Ok, maybe not so dainty, but surely no stranger expects to be accosted by a smell so foul from a girl so well-mannered. And how unfortunate would it be to come home to your room after a night out and be forced to dwell in a smell that peels the paint? Here are my options as I see it: 1) Hold everything in, no matter the cost; 2) Let it out of your body but hold it in, sealed for all of time, inside your comforter*; or 3) Let it all the way out.

I'll be frank - I chose against pain for myself and shared with the others. When we went to bed our other two room mates were still out. Therefore my hopes were that one of these three would happen to the expunged gasses: a) They would sufficiently dissipate such that they could not be detected by others by the time they arrived; b) These kind strangers would not have the very keen nose** that I have and would simply not notice the odors that I have bequeathed onto them; or c) They would assume it was Kane. Now, I'm not proud of that last one, but who would you think dealt it - the tidy, small, blond girl peacefully sleeping on the lower bunk or the skin-headed, full-bearded brute of a man folded into the top bunk? Sorry honey, you're guiltier looking than I am for just about anything. But I still love you.

After all the inner turmoil (again, no pun intended though these are getting good) on this personal conflict, I finally fell asleep. Our room mates did come home throughout the night and I will never know if they detected any uncouth smells, or if so, if they would have attributed them to any earthly cause. Whatever the case, I did awaken to a...fully disclosed view of the front side of one of our room mates across the room, so I figure that we're probably even. Ah, the joys of sharing a room.

*This action has a contemporary nomenclature: it is known as the Dutch Oven. Doing it to yourself is probably not the most common of ways to administer this form of punishment, but the fact remains. This is a blog for learning too, remember.

**I have what is known in our family as "The Sommer Nose", which, aside from being bigger than the average nose is also very keen to detect scents. I have noted on many, many occasions being able to smell something that others around me can't. I think Kane's sense of smell (and vision, for that matter) is particularly dull, so I seem even more gifted around him. Haha, I'm better than he is at something! I say that lovingly as I typically live a bit in his shadow (literally and figuratively) as he is: taller, faster, stronger (the obvious), better at math, better at test taking, faster at getting ready in the morning, more patient, more frugal, less irritable, more flexible (not actually physically, I win in that department), more frequently rational, better at reaching high shelving and changing light bulbs, better at making things, fixing things, and troubleshooting, better with computers, cats, and fitting into small spaces, sleeps more soundly, regulates body temperature better, flips pancakes better, rides motorcycles more confidently, folds shirts more neatly...

England & Scotland

Ahh, the land of our fathers. Actually, my dad was born in Oakland, California, but no matter. We arrived in England on August 16th and have been happily communicating with the friendly locals* and reading every sign in sight ever since. I hadn't realized how crippling it is to not speak the language of a country you are in - travel has surely been kinder in the land of English. Here are some pictures for your weary eyes of England and Scotland. Also, I updated our previous album to include a dozen (a baker's dozen, to be exact) pictures from Belgium at the end.

First, let's sort out some nomenclature, shall we? Apparently this is often as confusing to the locals as it is to us foreigners:

England: a country in Great Britain. English people live here and they talk funny.
Great Britain: the island that houses most of the occupants of the United Kingdom. The countries that reside within the island of GB are England, Wales and Scotland.
The United Kingdom: a sovereign state comprising of Great Britain (England, Wales, Scotland) and Northern Ireland, along with a few islands in between.

I'm sure these terms will continue to be misused over time, but at least someone knows the difference. And so, we arrived in England/Great Britain/The United Kingdom.

We began our stay in London proper; five days in a hotel in Kensington, a western suburb of greater London. Now, I've been to London before and had a completely different experience with my mom in 2003 (I think?). In that case, neither of us were seasoned travelers, we were only on a 10 day stint and so weren't so heinously crunched for money**, and I don't recall knowing a whole lot about what exactly one is expected to do on vacation in London.

Having said that, I think that my mom and I were significantly more productive on the tourist front than Kane and I were. We also likely spent a lot more money, so there you go. Anyway, since Kane and I had 5 days on hand and also had no bookings for anything further on our impending trip, we took this opportunity to bunk down and book some stuff.

You may notice that I describe a lot of our time being taken up by planning the next phases of our trip. It's true, this does take a lot of time. It's a bit ironic to think that we travel all around just to arrive in one place so that we can hook into the internet to book the next, but we try to make sure to do a good amount of sightseeing to make it all worthwhile. We could, conceivably, just waltz up to each town, have the tourist office find us a hotel and stay until we're ready to move on, but since we have a car (and hence need a parking space), require internet (because we're junkies) and are trying to stick to a (relatively) strict budget, the online booking thing is really a godsend.

So, though we did spend a good amount of time in London booking accommodation for the rest of England and Scotland, we did also manage to get over to Windsor Castle, the Tower of London, a comedy show (with Jon since he was in town for work), and a walking tour around the city. We also ate some really excellent food; the rumors about English food being bad are completely false in my opinion. Despite Jon's persistent and insistent loathing of this city, I quite like all that is on offer in London and find it a great place to visit.

One thing that I hadn't remembered about London though: it is huge. London proper has over 7.5 million people (compared to 3.8m in LA, though their total metropolitan population is about the same at around 12-13 million) and sprawls for almost 700 square miles (compared to LA's 500 square miles). And, unlike LA, their public transport system - the beloved London Underground, or Tube - actually services most of this vast sprawling city.

So when we booked our accommodation, we just wanted to be somewhere near a tube station knowing that if we were, we could access anywhere in London with just a short ride. Which is true. But we did, however, sorely underestimate the scale of the city a bit when we were locating our hotel on google maps and calculating approximate distances to London's greatest attractions. Let's just say that we often felt as though we were spending more of our time on the tube than in the places we were trying to get to. If I had to make a little comic of our trip to London (which I have been known to do), it would be a picture of two bleary eyed people crammed on a very hot and stuffy subway train for 16 hours a day only stopping briefly to get out, take a picture of a statue, and continue on chanting "MIND THE GAP". If only I had a scanner.

After London we took a bit of a break. We spent 3 nights in a tiny town near Bristol in West England called Shepton Mallet. This place is so small that it doesn't have a Wikipedia entry (imagine!). We only stayed here to: a) get away from the ridiculously high prices of London; b) station ourselves near other calling attractions such as Stonehenge and Bath; and c) kill time until the hotel in central England that had a kick-ass dinner-bed-and-breakfast deal was available.

I have been to Bath and Stonehenge before with my mom (though she and I did not show up in time to see the Roman Baths in Bath, an occurrence about which she is still peeved) but still had a fine time exploring again. The weather while we were at Stonehenge was just as bad as it was last time I was there, so my pictures are pretty much exactly the same and not terribly impressive. Go figure. Bath was nice, though the actual Roman Baths were not nearly as exciting as my mom had imagined - pretty much what we had seen peering through the railing from outside was the best part of what you see from inside. I took some pics for you anyway, mom.
After Shepton Mallet, we spent a further 3 nights in a town called Sheffield where absolutely nothing is going on except for a super nice hotel out in the countryside with a really good deal for three nights with breakfast and two dinners at their super fancy restaurant. You may have read my entry relating our experience of the first night at dinner here, but despite that bout of anxiety, we had a really nice time. We did some further planning and booking, acquired the coveted Ireland guidebook that we couldn't find in London, and spent a day doing our laundry (read: finding a place to do our laundry). We accomplished (nearly) nothing and had a great time doing it. The only pictures I took were of the hotel, haha.

After our bout of luxury, we crossed the border into Scotland. Scotland is a wonderful place and Edinburgh (pronounced Eddin-burr-uh) is the center of the wonder. We happened to be here during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, which, despite making prices and availability of accommodation despicable, is a really fun time to be in this city. Edinburgh itself is a really nice city that I loved from our first steps into it. It's easy to navigate, the main center straddling a huge mound where the castle and old town reside and it's a huge center for arts, shopping and commerce and has a really lively, fun vibe to it.

Since it was time for the Fringe Festival, there were street performers everywhere, people handing out fliers for shows, booths selling crafts and clothes, and a general convivial atmosphere. It was excellent! We hit up 2 festival shows (will post later) and spent the rest of the time exploring the city via an Underground Tour, a walking tour, a guided tour of Edinburgh Castle, and eating (we did try the haggis, though ours was vegetarian! it was delish!). Aside from the weather, Scotland has been a real highlight to our trip so far.

And, Scotland is also home to about a zillion medieval castles and abbeys in various states of disrepair and re-repair! We planned to go to a few, but the woman at the first place suggested that we get a saver pass to go to as many castles as we want in three days within a five day period, so we decided to take her advice since it was already going to save us money on the castles we had already planned to visit. And since we could go to as many as we wanted during those three days, we went and saw seven total! It was pretty cool and totally worth the money since we basically got 7 for the price of the 2 we originally wanted to see. I have plenty of castle pics on the Picasa, do enjoy.

And so that's it for England and Scotland. Tomorrow we take a ferry over to Belfast in Northern Ireland where we will spend a few days and then head down to Dublin. The adventure continues, thanks for reading!

*Until we crossed the border into Scotland, at which point we communicate via a very specific pattern that begins with them saying something in a garbled, yet adorable, Scottish accented English, me pausing and asking "what?" and them repeating the rambling mush of speech until I can translate into Regular English.

**In fact, by some miracle of sale prices and/or poor judgment, I recall that my mom and I flew business class over to Heathrow in 2003. I can't even imagine such a fortuitous turn of events anymore; how have I become more frugal over time?

Bogans Abroad

Bogan: Australian and New Zealand English slang, usually pejorative or self-deprecating, for a person who is, or is perceived to be, of a lower-class background. According to the stereotype, the speech and mannerisms of "bogans" indicate poor education, cheap clothing and uncultured upbringing. "Bogans" usually reside in economically disadvantaged (often outer metropolitan) or rural areas. The term is the regional equivalent to the North American "redneck", "hillbilly", or "white trash". (wiki reference)

Well, that's us for this segment of How Kane and Angie are Doing in This Part of the World. Hello and welcome. During this episode, we will explore the different ways in which this particular couple can be both class-less and undignified in a place that requests both. Please, sit back, relax, and be entertained by our adventures in not-quite-being-good-enough.

We arrived today at the much anticipated Whitley Hall Hotel in Sheffield in central England. If you look at that website you may notice that it's a particularly elegant and high class hotel, certainly far beyond the meager reaches of our budget. But alas, in my epic (and ongoing) search for "a really good deal" at "a super nice place", I have found the 3 Night Combo Offer: a room and breakfast for three nights with dinner for two nights for £200 (=$330 USD, or $395 AUD). Quite a steal if the place is all it's cracked up to be. Which, in fact, we have found, it is.

So, we're excited to be in the nicest hotel room we've been in for three months (and perhaps ever?) and very eager to try the quality cuisine. One problem: the hotel recommends "smart/casual" attire when in communal areas, particularly at dinner. Let me just unzip the "smart" section in my backpack...oh, I'd forgotten, I only packed blue jeans and t-shirts. Mild panic sets in; what are we to do to conceal our true heathen nature?

Kane needs a haircut. He's grown into a shaggy dog with perpetually mushed hat hair and his attempt at an Australian haircut (the image is sort of what he was going for, minus the racing stripes) is really probably not what this facility is looking for in its clientele. So, he decides to save us from his shame and cut his hair. But not into the waste basket - what will they think of us?! In an episode of well-poised self sacrifice, he crouches over the toilet to cut his hair such that all evidence can be flushed away - see we are classy!

So now Kane's hair is buzzed and we're dealing with a bit of a skin head rather than a party boy, but at least his scraggly beard might be seen as distinguished. If he only wore glasses to set the whole thing into a sort of bohemian style then we might really be in business.

I'm a mess. The only pants I have are my stretched out, baggy, mayonnaise and ice cream stained blue jeans. This is day two of this particular pair of tattered Victoria's Secret undies*. My shoes are the New Balance tennis shoes that I've had for about four years now. They are so tattered that the inside heel has worn down to reveal whatever it is that makes up a shoe and now folds over and stabs me every time I put them on. I fear that water can now get in from the underside of the soles as the tread has worn down to a completely different color (I like to think of it as the "warning" color of the shoe, like the end of the receipt roll on a credit card machine). My only nice shirt - a long-sleeved, simple black cotton blouse - I had the foresight to leave at Jon's in Munich when we were furiously trying to "drop weight" for our trip. I shower, blow dry my hair, and wear a liberal amount of makeup in a sad effort to reconcile my shortcomings.

It seems to work; they do not refuse us from the dining room. Granted, almost everyone is dressed nicer and seems to be more dignified, but we make an effort to discuss important topics (engineering, polo, how cute the peacocks in the front garden are) and hold in any bodily functions that try to escape.

The setup is this: acquire a drink (not included, those sneaky bastards) from the bar, wait in the sitting room where you will be provided a menu and your order will be taken. Then you will be called to the dining room when your food is ready. It was odd but good. Coming into the dining room, we were seated at a four person table but with a place setting for only the two of us. With a million forks and knives and glasses and everything. Somewhere along the line I have picked up that you are to work from the outside to the inside when a multitude of silverware is provided, which worked quite expertly at this particular encounter.

The decor was elegant but not stuffy: subdued taupe paisley wall paper, wall mounted lamps, tastefully patterned curtains drawn back to reveal adjacent rooms. The chairs were sturdy dark wood with plump inset cushion, and the tables were flawlessly set on crisp white tablecloths. A small square vase with a single carnation graced each table along with a tiny flickering candle, clearly placed only as ambiance as the artificial lighting in the room was ample. It surprised me that almost all the tables were full; warm, pleasant chatter filled the room over the quiet melody of appropriate, yet not horrendous, background music.

We received our starters, which were excellent: a tomato, red onion and goat's cheese tort with pesto garnish for me, and salmon chorizo on a warm broad bean salad for Kane - delish! For our mains we both got the Shetland salmon on a tomato and kalamata olive nicoise - we could not resist ordering the same thing. Dessert presented many sumptuous choices (and by that I mean that I wasn't sure what many of them were), I got a chocolate "tear" which was a little ribbon of chocolate filled with orangie-custard and a scoop of bourbon ice cream (it's better than it sounds), while Kane got an artistic cheese plate.

Kane's cheese plate was just what he always wants for dessert: he's doesn't have much of a sweet tooth**. There were four slices of different types of cheese, three sticks of celery, a small bunch of grapes, a glob of fruity chutney, and two slices of french bread. It was like a whole other dinner! He slowly sampled each of the cheeses and then turned to me and said, pointing to the final slice of cheese that appeared softer than the others, "This kind of cheese is actually butter". And we proceeded to laugh at ourselves for a long while. He did not eat any more of that particular cheese.

We finished our excellent dinner without incident (didn't break anything, offend anyone (that I know of), or say anything particularly (noticeably) inappropriate) and headed back to our room. Waiting for us was a complimentary bottle of Australian sparking wine (they know how to make us feel at home) and small jug of port. These were actually in our room before dinner, but it was only after that we had the dedication and tenacity to tend to them.

And with that, we split (choked down) the bottle of delicious (horrendous) wine and chased it with (plugged our noses and chugged) the handsome (foul) port. Just because we aren't classy, doesn't mean fancy drinks will be wasted on us; we were once college students after all, and the spirit is not lost. This was actually the most wine I have ever consumed in my life, not only in one sitting, but in my entire life combined. I have never had more than a sip, followed by an appropriately dismayed scrunched face. But, there was no one to pawn it off on and nowhere to save it for later, and it was free, so I stepped up and made the appropriate sacrifices. Not only am I classy, I've grown quite mature as well, even for a bogan in England.

*Do not judge my repeat underwear wearing until you yourself have traveled for months on end. And if you have done such traveling and still frown on me, well, just keep quiet.

**Which is always a sore disappointment to me as I drool over any form of pastry, cookie, cake, chocolate, candy, pudding, brownie, tart, parfait or gelato.

Heaven with Groceries

Traveling is a search of sorts. A search for knowledge, for understanding of different cultures, for experiencing unique places and new people. It is a search within yourself to find what it is you really seek in life, what makes you happy. It is often this search, this unknown, that draws us to travel around spending our hard earned cash all over this grand planet.

With over two months of continuous travel under our belts, in addition to our innate unflappable nature, we are rarely surprised anymore and not often wooed by our findings. This is a bit of a sad conclusion being that we have sacrificed so much to be here, but every feeling and every reaction is both lesson and revelation in itself. And besides, when it's all over and we're back to the 9-5, we'll forget (or laugh about) the dingy hotel rooms, the frustrating conversations with somber Germans, the infuriatingly yet insistently unlabeled roads, and we'll remember the funny, the tasty, and the beautiful moments of our trip, which there have been many.

We have spent the past 5 days in London, re-acquainting ourselves with polite people who speak English. In a city so enormous (7.5 million), it's very difficult to separate the good from the bad and find the Milk Duds* in a sea of Raisinets**, if you will. In a city like London (or LA, or NY, or Sydney, etc) there are undoubtedly and indisputably great restaurants, fun attractions, entertaining clubs, and great hang outs. The difficulty is in finding these gems amongst the white noise that makes up the rest of the metropolis. And that's where I try to get sneaky. I studiously carry a Lonely Planet guidebook to help locate decent restaurants and places to stay. But really, lots of people do that. I scour the internet for leads on the best values around town, the nicest hotels for the cheapest price, the best veggie restaurants. I try hard to find the really good, truly unique things that a city has to offer (that I would enjoy).

But still, we often have to make choices based on nothing at all. We find ourselves in a district not serviced by our loyal, if limited, guidebook. We end up without access to the internet*** for some time. And in these trying times, we have to choose what to do based on studying menus, scrutinizing decor, and interrogating personnel. Under these conditions, we cannot expect any better than hit or miss as we try to make educated decisions. Sometimes, however, a place will jump out at us. We will just be walking down the street and be suddenly bowled over by the sheer magnificence of a restaurant, store, or building. Sometimes we stumble, like blind children, into a place even more awesome than any internet review could have made us believe. This is exactly what happened to Kane and me three days ago in the suburb of London called Kensington.

Passing a Whole Foods store on the way back from lunch, I casually suggested that perhaps I might acquire some dessert-type item from this well-known and loved establishment. Kane concurred and we proceeded to wander into what could possibly have been the best place I have ever been.

The automatic doors under the familiar and comforting Whole Foods logo whoosh open at our approach revealing the bread and bakery section of the store. These people obviously have experience at grocerial warfare – my defenses were down. On the right was a variety of solid, sturdy, light-colored wood tables with stacks of beautifully displayed freshly baked loaves of bread. Mozzarella cheddar, rosemary garlic, pecan raisin, sourdough; all laid out as though you just finished baking them in your own kitchen. On the left was a sort of wooden dresser, its shelves bursting with heavy wicker baskets filled to their brims with freshly baked cookies: chocolate chip, white chocolate macadamia, lemon sugar, oatmeal raisin. Tables flanked the dresser and were adorned with giant muffins, croissants, and rich chocolate brownies. These treats were arranged exactly how they might be at a Christmas pot luck, so accessible and fresh looking that it was very difficult to restrain from simply reaching out and eating one of each. The brownies had a free sample tray: infinite cubes of the deepest brown that convinced me to buy a brownie for myself even though this is a treat I would never normally choose.

As we entered the store further, we were confronted with dozens more rambling displays of the finest foods: the fresh salad bar, the mix-your-own muesli bar, the grind-your-own peanut (or other nut) butter area, the freshest fruit from around the world, vegetables fresh cut on site in nice little baggies ready for your steamer or grill. There was a fresh dipped chocolates case that would make Mrs. See bow her head in shame.

Possibly the best part of the store was a tiny corner blocked off by sliding doors. Inside this small, bright room was a temperature controlled cheesery with heaping blocks and rounds of fresh cheddar, brie, gouda, blue, and probably any other kind of cheese you could possibly imagine. Some chunks were already broken off and wrapped for you to take, but for the rest, customers must ask the designated cheese manager, tending to this area religiously, to slice off a requested amount of their choice.

This was a store for kings and queens and yet I was allowed in. I, in flip flops and $5 earrings was allowed, nay encouraged, to meander around this grocery heaven munching on free samples and throwing whatever I wanted into my hand basket. It was truly amazing. I could find no down side to the existence of this facility except that some of the items are imported rather than local. The products were amazing. The floor was immaculately clean. The displays were awe-inspiring. The check-out line was non-existent due to an efficient, Fry's-like array of 15 or so registers, color coded with a display screen at the front to direct you to the next available cashier. The employees enjoy additional health benefits and stock options (there was a sign saying so).

I take back any complaints that I have previously submitted about capitalism because it has clearly spawned a place far above anything I could have imagined. A place that rights the wrongs of others. A place of peace and prosperity. The most awesome place I've ever bared witness to: Heaven with Groceries.

*Don't actually look at the nutrition information; what do you expect when you eat a Milk Dud?
**What this website neglects to tell you is that Raisinets are gross. You can have all mine, mom.
***I'm still waiting for internet to be available at all times and in all places because being without it is some kind of crime. Especially while traveling.