Finally Back in Guildford!

Whew! I'm finally back in the U.K. after a whirlwind European tour!!

To put everything in the simplest possible terms, I'm pooped...

In two weeks, I traveled from London to Paris to Brussels to Bruges (also in Belgium) then back to Brussels and back to Paris then back to London and flew to Rome and then a train to Pompeii via Naples and back to Rome and got stuck in Rome and couldn't leave Rome and realized that this was a trip that refused to end before finally arriving safely back in England this afternoon.

(dramatic sigh)

So...

I have a million crazy stories to tell!

From massive transportation strikes to kamikaze tour groups, I now have enough material to fill this blog for months. So if you were worried that my blog entries would suddenly end after arriving back in the States, YOU'RE IN LUCK! Since I have final exams this week, there's no way that I'll be able to re-cap all of my travel adventures while trying to cram random facts into my head. Therefore, I'm planning to post pictures and blog posts gradually over the next month whenever I can find time to work on my websites. (Christmas break will be a great chance for me to catch up on some blogging...)

So keep checking back for travel stories and definitely view my European pictures for a quick preview of future blog posts.

Stay tuned for updates!

Ciao!

Back to London for Round Two!

Hello again from Paris!

Craig and I decided to leave France for a few days during the public transportation strike and travel to Belgium. Belgium is positively enchanting! After splurging a bit on the world's most amazing chocolates and finest lace, we headed back to Paris to catch a view from the Eiffel Tower and the famous palace at Versailles.

Loving both Paris and Belgium, Craig and I are now flying back to London for the last day of our European tour together.

On Sunday, Bill is meeting me in London before flying off to Rome. I've been so incredibly busy with country-hopping that I will eventually look forward to returning home to the States in a few weeks for a little Christmas relaxation!

Cheers!

Bonjour from Paris!

Bonjour!

Just wanted to post a quick note to say hello from Paris! (I love free hotel internet...)

To catch the Americans up on current European events, the entire Paris public transportation system has been on strike for weeks, which means that the entire city has been without subway trains and buses for most of the month. Thankfully, Craig and I have found our way around the city on foot without any problems.

Despite common stereotypes, Craig and I have found the French to be incredibly friendly and Paris is absolutely wonderful.

Tomorrow, we are taking a train to Belgium for chocolate, beer, and lace.

Stay tuned for small updates on my grand finalè tour of Europe!

Au revoir!

A Short Blogging Sabbatical

Don't be alarmed by the title of this blog post! The stories don't end here! There is so much left to tell!!

For the next two weeks, I will be taking a short break from blogging due to a 13-day tour of Europe. Beginning with England, I am meeting Craig (my incredible boyfriend) tomorrow in London for a few comfortable days of touring before flying off to Paris. After touring France's capital city, we're hitching a high-speed train to Belgium for a few relaxing days in Brussels and Bruges. Hopping back on the train, we're backtracking to Paris before catching a later flight back to London.

Making sure that Craig grabs his flight back to the States, Bill is meeting me in London to re-group before flying for a 5-day vacation in Rome, Italy. From there, who knows were we may end up!

Add in a much-needed entry on the highlights of my recent visit to Windsor Castle, and you'll have more than enough to read over the weeks when I get back to the U.K.!

So bear with me over the next 2 weeks, and I promise that you'll hear plenty of stories about my giant tour of Europe. In the meantime, leave a comment or send me a few lines via email!

Cheers! :)

Munich, Germany: Ich Liebe Deutschland! (Part 3)

Not wanting to leave you on a such a sad note in my Munich-trip-recap, I do have one final story to tell... about planes.

Feeling slightly smug that we had caught our flight to Germany without any glitches, Bill and I thought that we had finally mastered the art of flying across Europe... well, at least that's what we thought. The German subway system is an ingenious work of technology that is actually quite well-planned and easy to follow -- if you know what you're doing. Knowing which line we needed to grab in order to bring ourselves back to the Munich airport, Bill and I felt no stress about catching our flight since we had allowed ourselves plenty of time to arrive at the airport before check-in. Unfortunately, we made two fatal mistakes. The first was hopping on the right train going in the wrong direction. The second was not realizing that we were traveling directly away from the airport until we were 20 minutes outside the city. (YIKES!)

When it finally hit me that we were traveling in the wrong direction, I frantically told Bill that we needed to jump off at the next stop and wait for the next train heading back into the city. Waiting anxiously for the next train to arrive 15 minutes later, I watched minutes tick away on my watch as we began the hour-long trek back towards the airport. Feeling completely defeated by my inability to read German subway signs, I had begun to accept the fact that Bill and I were going to miss our flight back to the U.K.

By some miracle of high-speed German subway technology, however, we arrived at the Munich airport just 10 minutes before the check-in ticket counter was scheduled to close for our flight. Dashing across the large airport, Bill and I darted left and right without ever completely knowing where we were supposed to go. By the grace of fate, I spotted the EasyJet ticket kiosk with just a few minutes left before boarding. Expecting long lines at the customs gates and security checkpoints, Bill and I grabbed our boarding passes and ran to the metal detectors. Surprisingly, there were no lines! Thinking that our boarding gate would be located remotely far from the customs officials, I briefly thanked the customs officer as I dashed to the gates only to discover that I only needed to walk 20 feet to my waiting area. Such amazing luck!! Ironically, Bill and I arrived at the airport only 10 minutes before boarding was scheduled to begin, and we still managed to grab a few minutes to catch our breath before passengers were allowed to board the plane.

The best lesson that I have learned from this nerve-wrecking experience is:

People plan. God laughs.

Munich, Germany: Ich Liebe Deutschland! (Part 2)

Waking up decently early the next morning, I was ready to tackle a "pastry-crawl" through Munich's many bakeries and pastry shops. Leaving our hostel around 8:30 a.m., Bill and I stopped at our first pastry stop on our way to the subway station. While I ordered a nusschnecken (cinnamon roll with nuts) to test my German pronunciation, Bill wandered off to another food stand to buy a pretzel and a few sausages. Impressed that he was able to order his food with the international language of gestures (Bill doesn't speak German), I sipped a cup of hot chocolate while Bill waited for his food.

Taking the subway back into town, we were hoping to hop around shops in the Marienplatz (the town square) for an hour or so before touring the Residenz Palace. Arriving at the Marienplatz, Bill and I ducked into another bakery to escape the frigid wind until the shops opened at 9:30 a.m. Splitting an apfelschnecken (apple pastry) and sipping fruit tea, we watched light snow flakes begin to fall from the sky. Watching snow fall on a picturesque German city while sitting in the comfort of a small cafe is rather comforting. Therefor, it was no wonder why I was reluctant to leave my hot cup of tea a few minutes later to head back into the cold weather.

Despite snow flurries, the Marienplatz has several cute German shops selling everything from clothing to traditional Christmas decorations. Though a few larger "department-like" stores could be found, most of the shops were small boutiques specializing in a specific genre of goods. My favorite shop was Dallmayr, which specializes in coffees and fine foods. Though rather large compared to many of the stores in the Marienplatz, Dallmayr was fun for browsing through fine wines, handmade German chocolates, and a plethora of spices and ingredients. Splurging a bit on wine and chocolates, I rationalized my purchases with the infamous traveler's quote, "I may only visit here once!"

Lugging our shopping bags back to the hostel and locking our purchases in a secure locker, Bill and I rushed off to the Residenz Palace to view a taste of Bavarian opulence. Built by the Wittelsbach royal family in the 14th century, the Residenz was badly damaged in the first and second World Wars. Practically leveled during World War II, the citizens of Munich rebuilt the Residenz in its original style of fine tapestries and ornate gold leaf walls. By far, the two most magnificent rooms of the palace are the Shell Grotto and the Antiquarium. Demolished by WWII, the Shell Grotto is constructed from thousands of seashells. After the second World War, the people of Munich wanted to rebuild the grotto, but they lacked enough money to undertake such an ambitious project. Persistant to resurrect the ornate monument, the townspeople collected seashells throughout Germany and rebuilt the grotto themselves from pictures taken during the Nazi regime. The Antiquarium, on the other hand, was one of the few rooms in the palace that managed to escape total demolition during the two World Wars. Supported by dozens of stone arches, every ceiling panel and archway is painted with a beautiful Renaissance fresco. Among paintings of angels and saints, scenes from 120 Bavarian towns are depicted on the walls. Aside from the beautiful paintings, the Antiquarium contains rows of Roman emperor busts. By displaying these busts, the Wittlebachs hoped to convince the rest of the world of their ancestral connection to the great ancient Roman emperors.

Loving nearly every moment in the beautifully reconstructed Residenz palace, Bill and I decided to change pace a little and view a darker side of German history -- Dachau Concentration Camp. One of the first German concentration camps built during the Holocaust, Dachau was conveniently located on the outskirts of Munich away from prying eyes of the townspeople. Walking to the train station to catch a ride to the concentration camp, Bill and I ran into an interesting sight not yet experienced in Europe: a public rally. Though I can understand a limited amount of German, I wasn't able to figure out why the protestors were waving a German flag while wrapping themselves in flags representing Turkey. Seeing fully-armed riot police cautiously watching the crowd nearby, Bill and I decided that it would be best to avoid a public protest in a foreign nation that doesn't speak primarily English!

The cold, grey winter weather set the mood for our visit to Dachau. Demolished and leveled after the fall of the Nazi regime, only the walls foundations of camp remain as a cold reminder of the horrors of the Holocaust. The front gate of the camp where prisoners were led into a life of oppression and inhumane living conditions boldly states, "Arbeit Macht Frei," which was the Nazi motto of "Work Makes You Free". To educate visitors that wish to tour the camp, a Holocaust museum was built along the perimeter and two prisoner bunkers were reconstructed in the original design. The museum was unlike many of the museums that Bill and I have toured thus far. While most museums have artifacts and works of art, the Dachau Museum consisted of mainly posters with very few artifacts (which is understandable since most Nazi memorabilia was destroyed after WWII). Most importantly, the museum contains a theater that plays 20-minute documentaries on the Holocaust in several languages. Catching an English showing, Bill and I were appalled by suffering inflicted by the Nazis as part of their "ethnic cleansing" program. I've seen pictures of the Holocaust in many history books, but the video footage shown in the Dachau theater was more vivid than any that I have seen before. Because Dachau was one of the first concentration camps, the Nazis often took pictures and videos of their inhumane practices to use as training aids for other camps. Learning that only 32,000 people were murdered at Dachau (a relatively low number compared to other camps) made me feel sorrow for the pain and suffering experienced by the German nation. To quote my international adviser at Surrey who is from Germany, "Few people realize that the German nation suffered the most during World War II." Seeing evidence of the horrors created by the Holocaust, I understand why the current motto of Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial rings true to all who visit there:

"Never Again."

Munich Germany: Ich Leibe Deutschland! (Part 1)

After a hectic week of studying for exams and planning a final 2-week tour of Europe, I finally have a free day to update this blog and recount amazing weekend in Munich, Germany! Like many of our European trips this month, this story begins like many of the others by re-capping the perils of catching a flight from London. For the first time, I am pleased to say that I have virtually nothing to say about our flight to Munich... HOORAY! Cursed by wrong departure times and nearly-missed flights, Bill and I actually arrived at London Standsted airport with plenty of time to spare before boarding our plane bound for Germany. Thrilled by a smooth start to our trip, I was ready to brush up on my German language skills in the Fatherland!

Arriving in Munich about 30 minutes late due to a bit of bad German weather, Bill and I walked through customs with no problems and checked into our hostel before an afternoon of seeing the sights. After stopping for a quick bite to eat at a small Chinese cafe, we began our tour of Munich with the famed Deutsche Museum. Answering to the American Smithsonians with their own massive museum complex, the Deutsche Museum consists of 10 MILES of exhibits on science and technology. A prominent world force in engineering and technology, Germany has much to boast in this gigantic museum. Incredibly well laid-out and logically organized, Bill and I began our tour with the transportation wing. As expected, the story of transportation began with a room filled with huge life-sized ships as well as intricate smaller models. From sails to steam-powered boats, the display was definitely one of the museum's crowning glories. Walking "below deck" (rather, taking the stairs down one floor in the museum), we were able to peruse through several refurbished submarines, torpedoes, and deep-sea diving contraptions. Just as the submarines were located on the floor below the ships, the airplane exhibit was placed one floor above the ships. (Starting to make sense??) Taking some time to admire the jets and helicopters, Bill and I climbed to the upper floors, which featured space exploration and astronomy. Thinking back on the museum organization, I find it ingenious that the floors were arranged to mimic the position of the transportation exhibits in relation to the earth (ships on the ground floor, submarines below ground, flight above ground, etc.), which makes me wonder why more science museums don't follow this logical format! Other wings of the museum covered physics, trains, bridges, musical instruments, communication, and many additional topics that would require several paragraphs to list all of them.

Though Bill was most impressed by the transportation exhibits, my favorite wing included the musical instrument rooms. Like I've mentioned in earlier blog posts, I'm not a huge fan of science museums. Ironically, I love learning about science, working in research labs, and am entering a predominantly science-related career field. So why do I prefer history and art museums to those sporting a hodge-podge of scientific posters and specimens? I like the variety of learning something new. After countless biology, physics, and engineering classes, the exhibits in many science museums are mainly review of what I've already studied in great detail. As an analogy, picture your job whether it be office work, teaching, medicine, writing, etc. Then imagine taking a vacation where you spend several hours surrounded by fax machines, rambunctious kids, microbes, or editors, respectively. Not much of a vacation, huh? Hopefully, this sheds a little light on my point. Backing up to the musical instrument exhibits... these rooms were a breath of fresh air after wading through airplanes, stress/strain demonstrations, and amendments to the fact the Pluto is now not a planet. Marveling at some of the most beautiful pianos, harps, and international percussion sets, my fingers itched to plunk out a few tunes on the most prodigiously-made instruments in the world. Much to my excitement, an organist arrived in the afternoon to give an informal concert as avid museum-goers passed through the exhibits. Enjoying the acoustical properties of the room, I paused for a few moments to admire the ornately-painted pianos before moving from my favorite part of the Deutsche Museum. Overall, the Deutsche Museum is incredibly impressive, and I would recommend it to anyone visiting Munich. The exhibits are clearly catered to adults and older children, but several rooms contained play-areas for small children and lively demonstrations. Bill thought the museum was fabulous, and I also liked several of the exhibits. Given a choice, however, I usually prefer historical buildings and Renaissance art galleries.

After spending nearly three hours in the Deutsche Museum, evening was quickly falling on the city as we walked back to the center of town. Bundling up to fight the freezing temperatures, I was in the mood for a lively beer hall with hearty German food. Where would we go?? THE HOFBRAUHAUS, of course! Living in Cincinnati for the past three years of my college career, I was ecstatic to visit the original Hofbrauhaus. Newport, Kentucky (a small city just south of Cincinnati) has their own replica of the Hofbrauhaus in the States, which has always been one of my favorite destinations when studying at UC. (In fact, my boyfriend and I "met" at the Newport Hofbrauhaus... of course, you'll either hear that we met at church or a beer hall -- depending on which one of us you ask.) Sliding into a bench at one of the long wooden tables, Bill and I glanced through the menu before ordering hearty plates of traditional Bavarian fare: sausages, pork roast, potatoes, and sauerkraut. Though I'll probably recieve a few incredulous rebukes from my friends, Bill and I are probably two of the few who have eaten at the Hofbrauhaus and did not drink beer. Before your feathers get too ruffled, we did order a few glasses of German wine, which is of incredibly fine-quality and outshown only by the German beer culture. Chatting with the native Germans sharing our table, they looked slightly appalled when we told them that neither of us like beer, but they were slightly impressed when I ordered a glass of Frankfurt's finest red Riesling. The alcoholic drinks, however, fall closely second to the amazing German food. There are not enough words to describe the ingenious flavor of Bavarian sausage that made my tastebuds dance and shout out, "WE WANT MORE!" Bill was constantly laughing at me all weekend as I ordered plate after plate after plate of sausages, pork, potatoes, sauerkraut, strudels, Bavarian cream, and beautiful pastries. No matter how stuffed I felt before a meal, I shoveled plates of food into my mouth with ravenous carnality that I've never before experienced in my life. Perhaps my German heritage is to blame, but no food has ever made my tastebuds happier or my stomach more satisfied.

Prolonging our stay over drinks and desserts, Bill and I had a few great moments to appreciate German culture. Exclaiming "Prost!" and clinking glasses with our German tablemates, we engaged in a lively conversation on similarities between the U.S. and Germany. Incredibly impressed by their language skills, we had no trouble understanding their fluent mastery of the English language even though they occasionally seemed slightly confused by our "crazy American phrases". Clinking a final "Prost!", Bill and I eventually bade them farewell before snapping a few final pictures of the Hofbrauhaus and walking back to our hostel for the night.

Enduring the cold, we rushed back to our hostel with stomachs full and tastebuds satisfied only to find the common rooms hopping with student travellers from across the globe. While Bill ordered a drink at the bar, I commandeered a computer to email my family to let them know that we had arrived safely in Germany. Stifling a few yawns, I decided to by-pass the smoky bar room and curl up in a warm bed. Though tired from the early-morning flight, I was most excited to fall asleep only to wake up the next morning to a beautiful breakfast of German pastries and a cup of rich hot chocolate!

Guy Fawkes Day: A Pyromaniac's Paradise

Last Monday, Bill and I witnessed an integral part of British culture -- Guy Fawkes Day. Celebrating a foiled plan to blow up Parliament in the 1600's, nearly every town in England celebrates this national holiday with a parade of burning torches and a town carnival. Swamped by many blog posts this month, Bill decided to help me out by recounting the exciting festivities on his blog. It's definitely something to check out!

Bill's Blog:
http://www.uc2uk.blogspot.com/

I'm hoping to post some great Guy Fawkes Day pictures soon. Feel free to click through them on my online photo album:
www.picasaweb.google.com/drummergirl71385

Stay tuned for new blog posts on last weekend's trip to Munich, Germany!

Madrid, Spain: ¡Adoro España! (Part 3)

Having seen most of Madrid's major sights the day before, Bill and I decided to take a side trip away from the city on Saturday to visit El Escorial located in San Lorenzo. An imposing palace and basilica built by King Philip II, El Escorial is famous for its role in the Spanish Inquisition. An institution created by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1478, the goal of the Spanish Inquisition was to protect Spanish Catholicism from the influence of other religions. Despite targeting primarily Jews and Muslims in the fifteenth century, King Philip II sought to prevent the growing strength of Protestant religions sweeping through Europe. During the 16th century, approximately one hundred Protestants were charged as heretics under the Spanish Inquisition and consequently burned at the stake. How does El Escorial play into this historical scheme? King Philip II combined his palace with a monastery to demonstrate his allegiance to the Catholic church. An architectural statement of power, El Escorial is somewhat austere in design, which fits the intended impression of the Spanish Palace: "...an expression in stone of Catholicism in Spain; an answer, solid and unified, to the disintegration of the Christian universe." (Quote taken from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Escorial#The_reliquaries)

Wanting to see the forboding palace ourselves, Bill and I caught a late-morning bus bound for San Lorenzo. The bus ride across the Spanish countryside was a treat in itself. Built on relatively flat ground, Bill and I didn't realize until leaving the city that Madrid is surrounded by beautiful mountains. Marveling at Spain's magnificent scenery through the bus window, I hardly realized that an hour had passed and we were quickly approaching San Lorenzo. Originally, our plans were to tour El Escorial in the early afternoon and then catch a bus to Valle de los Caídos ("Valley of the Fallen") around 3 o'clock. Valle de los Caídos is the final resting ground of Francisco Franco, Spain's 20th century dictator. Marked by a huge granite cross, Valle de los Caídos seemed like an interesting site to visit. Unfortunately, we weren't expecting to see such an incredibly long line stretching from the gates of El Escorial. Reformatting our afternoon plans and cutting out a visit to Valle de los Caídos, Bill and I decided to enjoy a light lunch at an outdoor Spanish cafe in hopes that the line would shrink during our small meal. Watching a street musician entertain the cafe guests on accordion, we were in no hurry to stand in line at the palace, but I knew that we should grab a spot in the courtyard to ensure entrance before the El Escorial closed at 5 p.m. Paying our bill, we walked back to El Escorial and were encouraged to find that the line had become slightly shorter over lunch. Taking our place at the end of the line, we spent the next two hours inching towards the palace entrance. Legs aching from 120 minutes of standing and weight-shifting, we eventually reached the ticket counter and began our self-guided tour of El Escorial.

As indicated by the stark exterior of the palace, El Escorial was much simpler than the Palacio Real in Madrid. Boasting mostly whitewashed walls, only religious paintings and tapestries decorated the rooms of King Philip II's palace. Thankfully, there were a few exceptions to this rule: the Hall of Battles and the Basilica. The Hall of Battles was a long interestingly painted room that reminded me of a "Where's Waldo?" cartoon. On every wall and ceiling, cartoon-like depictions of Spain's most famous battles were painted for guests to see. Frescoes also adorned the Basilica, but the style and subjects were much different from the Hall of Battles. While the Hall of Battles seemed almost comical in their animated nature, the Basilica was decorated in paintings of the heavens, Holy Family, and various saints. Dark and bold, the Basilica proudly displayed its collection of characteristic Spanish art.

With only two hours to tour El Escorial before closing time, Bill and I felt slightly rushed to see the entire palace before it was locked up for the night. Unfortunately, we were unable to tour many areas of the Basilica because a wedding was scheduled to take place in the evening. Closing the church to visitors, Bill and I caught a glimpse of the bride as she emerged from a car in front of El Escorial with her father. Leaving the palace after our tour, we stopped to rest our legs in a nearby park. Watching as the sun quickly began to set behind the trees, we headed back to the bus stop to catch a return ride to Madrid.

Discouraged that we had wasted much of our day standing in line to see a single palace, Bill and I returned to Madrid with plans to find a great restaurant to lift our spirits. Much to our luck, we did! Located near Puerto del Sol, Hotel Europa was a charming restaurant with incredible staff. Served by the head waiter, Bill and I decided to try the infamous Spanish dish, paella. Known for its flavorful mix of spices, paella is an eclectic combination of meat, seafood, vegetables, and rice. Though usually adventurous in my taste for food, I was not exactly expecting to see so many random crustaceans piled onto my plate. Watching prawns stare up at me from my plate, I decided that this was an instance where I could be entitled to pick and choose which parts of the dish would be best to eat. Removing anything with eyes (i.e. whole shrimp, prawns, etc.) and anything that didn't look edible without complicated de-shelling, I was still left with a huge plate of rice, mussels, vegetables, chicken, pork, and beef. Checking with us often to make sure that we were enjoying our meal, the head waiter kindly offered us two free glasses of the house wine. Usually preferring red wine, I was impressed by the flavorful body of the white house wine and must admit that it was one of my favorite glasses of wine during our weekend in Spain. Laughing at the pile of critters piling on the sides of our plates, Bill and I felt our moods begin to brighten after a long day in San Lorenzo. Tipping the waiter generously to cover the free wine, we left Hotel Europa feeling light-hearted and loving the friendliness of Spaniards. Deciding to end our trip to Madrid on a happy note, I snapped a picture of my favorite Spanish restaurant before hopping on the subway to check into an airport hotel before our early-morning flight back to London.

Overall, our trip to Spain was beautiful and a lot of fun. With mild weather and gorgeous scenery, it's hard not to love Madrid. Despite the long palace line at El Escorial, San Lorenzo is a charming town and definitely worth a second visit. After a warm weekend in the Spanish sun, it'll be difficult to handle the opposite weather extreme next weekend: rain and snow in Munich, Germany.

Madrid, Spain: ¡Adoro España! (Part 2)

Arriving in Madrid late the night before, Bill and I finally found our hostel around half past midnight only to discover that someone had already taken Bill's bed. Stifling a few yawns, I walked back to front desk in hopes of locating a second bed. Confused by the occupied bed, the hostel manager walked into our room, wrapped the stranger's belongings into a sheet, and said, "Now the bed is yours!" Almost too tired to chuckle at the quick fix, I hopped into my bunk bed for a few good hours of deep sleep.

Sleeping in an extra hour the next morning, Bill and I still managed to leave the hostel around 9:30 a.m. for a beautiful day of touring Madrid. Pleasantly surprised by the cloudless blue sky, the gorgeous Spanish sun instantly put both of us in a good mood for seeing the city sights. Big fans of castles and palaces, we began our day with a tour of Palacio Real (a.k.a "Royal Palace"). Though currently owned by King Juan Carlos I, Spain's royal family resides in a mansion outside the city and uses Palacio Real mainly for official state functions.

To give you a brief history of the Spanish monarchy, Spain was a democratic nation until dictator Francisco Franco rose to power in 1939 after the Spanish Civil War. Allied with Adolf Hitler in Nazi Germany, Franco ruled Spain with a ruthlessness that marked several dictators during World War II. Before the outbreak of the second World War, Hitler asked Franco to provide a city for "strategic mitilary testing". Wanting to appease his powerful ally, Franco allowed Hitler to test his military strength on the Spanish city of Guernica. Without warning the citizens of Guernica, Franco and Hitler bombed the city and all who lived there, thus killing over a thousand of Spain's native citizens. Franco remained in power after World War II until his death in 1975. Hand-picking his successor, Franco believed Juan Carlos to be a stoic supporter of his fascist regime. Despite playing the part of devoted supporter, Juan Carlos secretly met with opposition leaders and began making plans to reestablish Spain's democratic government after being crowned as the reigning monarch. Thankful for an end to Spain's fascist dictatorship, King Juan Carlos I is one of the most beloved national leaders in the world.

Considered to be one of the three most beautiful palaces in Europe, the Palacio Real is artfully magnificent. With nearly every ceiling painted with Spanish frescoes, the rich colors of the royal palace left me breathless and wanting to spend hours admiring the beauty and warmth of each room. Though Buckingham in London was also very beautiful, the queen's palace couldn't hold a candle to Madrid's royal residence. Of the many gorgeous rooms in Palacio Real, my favorite is split among the Throne Room, King Philip V's Bedroom, and the Porcelain Room. The Throne Room is everything that a throne room should be. Covered in deep red velvet, the golden trim appears to glimmer from the light of the crystal chandelier. Though thrones for the king and queen are placed on a small platform near the center of the room, King Juan Carlos I and Queen Sofia greet their guests from the floor rather than sitting in the designated seats of power. (Interesting to Note: Queen Sofia was formerly a princess of Greece and Denmark before the democratic governments disbanded the monarchy. After World War II, Sofia returned to school in Germany to study pediatrics, music, and archaeology. An Olympic athlete, she represented Greece in sailing during the 1960 Summer Olympics.) Of my three favorite palace rooms, King Philip V's Bedroom is definitely the most magnificent. Extremely ornate, a patterned marble swirled floor lay beneath our feet while we marveled at the brightly painted moulded ceiling above. Adorned with moulded roses, vines, and Asian faces, the ceiling was unlike anything I've encountered so far in Europe. Despite the dizzying ornateness of the walls and ceiling, the decorations seemed to somehow fit in a crazy pattern of swirls and vines. Though not a fan of extremely ornate rooms, I couldn't stop myself from loving every detail of this bedroom. Similar to King Philip V's Bedroom, the Porcelain Room was also covered with moulded flowers and leaves, but rather than sculpting the ceiling from ceramics, this room was decorated with fragile porcelain. Though relatively small, the Porcelain Room compensated for its size with an air of fragile beauty. Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to take pictures within the palace, which means that you'll need to either believe me when I say that it was absolutely gorgeous or take a trip to Spain to see it yourself!

Finishing our tour of Palacio Real, Bill and I found a cute cafe for lunch before grabbing a spot in line to see Museo del Prado (a.k.a. "Prado Museum"). Acclaimed as the world's largest collection of Spanish art, our tour books recommended the Prado as the most important sight in Madrid. Thankfully, the long line leading into the museum was moving quickly and we quickly found ourselves browsing through Spanish paintings after only an hour of waiting outside the museum doors. In general, I can sum up my impression of Spanish art in two words: dark and religious. I saw more variations of the crucifixion in the Prado than I have my entire life. El Greco, Goya, and many others all had their own opinion on how to portray the suffering of Christ. Even though I am a devout Catholic, even I have limits on how many religious paintings tolerated in a day, and that limit was quickly exceeded after only an hour within the Prado. Beyond a doubt, the art was quite good, but the paintings may have been better appreciated by people who like dark works with distinctly religious undertones.

Giving up after two hours within the Prado Art Museum, Bill and I decided to take a relaxing stroll through Retiro Park as the sun was quickly setting behind the city. Formerly private royal grounds, the reigning monarch gave the land back to the people of Madrid to use as a public resting place. Centered around a medium-sized lake, people can rent rowboats to row around the lake on sunny days. Missing the boat rental shop before it closed, Bill and I were bummed that we couldn't go rowing, but we had a great time resting on the grass until the air became too chilly for sitting outside.

Walking back to the city center, we browsed through Puerto del Sol (similar to Times Square in New York City) for a bit of window shopping and watching street performers. Ducking into an upscale Spanish restaurant, Bill and I decided to treat ourselves to a nice bottle of wine and a hearty plate of steak. Excited to try authentic Spanish wine, I was surprised by the light body of our expensive bottle of Rioja. Expecting the strong bitter taste of a merlot or cabernet, it was interesting to discover that Rioja is actually rather light and sweet for a red wine. Stretching out our meal for much longer than many of the restaurant's guests, Bill and I eventually paid our bill and strolled back to our hostel for the night.

With beautiful weather and a gorgeous palace, I quickly fell asleep with happy dreams of Madrid floating through my head.

Madrid, Spain: ¡Adoro España! (Part 1)

At the beginning of our semester in England, I sent Bill an email that said something like this:

"I found cheap flight tickets to Spain and Germany. Between Munich and Madrid, which city would you rather see?"

Keeping my fingers crossed for Munich, I was shocked when Bill replied,

"Both."

From that point on, I began planning a crazy month of non-stop European travel. Besides squeezing in flights to Madrid, Munich, and Rome with Bill, Craig and I had already planned a 9-day tour of London, Paris, Brussels, and Bruges (also in Belgium). Needless to say, I'm going to desperately need three weeks of Christmas vacation back home just to catch up on some sleep! Sleep aside, touring six European countries in 20 days is one opportunity that I'd never pass up!

Kicking off our tour of Europe with a weekend trip to Spain, Bill and I faced an obstacle that seems to haunt us wherever we go -- catching flights on time. Giving ourselves an hour and a half to check in and walk through security, I assumed that we'd have a few minutes to spare before boarding the plane. Unfortunately, I failed to imagine all of the things that can possibly go wrong at an airport ticket desk and factor the delay into our arrival time. Between slow lines and a few high-maintenance passengers ahead of us, Bill and I grabbed our tickets only five minutes before the boarding time and dashed to the security check. Like most security checkpoints, the long winding lines in London Gatwick Airport are no exception. Beginning to freak out about missing our flight, I anxiously shifted from foot to foot while watching minutes slowly tick away on my watch. Eventually reaching the metal detectors, I threw my shoes, loose change, and backpack into a security bin and prayed that I wouldn't need to be patted down by a security officer. Breathing a sigh of relief as I darted through the metal detector without setting off any alarms, I shoved my feet into my shoes, grabbed my bag, and rushed to the nearest display screen to figure out which gate I needed to sprint towards in order to catch my flight. Making a mental note of the gate number, I grabbed Bill from the security checkpoint and began running towards Gate 17. With calves burning, we arrived at the departure gate out-of-breath but thankfully on time. Stashing our bags in the overhead compartment, I sank into my seat and tried to slow my pulse from the sudden adrenaline rush. After a frantic hour of worrying, I finally began to relax and revel in the fact that we were on our way to Madrid!

Stonehenge and Salisbury: Famous Rocks and the Highest English Steeple

For the first time since September, Bill and I found ourselves with an unusual phenomenon: a free weekend. With crazy travel schedules filled to capacity with train rides and early morning flights, I was thankful for the chance to catch my breath! Though we had no plans or pre-scheduled trains to catch, we couldn't stop ourselves from taking at least one day trip to see another of England's most famous sights -- Stonehenge.

If you ask an American for their thoughts on Stonehenge, they'll begin dancing around the room singing praises of this unique stone remnant of ancient times. If you mention Stonehenge to a Brit, however, they'll typically roll their eyes, pull up a picture on the internet, and say, "Now you've seen it." Living in England for over two months now, I can understand both points of view. Not wanting to discredit the famous sight, Bill and I decided to see the rocks for ourselves to form our own opinion.

Hopping on a train bound for the nearby city of Salisbury, we arrived with plenty of time to catch the first Stonehenge tour bus of the day. Listening to the tour guide give a lively narration on the history of Salisbury, I kept my eyes peeled for my first view of the ancient rocks. Catching a glimpse of them in the distance, I experienced what most Americans feel when they first see Stonehenge -- slight disappointment. With pictures of Stonehenge plastered across British tour books and Microsoft desktop backgrounds, we tend to envision the stones as a massive altar to the all-powerful sun god. In reality, however, the rocks are rather compact and stretch only twelve feet high. Though twelve vertical feet is a decent height for an ancient man-made rock formation, it's difficult to gauge the size of the rocks from a mile away in a double-decker tour bus. Thankfully, Stonehenge grew more impressive as we walked closer to the stones.

Though visitors were allowed to climb on the stones in the past, Stonehenge is now restricted by a roped-off perimeter about 20-30 feet from the outermost rocks. Wanting to preserve the stones, I can't blame archaeologists for being protective of one of the world's greatest historic mysteries. Built nearly 3500 years ago, Stonehenge is thought to be a ritualistic monument built in honor of the sun god and earth goddess. Aligning perfectly with the heavens, the first rays of sunrise on the summer solstice (June 21) shine through the entrance of the horseshoe-shaped rock arrangement to shine on the earth goddess's stone in the center of the monument. This central rock was made from blue mica that shimmers when touched by sunlight. As the most romantic stone in the rock formation, the center stone represents the earth goddess that glimmers when her lover (the sun god) shines down upon her once a year on the summer solstice. The other rocks arranged around the goddess's stone are thought to function as an ancient calendar even though historians are unsure of their true purpose. Within several miles of the rocks, there are several burial mounds, which also leads archaeologists to believe that Stonehenge was part of a sacred cemetery. With so many questions left unanswered, Stonehenge remains mostly a mystery even today.

Satisfied with a few fun pictures of the rocks, we loaded back onto the tour bus for our return trip to Salisbury. A small town, Salisbury is one of the few cities in England left relatively untouched by World War II. Home to the highest steeple in England, the German military was commanded to do nothing that might harm Salisbury Cathedral. Though an important British Royal Air Force base was located nearby, German pilots needed the tall cathedral steeple as a landmark to determine their position in the air. Thanks to their prized medieval church, the people of Salisbury remained safe despite a devastating war.

Visiting the cathedral ourselves, Bill and I were pleasantly surprised to find that no admission fee was charged to visitors wanting to view the interior of the beautiful church. Accepting donations only, monetary contributions are spent towards a single common goal: keeping the steeple standing. Ironically, the original plans for the cathedral did not include a steeple. Designing only a high-ceilinged chapel, the architect ordered laymen to pour a foundation only four feet deep, which provided plenty of support for the original church design. The bishop, however, changed his mind on the plans after the foundation was built and ordered that the tallest steeple in England be added to the cathedral. Arguing that the foundations were not deep enough for such a tower, the architect eventually gave in to the bishop's demands and built a steeple on rather risky foundation. To keep the steeple standing, support arches were added to the church in hopes of keeping the tower in place. Unfortunately, the architect was right in arguing against a steeple with a shallow foundation -- the steeple shifts a few inches each year and requires constant attention even today.

As an added bonus to visiting to the Salisbury Cathedral, Bill and I were able to view one of only four remaining copies of the Magna Carta. Written in the thirteenth century, the Magna Carta is reportedly the world's first modern "bill of rights". The original document is displayed in the British Library in London, but three other copies are scattered across the United Kingdom. Serving as the basis for the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution, the Magna Carta was written in response to King John's disregard for British law. Declaring all men equal under the Church of England, the Magna Carta still managed to fall short of providing equal rights to women and non-Anglican religions. Nevertheless, it was at least a step in the right direction towards human equality.

With few other tourist sights to see in Salisbury, Bill and I were content to walk around the town square for a bit of Saturday shopping. Browsing through bulk candy stands and a few clothing shops, we eventually bagged our purchases and headed home for another low-key evening in Guildford. Though our weekend wasn't fanatically hectic, we both needed a few days to relax before tackling a few other European countries in November.

So where do our adventures lead us next?

MADRID, SPAIN!

Newbury, England: Exploring British Way of Life

At the beginning of the semester, Bill and I decided to take advantage of an interesting opportunity provided by the University of Surrey. HostUK is a host program designed to match international students with families in the United Kingdom who are willing to open their homes for a short weekend visit. Filling out the application for an unplanned free weekend, Bill and I had no idea where we would be traveling during the third weekend of October. Looking for a chance to truly experience traditional British culture, I was excited when we received an email with the contact information for an elderly couple in Newbury, England. Located in the heart of English horse country, Newbury sounded quaintly enchanting in the few emails received from our hosts in the days leading up to our arrival. Thankful for a chance to relax, Bill and I grabbed our tickets and hopped on a train for yet another amazing weekend adventure.

Arriving in Newbury early Friday evening, Bill and I had no problem finding Ian and Lesley Park as they waited on the train platform with a HostUK sign in their hands. Enthusiastically shaking hands in a quick round of introductions, we loaded our backpacks into their rather spacious car for a short ride to their home in the countryside. As we pulled into their driveway, the first thought that popped into my head was, "Wow, this is a lot of house for only two people!" Living in Britain for over two months already, I have grown accustomed to small English townhouses with barely enough room for twin beds, basic kitchen essentials, and a dining room table. The Parks home, however, closely rivaled their American counterparts with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, cute foyer, long kitchen, spacious dining room, comfortable living room, glass-enclosed conservatory, and a real backyard (as opposed to the usual small "garden" tended by most homeowners). Walking into their house was like stepping through the doorway of my parents' home in the United States -- a much-needed experience.

While Bill and I settled into our rooms upstairs, Ian and Lesley began setting the dining room table for dinner. Starving from a busy day of classes, I was thrilled to see Lesley dishing up my favorite traditional English meal: bangers and mash. Getting to know the Parks over dinner was an extremely enjoyable chance to learn about their travels across the globe and the other international students that they have hosted throughout the years. As an electrical engineer, Ian had retired from Vodaphone (a major European cell phone company) several years earlier. During his working days, Ian took frequent business trips to many great locations in Europe, North America, and Asia. Often traveling with him, Lesley also enjoyed the opportunity to travel and had made several friends on their trips, which only meant that they often returned for occasional friendly visits. As proof of their travels, their kitchen refrigerator was covered in magnets from every state and country that they had seen over the years. Planning our own trips to Spain and Germany, Bill and I quickly found that Ian and Lesley possessed a wealth of travel knowledge.

Moving from the dining room to the living room, we warmed ourselves with a cup of tea while Ian began stacking logs in the fireplace for a late evening blaze. Sipping tea while the wood began to crackle, Bill and I spent several hours talking to Ian and Lesley about everything from favorite books to typical American quirks. The liveliest elderly couple that I've ever met, Ian and Lesley had read nearly every book that I had ever seen (which is a library in itself). With so much in common, the evening quickly became night as Bill and I tried explaining the main differences between college in the U.S. and universities in the United Kingdom. Holding out for as long as I could, I found my eyelids drooping from the warmth of the fire and knew it was only a matter of minutes before I gave into the temptation of sleep. Taking advantage in an unusual break in the steady stream of conversation, I wished everyone goodnight before enjoying the most restful night of sleep that I've experienced since arriving in England a few months ago.

Always an early riser, I enjoyed a few minutes to myself the next morning just to take in the cozy feeling of relaxing in a country home during the prime of autumn. Watching the trees change color, it felt wonderful to appreciate a few moments of my favorite season that I had almost missed in the crazy bustle of European travel. Walking from window to window around the Park's home, I heard Ian hop downstairs to heat water for a ritual cup of tea. Accepting a cup of tea for myself, I marveled at his agility as Ian grabbed a cup for himself and dashed up the stairs to catch a quick shower before beginning a busy day of hiking across the countryside. A true British hostess, Lesley walked downstairs, poured herself a cup of tea, and immediately began preparing an impressive English breakfast. The traditional English breakfast is a phenomenon not regularly experienced by most U.K. natives. Consisting of eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, baked beans, mushrooms, cereal, milk, and juice, Bill and I found ourselves hard-pressed to shovel the last bite of food into our mouths as Lesley smiled at our appreciative glances. Loosening our waistbands, Bill and I helped Ian clear the table before bundling up for a chilly morning in the Newbury market square.

Walking along the river that runs through the center of Newbury, Ian pointed out the canal boats that travel up and down the river carrying goods and people. Expecting large cargo ships, I was surprised to see that the boats were actually rather small with barely enough room for a person to sit underneath the canopy. Listening as Ian and Lesley told us more on the importance of the canal and a bit of Newbury history, I allowed my eyes to wander further down the river where I saw an incredible sight -- an entire flock of over twenty swans. Traveling throughout southern England, Bill and I have often seen one or two swans swimming through Britain's many rivers and streams, but never before have I seen as many swans as I did that morning. They were the epitome of grace with their long necks and widespread wings. A handful of the younger swans were still gray, which reminded me of the "Ugly Duckling" where a baby swan must shed its gray coat of feathers before turning beautifully white. Scrambling to snap a few photos before they swam away, they hardly noticed my camera as a nearby man fed them scraps of bread and seed.

Straying from the river, Lesley needed to drop a few books off at the public library, which was conveniently located next to our next sight of interest. As Lesley ducked into the library for a few minutes, Ian showed us Newbury's most prized piece of contemporary art. Funded by a donation from Vodaphone, the mayor of Newbury (Mike Rodger) commissioned to have a "city mosaic" erected in front of the public library. Designed by artist Paul Forsey, the mosaic is similar to a long filmstrip containing scenes from Newbury's vivid history. Though many cities in both Europe and the U.S. can boast of local art in their own town centers, this mosaic was interesting in that it was actually created by the citizens of Newbury. Despite designing the artwork, Mr. Forsey only constructed the metal outline of each object and left the job of colorful tile-fitting to the townspeople. By placing the small tiles themselves, the mosaic is special to Newbury because the citizens worked together to complete a beautiful work of art.

Walking through the town market, the four of us headed towards our next destination -- St. Nicholas Church. As a member of the parish bell ringers, Ian took us up to the top of the church's bell tower for an amazing view of the city and a bell ringing demonstration. Though it might seem that pulling a rope to ring a single bell might be easy, imagine trying to ring a bell that weighs several hundred pounds. Add in the fact that the ringers must tug the bell pulls with perfect timing to create a melody, and you may begin to realized just how difficult bell ringing can be! Due to safety concerns and lack of training, Bill and I weren't allowed to ring the bells, but it was neat to see the highly specialized technique required for an age-old Anglican tradition.

After spending the entire morning meandering around town, we walked back to the Park's home for a light lunch before hiking through Watership Downs in the afternoon. A short drive from Newbury, Watership Downs is a large piece of privately-owned countryside used exclusively for horse training. With a a major British horse racing track located in Newbury, the downs are perfect for galloping up and down hills, jumping over hurdles, or just releasing a bit of pent-up energy -- that is, its perfect if you're a horse. ;) Despite the many fences partitioning the land among several horse owners, the Parks, Bill, and I hiked across the hills of Watership Downs just to catch an amazing view of the countryside. With the sun shining and the earth finally beginning to warm up on an otherwise chilly day, all of us were content to hike for a few hours before surrendering to fatigued legs. Reveling in the warm smell of autumn, I found myself slightly homesick with the reminder of fall in my small northwest Ohio hometown. For the first time since arriving in Europe, I found myself missing fallen leaves, American football, hot apple cider, homemade pumpkin pie, and curling up in my favorite chair with a good book. Even though I love Europe and am having the time of my life, I realized that sometimes there's just no place like home.

Satisfied with an incredibly relaxing day, we drove back to the Park's house and enjoyed a cup of tea in the conservatory as Lesley began working her magic once again in the kitchen. Wanting recipes for a few of my favorite dishes from the weekend, I chatted with Lesley about our mutual love of cooking and asked for a few recommendations for British dishes to mix up after returning home to the States. Copying from her recipe cards, I happily scribbled down ingredients for tea cakes, crumbles, mulled wine, and carrot soup. Though it's easy to find almost every recipe on the internet, some dishes never taste the same without detailed directions from the master chef! Settling in for another low-key evening in front of the fire after dinner, Bill and I watched the second half of the Rugby World Cup. Unfortunately, England got pummeled by South Africa, but it was a fun game to watch regardless. Desperately missing American football, rugby is a decent alternative even though I haven't really developed loyalties to any specific team. Between soccer and rugby running strong in the U.K., I can't imagine American football making a successful debut anytime soon!

Enjoying a second amazing night of sleep, I woke early on Sunday morning to get dressed for an Anglican church service with Ian and Lesley. Leaving the house 45 minutes early, Bill and I decided to watch Ian ring the church bells with the other bell ringers. Usually ringing with nine members, the bell ringers were a little short-handed with only five people. Despite the small number, they carried on without any problems, and I was amazed at their coordination and expertise. With only five bells ringing, they were able to sound out nearly every pattern of five-note tune in perfect rhythm and harmony. Needless to say, they all looked a little winded after their early morning musical workout!

Returning home after church, Lesley popped a Sunday roast into the oven as Bill and I sipped yet another pot of tea in the conservatory. (I seemed to drink more tea in that weekend than I had in the past month!) Agreeing that this had been one of our favorite weekends, we couldn't stop marveling at the incredible hospitality of Ian and Lesley. In a single weekend, we had been fed amazing meals, given a personal tour of the city, allowed to stay in an amazing house, and enjoyed every minute spent with Ian and Lesley. Between the two of us, Bill and I dubbed the Parks as our "British grandparents" -- extremely sweet and spoiling us at every available opportunity!

Unfortunately, our weekend seemed to end much too soon as the Parks drove Bill and I back to the train station on Sunday afternoon. Giving hugs to Ian and Lesley, I was sad to see them grow smaller as our train quickly pulled away from the platform. Though we didn't travel to a large exciting city or see another famous European site, Newbury left me feeling strangely satisfied, amazingly refreshed, and happily light-hearted!

Thanks again, Ian and Lesley, for an amazing weekend that Bill and I will not soon forget!

Dublin, Ireland (Part 3): Climbing the Cliffs of Howth

Working from our usual travel routine, Bill and I awoke early the next morning in order to catch a full day of Dublin touring. Typically, this early-morning strategy works well because it allows us to see a few extra sites in a single day. However, the Dublin time schedule wasn't very compatible with our own. If I had been thinking like a true Dubliner, I would have realized that a raucous Friday night at the pub with several pints of Guinness is the perfect excuse for sleeping in on a Saturday morning. Thinking like an American tourist, I was skipping out of the door of our hostel at 8:30 in the morning for a chance to squeeze in a few extra minutes of Irish sight-seeing. Much to our surprise, the before-bustling streets of Ireland's capital city were virtually deserted as we walked along the river in hopes of finding something to do in Dublin. Flipping through my Dublin tour book, we were also disappointed to find that many of the main attractions were closed on Saturdays. Hardly believing that everything could be shut down on a busy Saturday, we wandered around the city to check opening times for Dublin Castle, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and Kilmainham Gaol. Surely enough, my Lonely Planet guide book held true and the first two were closed for the day. Not wanting to waste our time by walking a few more blocks to the gaol, Bill and I debated on what to do in a city that was losing its luster by the minute.

Luckily, we stumbled upon a Tourist Information office (found in nearly every European city) and exasperatedly asked for advice on what to do in Dublin on a Saturday. Surprisingly, the tourist assistant suggested that we leave the city via train and visit the nearby coastal village of Howth. With maps and train information in hand, we jumped back into the Dublin streets with a much happier Irish outlook. Glancing at our watches, we decided to wait until the afternoon to catch a train to Howth and instead grab a low-key lunch in Dublin before walking along the coast of Ireland. Keeping our eyes peeled for a nice sandwich shop or cafe, I noticed that the city was finally waking up as shoppers began to crowd the streets. Stopping to snap a quick photo of the infamous Molly Malone, an elderly man sitting in front of the statue stood up and introduced himself to Bill and I. Seeing that we were American newcomers to the city, he gave a glowing review of the city and offered to take a few photos of us next to the statue. Grateful for the offer, we struck a quick pose next to Miss Molly while the cute little man recommended shops , restaurants, and parks for us to visit before leaving the city. Incredibly thankful for his help, we bade him farewell as he leaned forward to give me a proper Irish kiss on the cheek. :)

Bypassing the shops on Grafton Street, Bill and I meandered towards St. Stephen's Green in hopes of viewing a bit of nice park scenery before lunch. Finding very few green spaces in downtown Dublin, the landscaping of St. Stephen's Green definitely made up for the lack of city planning. Dotted with beautiful ponds and several foot bridges, St. Stephen's Green is the perfect place to enjoy a few relaxing moments while watching pigeons from a comfortable park bench. Wanting to capture the beauty of our favorite Irish park, Bill and I spent the next 30 minutes clicking photos and striking poses for new Facebook profile pictures. With the trees just beginning to change color, St. Stephen's Green was definitely a photographer's paradise.

After grabbing a quick pub lunch, Bill and I hopped on an eastbound train to the coast for a better view of Ireland's famed seascape. Feeling the need to walk off a rather large lunch, we decided to get off the train one stop early and walk from Sutton (another Dublin suburb) to Howth. A mile or two, the walk was beautiful in the sunshine, and we found our spirits quickly brightening from the clear air and secluded atmosphere. Walking into Howth, we headed straight for the marina to catch a glimpse of the island-dotted Atlantic coast. Though hundreds of boats remained docked, several Irelanders ventured out in sailboats to take advantage of the comfortable breeze. Looking for fish in the water down below, I was shocked to see two gray seals swimming around the marina. Having seen seals only before in zoos, I was incredibly excited to watch them come right up to the dock for a few people-friendly photos. Wandering from the marina, Bill and I hopped on a boardwalk to explore a bit more of the coast. Pausing for a few moments to take in the sight of the waves lapping against the rocky beach, my camera never got a chance to rest as I snapped picture after picture. Usually bogged down by museums and historical places of interest, it was refreshing to appreciate natural beauty rather than architectural acclaim. Reaching a lighthouse at the end of the boardwalk, Bill and I were ready to start our next Howth adventure -- climbing the cliffs of Ireland.

Seeing several large cliffs from the marina below, Bill and I were determined to find a way to climb the biggest. Though not impossible due to well-worn paths, hiking up the cliffs did take a bit of time and endurance, but when we reached the top, I knew that I had found the best view in all of Ireland. With strong winds nearly blowing us over, Bill stretched out his arms at the top just to keep his balance while I snapped a few photos of him as "king of the hill". Returning the favor, he insisted that I let my hair down just to show everyone back home how windy it was several hundred feet above sea level. Needless to say, I could barely keep my eyes open in the strong wind. Though already autumn, wildflowers still covered the coastal hills and the air was the sweetest that I have ever breathed. Unfortunately, my words once again fall short in describing the beauty of the Irish coast, which means that you'll either need to take my word on it or go visit it yourself!

Hiking for another hour or so around the Howth peninsula, we eventually climbed down from the cliffs and caught a bus back into the village. With stomachs rumbling for a nice piece of fresh-caught seafood, Bill and I found a cute oceanside restaurant serving fish that had been caught from the marina that morning. Ordering white bass over marinated vegetables, my taste buds were not disappointed by the most delicious fish that can only be found fresh on the coast. Though not a huge fish fan, excellent seafood restaurants have won in their quest to convert me to a fin-lover.

Watching dusk beginning to turn into night, Bill and I decided that it was time to leave our beloved Howth and take a train back to Dublin. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good Irish Saturday night, we collected our book bags from the hostel storage closet and slipped into a comfortable pub for a bit of Irish people-watching. Sipping Dublin-distilled Jameson's whisky and ginger ale, we relaxed in the lively bar atmosphere by watching the second half of the soccer game between Ireland and Germany. Never quite figuring out who won, I was distracted by the group of people next to me. About five or six native Dubliners were socializing with a few drinks when a young female American tourist sat down at their table and introduced herself. Nudging Bill to watch the conversation that was taking place, I laughed to myself and thought, "Wow, this girl is the definition of egotistical American tourist." Always conscious to not make ourselves seem too obviously American, we had a bit of entertainment as the girl proceeded to list all of her travel plans in a "rich daddy's girl" tone of voice while flirting with a group of guys that would have rather enjoyed watching the soccer game to cheer on the Irish. Laughing at her stereotypical sorority sister attitude, even Bill and I began to get slightly annoyed by her non-stop chatter. Chuckling at the display of tourist gab, I thought to myself, "Yep, the reserved British way of life is definitely rubbing off on me!"

Finishing our second round of drinks, Bill and I hopped on a bus towards our airport hotel. With an 8 a.m. flight on Sunday morning, we were thankful for a quiet night of sleep before another busy day of traveling. Watching the Irish landscape disappear below as our plane took off the next morning, I smiled as I flipped through pictures taken on a successful first trip away from England.

Dublin, Ireland (Part 2): Trinity College, Guinness, and Modern Art

Feeling the ear-popping sensation of aerial descent, I woke up to the most beautiful sunrise that I have ever seen above the clouds of Ireland. Catching a glimpse of the sunrise over England earlier in the morning, my plane was plunged into darkness as we flew away from the rising sun. Morning caught up with us, however, and I saw a phenomenon never before experienced in my lifetime -- two sunrises in one day. Needless to say, any sunrise seen above miles of fluffy clouds is positively breathtaking.

Landing at Dublin International Airport around 7:30 a.m., I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and eventually made my way to the Irish customs gate to get the second international stamp pressed into my passport this semester (the British stamp was my first). After taking a few moments to freshen up in the ladies' room, I hopped on a bus bound for the heart of southern Ireland's capital city.

By the time that I reached the city center, the streets of Dublin were already bustling with people buzzing off to work and school. Prioritizing my time, I first located an internet cafe to send a few quick messages to family and friends just to let them know that I had arrived safely in Ireland. (My parents and Craig were probably both a little concerned when I frantically told them the night before that I was making a last-minute trip to Dublin by myself.) Thankful for a few brief minutes of internet access, I left the cafe in search of a hearty Irish breakfast to satisfy my rumbling appetite. Finding a comfortable cafe near the Liffey River in the heart of Dublin, I relaxed in the cozy cafe atmosphere while nibbling on a filling breakfast of hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Feeling instantly re-energized, I flipped through a tour book and was soon ready to tackle the major sites of Dublin.

My first place of interest was Trinity College and the Book of Kells. Trinity College is Ireland's most prestigious university with its stately buildings and rich history. With backpack in tow, I easily fit in with the other students heading off to class. Having arrived 45 minutes before the first campus tour, I settled down in a small campus coffee shop to enjoy a large Chai latte. (A huge fan of Chai tea, I must say that the free-trade Chai latte served at this coffee shop far surpassed any Starbuck's Chai that I've ever had back in the States.) Feeling like a true Trinity student, I spent another few minutes looking over notes for my micronutrients class before catching a 10:15 tour of the campus.

Doling out 10 Euro for a tour of campus and admission to the Book of Kells exhibit, I finally started to take in the stately buildings of Trinity College as our dynamic tour guide began a lively narration of its rich history and interesting quirks. The most interesting story involved a former provost of Trinity College named George Salmon. When southern Ireland was still under British rule at the beginning of the twentieth century, the reigning monarch of the United Kingdom decreed that women be allowed to attend lectures at all British universities. Upon hearing this decree, Provost Salmon exclaimed, "Women will enter this college over my dead body." Enraging the Irish female population at a time when the women's suffrage movement was sweeping across the United States, passionate letters were sent to the British parliament begging permission for women to attend Trinity College. These letters were passed to King Edward VII, who consequently ordered Provost Salmon to allow women to enter his college. Seeing his motives forcefully stamped upon, Provost Salmon signed the decree allowing women to attend Trinity College, but he is quoted as saying, "My hand agrees, but my heart adamantly objects." Ironically, George Salmon died less than a year after signing this decree, and the first woman enrolled at Trinity College only a month after his death. To this day, I bet that George Salmon is rolling in his grave to know that women were allowed on campus "over his dead body".

The tour of Trinity College reminded me a lot of our tour of Cambridge University with its many buildings and little-known stories. However, this tour was much shorter (~30 minutes) and involved a glimpse of the Book of Kells. Prior to traveling to Ireland, I had never heard of the Book of Kells and was curious to learn more about its unique story. The Book of Kells is an ornate handwritten manuscript of the four gospels that was completed around AD 800 by Celtic monks in Scotland. Fleeing frequent Viking attacks, the monks relocated the ceremonial bible to the Abbey of Kells in County Meath, Ireland (hence the book's current name). Free from the Vikings, the Book of Kells resided in the abbey for many safe years during the Medieval era. Unfortunately, greed often rules over rational thought, and the Book of Kells was stolen from its safe resting place in the eleventh century AD. Why would anyone want to steal a handwritten bible? The thieves were probably asking themselves this same question after they had ripped the book from the abbey walls. Though an artistic masterpiece, the Book of Kells held little monetary value in the second century. For the most part, the four gospels were used for sacramental purposes. The wooden chest that held the book, however, was covered in gold and jewels that would attract even the most repentant of thieves. Wanting the Book of Kells for only its casing, the thieves felt no guilt at removing the gold and jewels for their own pleasure. However, they appeared to be frightened by the wrath of God incited at pilfering the most famous bible in all of Ireland. Want to dispose of the book as quickly as possible, they wrapped the Book of Kells in leather and buried it deep in an Irish field. Nearly 300 years later, a farmer was plowing in his field when he unearthed the unlikely package and was amazed to discover one of Ireland's long-lost treasures. Rewarding him with a hefty sum for the safe return of the book, the governor of Kells sent the book to Trinity College in Dublin where the famous bible has resided ever since. For ease of display and preservation, the Book of Kells has been physically split in four portions roughly coinciding with the four gospels. After viewing the book myself, I was amazed to see Latin script that is as vivid today as it was nearly 1200 years ago.

Still full from my earlier mid-morning brunch, I decided to delay lunch in order to grab a few extra minutes in the Irish Museum of Modern Art (IMMA). As a systematically-thinking engineer, I'm not a huge fan of modern art mainly because it doesn't make sense to me. Before any die-hard art-lovers roll their eyes at the previous sentence, I will say that there is a difference in the art world between understanding modern art and feeling the effects of modern art. Considered to be one of the best collections of modern art in Europe, I can't really begin to describe the IMMA pieces -- mainly because I don't know how to describe them. However, I did find it interesting that several of the artworks utilized media such as video, lights, and rotating mobiles rather than paint and canvas as I was expecting. Emotionally moving, many of the pieces portrayed the oppression of women and natives of third world countries. Rather than experiencing the euphoria created by the masterpieces of DaVinci and Michaelangelo, these modern works left me feeling rather humbled and somewhat depressed. Searching for some shred of hope in the artists' interpretation of the modern world, I seemed to fall short of finding any beauty in the explicit display of human suffering. A trained artist eye may have been able to point out the artists' true meanings behind their works, but by myself, I found several of the pieces to be extremely dark and ominous. I don't regret taking a few side streets in Dublin to explore the modern art museum, I just fear that modern art is perhaps one side of culture that I fail to fully appreciate.

Giving in to a growing appetite, I surrendered to the overpriced museum cafe and recovered from my bout with modern art over a steaming baked potato and chef salad. Popping the last bites of buttered potato into my mouth, I left the Irish Museum of Modern Art in pursuit of Dublin's biggest tourist attraction -- the Guinness Storehouse. To be completely truthful, I extremely dislike the taste of beer. With so many flavorful wines and liquors on this planet, why would I waste my time trying to learn how to drink a beverage that tastes like contaminated water? When I mentioned to my British friends that I was planning to skip the Guinness storehouse on my trip to Dublin, I was met with incredulous gasps of surprise and frantic urges not to miss the headquarters of Ireland's premier stout. Taking their unbending advice, I walked a few blocks from the modern art museum only to wait in line for entrance into the largest museum of Guinness paraphernalia in the world. Arthur Guinness, the first master brewer and founder of Guinness beer, first moved to Dublin in 1759 after inheriting a small fortune from the Archbishop of Cashel (his godfather). Taking his inheritance (only $200 at the time), Arthur signed a 9000 year lease at St. James's Gate with access to the city's watercourse, thus beginning an enterprise that has far exceeded his lifetime. Today, Guinness beer is still brewed fresh everyday at St. James's Gate in Dublin and is considered to be the best home-brewed beer in all of Ireland. Because Guinness reputably does not travel well, fans of this stout claim that the best Guinness beer can only be tasted in Dublin. As for myself, all forms of Guinness are too bitter for my taste buds. The Guinness storehouse was comprised of seven stories devoted to Ireland's favorite stout. Like most museums, the ground level was home to the ticket counters and gift shop. After briefly perusing through overpriced Guinness gifts and mementos, I trekked up the stairs for an education in Irish beer. The second story was devoted to the ingredients and methods for brewing stout. Having visited a few breweries in the States, the exhibits didn't tell me much that I hadn't already seen before -- hops, yeast, water, and barley. However, the giant waterfall in the middle of the second floor was neat to see regardless of the over-described idiosyncrasies of brewing. Up from the second level, the next four floors described the history, advertising, and health effects of beer. Interestingly, the early slogan "Drink Guinness -- It's good for your health!" arises from the fact that Irish doctors would often prescribe a daily pint of Guinness to their patients to induce feelings of euphoria which often result from alcohol consumption. Seeing their patients feel genuinely happier after a pint of beer, Guinness prescriptions were rather common and wide-spread in Ireland for several years. Working in the medical field, I could only laugh at this belief and think, "Wow, times have really changed!" Finishing my tour beer memorabilia, I jumped up to the top floor of the storehouse for my "free" pint of Guinness and the best view of Dublin. The Guinness Storehouse bar was an experience in itself. Crowded with dozens of tourists and local Dubliners, the bartenders topped off pints of Guinness while an Irish band belted out tunes to several Gaelic drinking songs. The accordion and throaty Gaelic mix was quite charming as I made a brave attempt to stomach a pint of Guinness's finest pint in Ireland. Looking through glass walls at the city below, I felt that my 10 Euro admission ticket had at least paid its price in bar culture and scenic view. My only wish is that I could've enjoyed the taste of frothy Irish stout...

Feeling proud that I had at least managed to sip through a fifth of my Guinness pint, I returned my almost-full glass to the bar and headed back to the city. (In hindsight, I'm actually glad that I didn't drink an entire pint of beer that afternoon. Functioning on barely three hours of sleep, any large amount of alcohol would have gone straight to my head -- not a good idea for any lady touring an unfamiliar city by herself.) Taking advantage of the last minutes of daylight, I stopped into a couple Irish souvenir shops to buy a few characteristic Irish items before checking into my hostel for the evening. Completely exhausted from my sleepless trip the night before, I climbed into my bunk bed for an early evening nap.

I awoke an hour or so later to one of my roommates gabbing with a friend on her cellphone. Feeling relatively refreshed, I grabbed my first shower in 36 hours and chatted with three of my hostel roommates before heading out for the evening. Originating from Australia, England, and Portugal, all three were traveling solo throughout Europe. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with hostel culture, the concept of a hostel is to provide cheap accommodation for typically young European travelers. To cut costs and save space, hostel owners outfit a single room with several bunk beds, which translates into sharing a room with anywhere from 2 to 15 strangers. Though this may sound odd to many Americans, hostels are rather safe and a cheap option for heavy-sleepers.) Knowing that Bill's plane was scheduled to touch down in Dublin around 8 o'clock, I took a brisk walk downtown in search of a bite to eat before his arrival. Feeling slightly homesick in a city by myself, I did the unthinkable act of walking into Burger King and glancing through an American fast food menu. As I had expected, the Irish Burger King menu was quite different from the typical American version. Ordering a spicy chicken baguette with peri-peri sauce, I settled into a corner of the restaurant with my tour book to plan the next day's Dublin outing with Bill. With still an hour to spend after finishing my sandwich and fries, I ordered a cup of ice cream and continued to read through pages of Dublin attractions and Irish history.

Feeling the buzzing of a cell phone in my pocket, I paused in my tourist reading to send a quick response to Bill's text message that he had arrived in Dublin. For some odd reason, our cell phones allowed us to text each other though we couldn't dial international calls to talk voice-to-voice. After a dozen of lengthy text messages, we found each other near the river and headed off for a bit of city nightlife. Looking traditional Irish bar music, we eventually found a crowded pub with a live band and a pair of Irish dancers. Ordering a glass of Jameson's and ginger ale, I developed a nice affinity for Irish whiskey and joined the bar crowd in belting the chorus to several popular tunes (several of which were American, ironically). When the band needed a break to rest their voices, dancers took the stage for an impressive show of traditional Irish dancing. An energetic atmosphere, Bill and I quickly found ourselves thrust in the heart of Irish culture -- drinking, dancing, and lively music. Enjoying several hours at the bar, I eventually began to feel the effects of a busy day with only snatches of sleep. Begging Bill to cut our evening slightly shy of midnight, we walked back to the hostel where I dragged myself into bed and curled up for a much-needed night of sleep.

Dublin, Ireland (Part 1): Avoiding Catastrophe with the Luck o' the Irish

Exhausting many of the major sites in Southern England, Bill and I thought that it was time to hop off the island and visit another area of Europe. Booking cheap flight tickets well in advance, we were ready for a quick weekend trip to Dublin, Ireland... or at least, that's what we had thought.

Before I get too far into my Irish story, let me explain one small yet important difference between western Europe and the United States. On second thought, I can sum this explanation into two words: military time. Rather than in the U.S. where morning is denoted by "a.m." and afternoon by "p.m.", official schedules in Europe use military time to avoid confusion between before noon and after noon. Consciously aware of this fact, I'm finally starting to adjust to converting p.m. time to hours higher than 12. (For example, 8 p.m. in the U.S. is posted as 20:00 in England.) Unfortunately, my big mistake of the weekend was not making sure that Bill was thinking in military time when he booked our flight tickets. The original plan was to depart via airplane from London Luton Airport at 6:25 p.m. on Friday evening in order to arrive in Dublin around 7:30 p.m. -- just in time to check into our hostel, find a pub, and relax before a busy day of touring the city. The major glitch in the plan was that any flight leaving at 6:25 is taking off from the ground at 6:25 in the morning. Dialing a frantic phone call to Bill, I knew that we were in quite a pickle.

"What are we going to do now?!" he asked.

Making a split-second decision, I replied in a way that he never expected, "I don't know about you, but I'm hopping a train at midnight to catch that plane!"

And that is how I learned the meaning of "backpacking across Europe"...

Throwing only the bare essentials into my book bag, I headed to the Guildford train station to hop on a train to London Luton Airport. Unfortunately, Bill couldn't come with me on my Thursday night adventure since he had a physiology exam on Friday afternoon. Because I only have one class on Friday mornings, I didn't feel too guilty about missing Pharmacology for the first time this semester. Booking a flight for Friday evening, Bill decided to swallow the expensive flight price and would meet me in Dublin around 8 o'clock as our original plans intended. Getting over the initial shock of flying to Dublin on my own at a very early hour, I actually began to feel excitement at the chance to have an extra day in Ireland despite traveling across England in the dead of night.

The trip to Dublin was adventurous to say the least and should probably be experienced by every hardened European traveler at least once in a lifetime. Despite its misleading name, London Luton Airport is actually quite far from London -- nearly 90 minutes by train from the heart of the city, which explains why I couldn't take a direct train from Guildford to Luton Airport. My first leg of the journey started at the Guildford as I hopped on a train to London Gatwick at midnight. Though far past my bedtime, my adrenaline was pumping so fast that dozing on the train was not even a remote possibility. Luckily, I had enough foresight to bring a folder of class notes to study for a Micronutrients exam on Monday. Having the most productive study hour that I've experienced all semester, I soon found myself waiting at London Gatwick Airport for my next train to depart at 2:30 a.m. After buying my second train ticket, I picked a rather hard bench and set myself up for a short airport snooze. Thinking back, I probably looked like a homeless bum with my backpack under my head as I tried to catch a few moments of sleep before hopping on my next train. Not caring much about my disheveled appearance, I did manage to catch a half hour of rest before the bench grew too hard for comfortable sleeping. Feeling slightly refreshed, I pulled out my study notes again and studied a bit of coursework to keep myself awake. Pulling out of Gatwick airport in the wee hours of the morning, I nestled myself into a train seat for a much-needed hour nap on my journey to the Luton Airport. Though I had set an alarm on my cell phone, I woke up a few minutes early to the tapping of a kind man sitting behind me.

"I'm sorry to wake you, miss," he began, "but I wanted to make sure that you didn't miss your stop."

Smiling at his genuine concern, I replied, "No, I'm heading to Luton Airport, which is still a half hour away."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he offered, "Since my stop is after the airport, I will wake you if you fall asleep again."

Thanking him kindly, I felt touched by his concern, which once again showed the kindness of the British towards foreign travelers. Wide awake now, I knew that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep before reaching the airport, but I thanked the man again as I left the train to catch my flight.

Arriving at London Luton Airport at 4 o'clock in the morning, I had plenty of time to catch my 6:25 a.m. flight to Dublin. After checking in and pocketing my boarding pass, I stopped at the airport waiting area to study a little before boarding my flight. Interestingly enough, I found myself "people watching" rather than studying vitamins and minerals. Next to the waiting area was a very crowded airport bar where travelers were buying their last drinks before leaving the country. "This could be interesting," I thought to myself. "I wonder if a drunken airplane is any different from a drunk bus back home in Cincinnati." (For those of you outside the Cincy area, "drunk bus" refers to the campus shuttle that runs to and from major Cincinnati bar areas on the weekends. A great alternative to designated drivers, the buses are always raucous, rowdy, and filled with intoxicated students.) Unfortunately, my thoughts were answered as I took my window seat on the airplane.

Completely exhausted by this point, I picked the nearest window seat on the plane, shoved my book bag into the overhead bin, and fell asleep instantly with my head nestled between my seat and the cabin wall. Hardly asleep for five minutes, I felt myself being prodded awake by a clumsy passenger sliding into the seat next to me. Reeking of beer, he plopped into his seat and tried to start up a drunken conversation. Growing short on patience after a relatively sleepless night, I pretended to be asleep while he carried on a rather dynamic conversation with himself. Aided by booze, he eventually passed out. Breathing a sigh of relief, my last memory was catching a glimpse of the British sunrise before giving into my first hour of restful sleep on one very fanatic trip to Ireland.

(To be continued...)

Cambridge, England: Famous Colleges and Punting on the River Cam

To round out our tour of England, Bill and I thought that it was time to stray from the London scene for a weekend and check out another of Britain's famous cities: Cambridge. Located north of London, Cambridge is the home of England's most prestigious university. Second in the world to only Harvard, Cambridge University has a history that quickly overshadows its American rival. Wondering what the city had to offer, Bill and I grabbed a train and headed northeast.

The hardest part of the two-and-a-half hour train ride to Cambridge was actually getting to the Guildford train station to start our journey. Partying pretty hard the night before, Bill forgot to set an alarm and woke up only to my phone call to see if he was ready to go. Since he needed a few extra minutes to get himself going that morning, I waited at the train station until he eventually meandered through the gates. (Though he may have wanted more sleep, my adrenaline was pumping after only two hours of shut-eye... my mentality is "tour now and crash later".) Eventually, we caught a train to London Waterloo station for the first leg of our journey.

Like airlines, longer train trips are often cut into parts with transfers at various stations. For this trip, we took a train from Guildford to London Waterloo, rode the subway from Waterloo to London Kings Cross Station, hopped on another train from Kings Cross to Royston, and then took a bus from Royston to Cambridge. Transferring from one mode of transportation to another can be a mess if you don't know what you're doing, but thankfully, Bill and I have had enough experience with public transportation to get ourselves easily from city to city. The best part about the transfer hassle was the chance to visit London Kings Cross Station. For those of you outside the Harry Potter loop, Kings Cross Station is the train station where wizards and witches are able to travel by train to various places in the magical community. Most notably, Kings Cross Station is the home to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters where Harry Potter catches his first train to Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. As the story goes, the platform is magically disguised so that Muggles (non-magical people) pass by without knowing that the platform even exists -- to them, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters is only a brick wall of seemingly no importance. Wizards, however, are able to step onto the platform by running head-first into the wall where they are magically transported to their awaiting train. In honor of the famous book series by J.K. Rowling, Kings Cross Station erected a brick wall and named it "Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters". The best part about the wall is the luggage cart that is disappearing into it as if a wizard got stuck halfway between the magical world and ours. In short, this was just another great photo opportunity to snap a few fun pictures of something seen only in London.

Eventually, we arrived at the Cambridge train station just in time for lunch. Hitching a bus to the middle of the city, we started our search for a picturesque park bench that would suffice for munching on a few sandwiches. So we searched... and searched... and searched... and eventually gave up when we realized that the only benches in Cambridge were a few remote park benches near museums and other major city sites. Planting ourselves in front of the Fitzwilliam Museum, we marveled at the fact that Britain's most prestigious university could be so unfriendly to out-of-town picnickers. Walking through the city, we found signs posted on nearly every patch of green space proclaiming, "DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!" Needless to say, the lack of public grass patches gave me a twinge of longing for the student-infested lawns back home in Cincinnati.

Trying to blow a little time before our Cambridge tour at 1:30 p.m., Bill and I stepped into the Fitzwilliam Museum for a few minutes to see another collection of ancient artifacts and pieces of civilization. After touring several museums in England, I've become rather picky about exhibits. As a result, there were only a few items that truly interested me in this museum, but I must say that they were pretty spectacular items. Though Bill was a big fan of the medieval swords and armor, I preferred the Chinese fan exhibit and one very spectacular Renaissance sculpture. "Adoration of the Magi" is a sixteenth century masterpiece carved in white alabaster stone. The detailing was phenomenal, and its preservation was impeccable. The interesting thing that I've noticed with Renaissance art is that artists had a tendency to dress biblical characters in the clothes of their own time period. Despite thinking that this sculpture was magnificent, I chuckled to see the three wise men wearing Flemish hats with large plumes.

Cutting our visit to the museum a little short, Bill and I rushed off to catch our two-hour tour of Cambridge University and Kings College Chapel. Unknown to most Americans, Cambridge University is actually a large collection of "colleges". In the U.S., "colleges" that comprise an university generally include the "College of Engineering", "College of Business", "College of Performing Arts", etc. At Cambridge, however, colleges are much less logically defined. The history of Cambridge begins with the university's largest rival -- Oxford. During the era of the Black Plague, students left Oxford University to settle in Cambridge in hopes of escaping the perpetually spreading plague. (Yes, that's right! Oxford came before Cambridge.) Unable to control the sudden influx of students, various townspeople in Cambridge began establishing colleges to keep the students occupied and out of trouble. You may ask, "Why would townspeople want to spend large amounts of money on colleges that they would never use themselves?" At that time, all colleges were associated with a chapel in which students were required to pray for their benefactor's soul to be spared from Purgatory. For wealthy widows, this was one of the few means by which they could achieve financial independence and spend their husband's money. A widow could put money into a college, and students would then pray for the soul of her husband (whether or not prayer was the main motivation for the widow's financial independence is still up for debate). With this in mind, most of the colleges were founded by very wealthy widows living in Cambridge. Corpus Christi College, however, was founded by the townspeople of Cambridge. With the Black Plague spreading throughout England, Cambridge was not spared from illness and death. Taking the money from the townspeople who had died in the plague, the remaining citizens of Cambridge built Corpus Christi College in honor of the dead. This college was important because it meant that the students would be required to pray for the souls of those killed by the Black Plague. Though it might sound a little silly to American separation of church and state, this rule was enforced and proved to be major motivation in the founding of additional colleges in Cambridge. Today, all of the colleges are encompassed until the title of "Cambridge University". However, each applicant may apply for admittance to only one of the colleges within the university. The desired course of study is irrelevant since each college selects a set number of students from each major. There is a lot of strategy in picking a college because some are more prestigious than others. If your main goal is to get a diploma from Cambridge University, then you would apply for a less competitive college. If you want the highest level of prestige behind your name, then you would study like a manic and keep your fingers crossed that Kings College glances at your application. This education system is a bit confusing, but I can't say much against it considering that Cambridge U. is the second best university in the world.

Lucky for us, admission into Kings College Chapel was included with our tour of the colleges. King Henry VI commissioned the building of Kings College Chapel in an effort to "best the pope". (The stubborn feud between the Church of England and Catholicism rears its head once again in history.) Since the pope could boast of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, King Henry wanted and even bigger church with more impressive ceiling than that found in the Vatican. Who knows which church leader actually won the competition of church ceilings, but I should be able to give an opinion after visiting Rome next month. Needless to say, Kings College Chapel earns its right to be the largest fan-vaulted ceiling in the world. The only aspect more magnificent than the ceiling are the stained glass windows. Despite years of war, the original 16th century stained glass windows remained intact. Beyond their beauty, these windows have a real story to tell. During World War II, the townspeople of Cambridge removed the windows from their original places in the church and stored them away for safe-keeping. Once peace was restored once again, they painstakingly replaced the windows back to their original homes. Unlike most churches where stained glass windows haphazardly erected to depict random biblical stories, these windows have an interesting logical progression. Each large window is divided into ten sections -- five on top and five on bottom. The bottom section depicts stories from the New Testament with most occurring after the birth of Christ. Two different stories are depicted in this bottom section. One story is illustrated in the two rightmost panes while the other is shown in the two leftmost panes. The middle pane is reserved for pictures of two townspeople holding scrolls with descriptions in Latin of the biblical stories located in that particular window. The interesting part to this arrangement is that the upper five panes of the window are designed exactly the same with Old Testament stories -- two stories separated by a central pane with scroll-holding people. You may be asking, "So what?! Why is this important?" The neat part about this lies in the placement of the Old Testament stories on top of the New Testament stories. The Old Testament story located directly above a given New Testament story is the exact antitype of the after-Christ version. For example, one window had two lower panes depicting the Annunciation where Mary was visited by the angel Gabriel and agreed to give birth to Christ Jesus, thus agreeing to the will of God. Directly above these panes is the Old Testament antitype of Eve giving in to the serpent in the Garden of Eden and eating a piece of fruit from the tree forbidden by God, thus rejecting the will of God. Another type/antitype depiction was Jesus rising from the tomb three days after his burial after completing the will of God while the Old Testament version directly above showed Jonah rising from the belly of a whale after running from the will of God. Religious or not, most people will admit that these windows are pretty cool.

Finishing up our Cambridge University tour, Bill and I headed towards the River Cam for the main highlight of our trip -- PUNTING! For those of you who are unfamiliar with boating, punting is essentially a way of pushing a rowboat down a river with only a long pole. Getting slightly burnt out on museums and historical tours, we were ready for an active cultural experience! After renting a boat and watching a few punters push their punts around in the water, we felt pretty confident to try our luck with one of Cambridge's most well-known pastimes. Giving in to the gentlemanly phrase of "ladies first", Bill took a seat in the middle of the boat while I situated myself with the punting pole. Like most things that I attempt for the first time, I had no beginner's luck with a pole, a boat, and a river full of water. In short, I merely managed to spin our boat in a perpetual circle with no idea how to steer the vessel with only a metal pole. To make matters worse, several drunken Englishmen thought that it would be funny to taunt me from a nearby bridge. Feeling my face flushing with embarrassment, I tried to make the best of the situation by coquettishly smiling their way and giving them a flirtatious wink. Laughing, they yelled a few words of encouragement, which were unfortunately lost in the wind. Giving up, I handed the pole to Bill in hopes of actually getting our boat away from the dock. Expecting him to face the same problems that I experienced, I was impressed and slightly frustrated that he picked up the skill without much trouble at all. Burying the frustration with myself, I took the chauffeured opportunity to snap a few scenic pictures of the river. Once Bill's arms had tired, I was ready for a second chance to redeem myself on the punt. Learning from my original mistakes, I mustered up the courage to stand on the very back of the boat in order to have better steering control. This time, it took me only minutes to master the art of pushing our boat to downstream and back again without any major disasters. Take that, taunting Englishmen on the bridge!

With tired arms and damp clothing, Bill and I were ready for our final Cambridge destination -- The Eagle. This pub is the famous hang-out spot for Watson and Crick, the scientists who discovered the structure of DNA. (To be completely fair, Watson and Crick only created the first model of DNA and hence noticed that it formed a double-helical structure. A majority of the work leading up to this discovery was completed by Rosalind Franklin, who died from excessive radiation exposure utilized to complete her work.) Upon mastering the first DNA model, Crick ran to the Eagle and exclaimed, "We have discovered the meaning of life." Today, the Eagle is a fully functioning bar and restaurant that is constantly filled with tourists and college kids looking for a cool drink or tasty meal. For Bill and I, we were looking for a bit of authentic British cooking. With several dishes to choose from, I eventually settled on "bangers and mash", which is English sausage on top of mashed potatoes and covered with gravy. Though most people at home had warned me that British food is not much to boast about, I was incredibly impressed with this English dish. Though I may be denouncing my German heritage, I might even prefer British sausage to bratwurst!

Overall, our day in Cambridge was a fun one. The colleges were neat to see, and Kings College Chapel is another example of beautiful European churches. Rich in history, the city is best appreciated with a good tour or a lot of research prior to visiting. However, my favorite memory will definitely be punting on the River Cam.

After five weeks in England, Bill and I have managed to tour three major British cities (London, Bath, and Cambridge) and are now ready to start tackling the rest of Europe. This upcoming weekend, we're hopping off the island to visit the founding city of Guinness beer. May the luck o' the Irish be with us in DUBLIN!