An American Brit

An Afternoon in Paris

2008-08-28T11:45:00.009-04:00

Recovering from a mentally-draining two hours in the Louvre, Craig and I revived ourselves with lunch on a patio outside a quaint Parisian cafe. Though the restaurant was a bit up-scale for lunch, we were both too hungry to notice. Eventually adjusting to the occasional waft of cigarette smoke, Craig and I ordered a bite to eat from a waiter who was kind enough to speak in English rather than French.

"I'll try the French onion soup and a ham sandwich," Craig quickly decided after glancing through the menu.

Ordering a sandwich for myself, I waited for the waiter to walk away before whispering to Craig, "It seems so American of us to order merely sandwiches for our first lunch in Paris."

"Actually," Craig replied, "I've heard that the French are known for their baguettes and ham sandwiches. Besides, I couldn't leave France without trying the French onion soup."

Though I'm sure the sandwiches were tasty, the most remarkable memory came after our empty dishes were cleared from the table. "Dessert?" the waiter asked while gesturing to their dessert menu.

A sucker for anything chocolate, I looked pleadingly at Craig who gave in and said, "Sure, but only coffee for me."

Ordering chocolate mousse, I leaned towards Craig and said, "I can't leave without trying the country's best dessert."

And what a dessert it was! Honestly, I can't remember ever tasting anything as wonderful as this chocolate mousse. Light, fluffy, and generous in portion, I ate slowly so as to savor every bite. Craig ate a few spoonfuls and quickly agreed that it was fantastic. Scraping the last bite from my dish, I knew that I would be hard-pressed to find anything quite as wonderful anywhere else in the world.

Leaving our waiter a hefty American tip, Craig and I wandered over to Notre Dame Cathedral. Throughout Europe, Bill and I had visited several churches and cathedrals, but the great thing about Notre Dame was that it was Catholic. After spending a lot of time in albeit beautiful Anglican churches in England, I was happy to see a cathedral with more familiar religious rituals. Admittedly, Disney pictured the outside of Notre Dame rather well in their 1996 animation, but the interior was unlike any that I had ever seen. Expecting ornate windows and tile floors, I was surprised by the simplicity of the cathedral. Built of stone in the Gothic fashion, the church was primarily dark and bare with few frivolities seen in many later architectural styles. Though somewhat ominous in appearance, I actually found the interior to be calm and soothing in an uncluttered sort-of-way. Mainly, I liked it just because it was different.

Unfortunately Craig and I opted out of climbing to the roof of Notre Dame to see the gargoyles -- they were charging 7 Euro, and we were trying to control our spending. Craig did see a statue of interest as we were examining the sculptures on the outside of the church. A statue of St. Denis was located near the entrance -- with his head in his hands. St. Denis was a French martyr who was beheaded in downtown Paris. After they chopped off his noggin, however, his body bent down, picked up his head, and walked several miles to the Sacre Coeur Basilica at the northern edge of the city before finally dying there. Craig was interested in the sculpture because his family's church in Ohio was named after this unusual saint.

Practically next door to Notre Dame is Sainte Chapelle. Sainte Chapelle was a chapel consecrated in 1248 to house various holy relics such as Christ's crown of thorns and the Image of Edessa. Today, however, the chapel is mostly a tourist attraction famous for its original intricate stained glass windows. Sainte Chapelle was an interesting site for Craig and I -- mainly because we had two very different reactions. Craig was awestruck by the windows and was content to sit in the chapel for hours to examine the many patterns and colors. On the other hand, I found myself merely comparing it to a few churches in England and was soon ready to move onto the next Parisian sight.

"Julia," Craig scolded, "we are in one of the most magnificent chapels in Europe. How can you not be excited?"

"It looks a lot like the churches I've already seen," I nonchalantly replied.

Swallowing his frustration, Craig seemed a little irritated with my lack of interest. It was at this moment that I realized that perhaps I had been touring a little too long throughout Europe. When you see similar sights over and over in a matter of weeks, memories begin to run together and even the most magnificent views begin to appear a little lackluster. Bothered by this realization, I grumbled, "Maybe I'm just a little burnt out on churches."

Eventually, Craig was satisfied enough to conclude our visit to Sainte Chapelle and suggested that we begin the long trek back to our hotel in northern Paris. Backtracking our steps through Jardin des Tuilleries, we noticed that the Louvre was closing up for the day and dusk was quickly approaching.

"I can't believe that we've been in Paris for an entire day and I haven't tried the wine yet!" I exclaimed as Craig mentioned that France is a principle European wine country. Not wanting to miss our chance, we ducked into a small wine bar on our walk back to the hotel. Though not busy so early in the evening, the bartender walked over to our table to inquire which wine we would like to drink.

"Do you have any Bordeaux?" Craig asked.

Chuckling to herself, the bartender returned with a huge chalkboard outlining an entire list of wines from France's Bordeaux wine district. Randomly picking two glasses of red wine, I made the mistake of asking the following question: "Do you have a menu?"

At the time, I was hoping to order an appetizer to try with our wines, but I didn't realize that asking for a menu in France is akin to signing a contract that you will be ordering a meal. I was leery of ordering a meal at a wine bar because I knew that the food would probably be expensive and mediocre, but I had little choice as the bartender insisted that we stay for dinner. Ordering a plate of lasagna, I wasn't thrilled to see the bartender pull out a frozen TV dinner from a fridge underneath the bar and proceed to heat it up in a microwave. Without a doubt, the wine was wonderful, but I wasn't exactly thrilled with my over-priced Lean Cuisine pasta.

Heady from the potent Bordeaux, Craig and I continued backtracking our steps and marveled at the beauty of Paris at night. With Christmas only a short month away, the city had already hung hundreds of holiday lights and iridescent bulbs. The Paris Opera House towered above us as I recalled scenes from "Phantom of the Opera". Eventually spotting the unmistakable windmill of the Moulin Rouge, Craig and I knew that we were close to our hotel. Warming ourselves in the hotel lobby soon thereafter, we were happy to settle in for an early night.

Borrowing the hotel's computer to send a quick email to my parents, I briefly wrote:

"Dear Family,
Our first day in Paris was amazing. I'd love to stay longer, but tomorrow we'll be catching a train to Belgium for a few days in Brussels and Bruge. I can't wait to try the chocolate! Hope all is well at home!
Love,
Julia"

Paris à pied

2008-08-28T09:08:00.010-04:00

With the Paris transportation strike just firing up, Craig and I knew that reliable public transportation would be a long shot for the duration of our trip. Carefully studying our maps and asking the hotel manager countless questions about the locations of various sites around the city, Craig and I meticulously planned out our walking route the early the next morning.

"We'll definitely need to prioritize our time and group sights together by location so that we don't waste time backtracking on foot," Craig reasoned.

"Agreed," I nodded. "I know you're not a fan of art museums, but the Louvre is top on my list."

"Don't get me wrong," Craig said while glancing over the map, "I want to see the Louvre, too. It looks like the museum is also near Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle."

"We'll probably need to hit the Louvre first since the lines can get really long later in the day," I replied. "So what do you think of hiking downtown, grabbing breakfast at a coffee shop, getting in line at the Louvre before it opens, and seeing the Mona Lisa first before catching the churches?"

Silence.

More silence.

It was at this point that I realized my boyfriend had unmistakably tuned me out to whatever was flashing across the television screen.

"Craig!" I exclaimed waving my hand across his face, thus breaking his mesmerized gaze. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"Of course," he shrugged, "we'll see the Louvre first."

"I'm amazed you caught that much of the conversation," I mumbled. "What are you watching?"

"Rue Sesame."

"Rue what?!"

"Rue Sesame... I had no idea that they had Sesame Street in French."

Intrigued, I turned towards the television only to see the blue "Healthy Foods" monster nibbling vegetables. "I miss the cookie monster," I sighed.

"Me too," Craig groaned while flipping off the TV.

Picking up my purse and pocket maps, Craig and I left the hotel to begin the long trek into downtown Paris.

The sky was still dark when we left our hotel well before 7 a.m. Unsure how long the line outside the Louvre would be that day, our goal was to reach the museum's glass pyramid before opening in hopes of avoiding a long wait.

Our walk into downtown Paris was surprisingly refreshing. After countless trips on the London subway, we were thrilled to walk through narrow streets, watch shopkeepers set out produce displays, and listen to disgruntled Parisians argue with delivery truck drivers. There was something charming about the city just before dawn. Strolling hand-in-hand, Craig and I arrived at the Louvre's glass pyramid as the sun was just beginning to rise. Quietly walking through the Jardin des Tuileries ("Garden of Tuileries"), Craig and I watched the sunrise alone in the park before the city had even begun to open her eyes.

Reluctant to break our comfortable silence, I softly said, "The Louvre doesn't open for over an hour and no one is waiting near the entrance. Would you like to find a place for breakfast?"

Bribed by the concept of food, Craig nodded, and we left the garden to find a cafe along the Seine River. Though unsure of what over-priced cafe we would find along one of Paris's most-touristy boulevards, I was too hungry to venture too far from the river in search of food. Eventually, we found a small cafe (doubling as a bar at night) that was serving a decent breakfast special: toast, jam, two eggs, bacon, and a drink for 5 Euro (approximately $7).

Though it sounds not far from typical American fare, I must admit that the French do breakfast spectacularly to a whole new level. First of all, freshly baked bread and homemade jam -- need I say more? And secondly, the hot chocolate is phenomenal. Throughout my travels, I sought to find Europe's best hot chocolate. True, the Americas own bragging rights to the best coffees, but hot chocolate and tea far exceeds expectations in Europe. Up to this point, Germany was winning hands down with the most decadent hot chocolate... but that was before visiting France. The hot chocolate at that particular Parisian cafe was the most creamy and comforting hot drink my taste buds have ever experienced.

As for Craig, the French finally convinced him to drink his coffee white. Like several caffeine-addicted college guys, Craig had grown accustomed to the standard black coffee -- no cream, no sugar. In France, however, most Parisians drink their coffee with lots of cream (1/2 coffee and 1/2 cream, to be exact). Wanting to fit in, Craig tried it their way and found his coffee to be a rather pleasant experience. Needless to say, his coffee habits have been converted ever since.

After enjoying a relaxing and somewhat robust breakfast, we tipped the waiter and made our way back to the Louvre. The famous art museum was scheduled to open at 9 a.m. that morning, but the transportation strike threw everyone's schedule a little askew. Stepping into a fairly short line around 8:15, a security guard walked to the front of the building to slap a sign on the door that read: "Due to the transportation strike, the Louvre will open at 10 o'clock."

When asked about the delay, he simply replied in surprisingly fluent English, "Our employees have not arrived yet." Apparently tourists were not the only ones affected by the strike!

Standing in line for an extra 90 minutes only served to build my anticipation of seeing the world's most famous art galleries. To be completely honest, I did not even know that the Louvre existed until Dan Brown wrote his controversial novel "The DaVinci Code". From that point, I had become almost obsessed with seeing the Mona Lisa, Madonna of the Rocks, and a few Michelangelo sculptures.

"Stop hopping," Craig chided with a grin.

"I can't help it," I replied. "I'm really really excited to finally be here."

Rolling his eyes, Craig wrapped an arm around me to stop my jittery jumping. "I know this isn't your cup of tea," I began, "but I promise this is the only art museum I'll make you endure while we're here."

"No worries," he said. "I've always wanted to see the Louvre... just not as much as you, I can see."

After endless waiting, the doors to the museum finally opened prompting at 10 a.m. Rushing with the crowd to the closest ticket kiosk, Craig printed our admission tickets as I unfolded a floor map of the museum. "We should probably start with the Mona Lisa since that'll draw a large crowd before long."

Shrugging, Craig handed our tickets to the woman at the ticket gate, and we quickly made our way to the Louvre's most prized painting. As I had expected, the Mona Lisa was rather small. Compared to the "Wedding at Cana" hung on the opposite wall, this womanly portrait appeared tiny. Though a few signs stating "No Pictures" in French dotted the gallery, few paid attention to them and the guards did not seem to mind as tourists snapped photo after photo of their favorite paintings. I was surprised by the fact that no one complained about the flash photography -- certainly, it can't be good for the centuries-old artwork. Not to be a hypocrite, though, I will admit to taking a few photos of my own, but I tried to avoid using flash photography on the paintings.

My best word to describe the Louvre is expansive. With several levels and thousands works of art, Craig and I had a hard time pin-pointing what we really wanted to see. Bypassing the audio guides in hopes of saving money and limiting our time, I had one interesting wish while we were walking throughout the Louvre. I wished that Bill was there with us. Bill and I had already toured several art museums in London and Madrid, but now I was experiencing the largest one without him -- and it was a lot harder to enjoy. When Bill was in high school, he took an AP Art History class that actually served him well while in Europe. Though not too enthused by looking at paintings in a textbook, Bill remembered enough to explain famous works of art and little-known tidbits about the artists as we walked through various art galleries. With all of the Louvre placards written in French, I had a hard time judging whether a specific painting was historically significant or simply pleasant to gaze upon. "Bill would really love this," I thought to myself.

Using my Rick Steves Tour Book and shoddy memory of the "DaVinci Code", I managed to catch a few well-known works of art while Craig and I strolled around the museum. In particular, I really wanted to see da Vinci's "Madonna of the Rocks". During his lifetime, Leonardo da Vinci completed two very similar paintings: "Virgin of the Rocks" and "Madonna of the Rocks". Both contain four similar characters, but legend claims that "Virgin of the Rocks" was painted later with several Catholic symbols to appease the Church. Lucky for me, I would get the chance to see both while in Europe. "Virgin of the Rocks" is owned by the National Gallery in London, and "Madonna of the Rocks" is housed in the Louvre.

Interestingly, the paintings exhibit polar opposite emotions as you view each separately. Glowing with Christian symbology, "Virgin of the Rocks" portrays a warm scene of the Virgin Mary with Jesus, John the Baptist, and an angel. With cherub-like cheeks, the painting appears similar to other Christian scenes completed in that time period. "Madonna of the Rocks", however, evokes very different feelings. Void of halos and crosses, the characters in the painting appear to have almost remorseful expressions and "Mary's" hands look almost claw-like in nature. Though many leave this up to speculation, I truly feel that each painting was design to serve a very different purpose.

Catching glimpses of Venus de Milo, Michelangelo's Slaves, Cupid and Psyche, and the Winged Victory of Samothrace, Craig and I felt ourselves trudging through gallery upon gallery until the paintings appeared virtually all the same. Reaching our limits at about the same time, Craig sunk into a gallery couch and said, "I don't know how much more I can take of this."

Ready to leave, we walked back through the Louvre's glass pyramid just as a tourist mob was pushing its way into the museum to see the Mona Lisa.

A Taste of French Hospitality

2008-07-31T09:16:00.008-04:00

Annoyed with our delayed flight to Paris, I pulled out my Enzymology notes to grab a few extra minutes of studying while waiting on the plane. Glancing over old PowerPoint presentations, I overheard the passenger sitting next to me ramble fluent French into her cell phone. When she had finished her conversation, I turned to her and asked, "Excuse me, but are you French?"

"Yes," she replied in flawless English and hint of a smile upon recognizing my American accent.

"I couldn't help but notice that you were speaking French a moment ago," I sheepishly replied. "Have you heard anything about the transportation strike in Paris?"

"I just got off the phone with my Dad," she replied. "He said that the city is a mess right now, and the taxis are taking full advantage of an unfair situation. If you aren't careful, they'll cheat you out of money very easily."

Nodding with understanding, I quickly introduced myself and Craig to our newfound acquaintance. Though we spent a lot of time talking to this young lady, neither Craig nor I can currently remember her name. I remember her as "Sophie" while Craig swears her name was "Camille" -- so for the sake of compromise, I will call her "Soca".

As our conversation progressed, we learned that Soca was a student majoring in political science. She had spent the past weekend visiting friends in London before heading back to Paris for a busy week of school and work.

"What do American's think of our new president, Nicolas Sarkozy?" Soca asked.

Believe it or not, this was actually a trick question. Americans have the notorious reputation of being completely ignorant of politics and culture outside of their own country. (In fact, many don't even realize that the major currency of Europe is the "Euro".) So by stating that I had no idea that France even elected a new president, I would once again confirm that Americans are stupid when it comes to global affairs.

Thankfully, Craig came to my rescue and replied, "We appreciate that President Sarkozy is making an effort to build ties with the United States."

Craig has always been well-informed of global events, and this was yet another time that he has saved me from making an ignorant faux pas. Smiling at his well-spoken opinion, Soca stated, "Sarkozy gets a lot of criticism for his policies, but I think that he has done a lot for our foreign relationships."

As Craig and Soca continued to discuss world politics, I folded up my tray table as I felt the plane lurch forward towards the runway. "Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot announced over the intercom. "We have now been cleared for take-off and will be departing shortly for Paris Charles De Gaulle. Thank you for your patience."

Almost on cue, the cabin lights switched off, and the plane began its rapid acceleration down the runway. As the plane climbed higher into the night sky, I laid my head on Craig's shoulder and instantly fell asleep.

However, my in-flight nap was short-lived as I was unexpectedly jolted awake as the plane crashed back to earth. With a startled gasp, I asked, "What happened?!"

"We landed," Craig replied dryly.

Pulling me close as my heart raced against my chest, Craig whispered, "We're finally in Paris."

With heavy winds and biting sheets of sleet falling from the sky, the plane's descent into Paris was a bit rocky from the high levels of turbulence. Ironically, I slept through the entire storm until our plane was forced to make a sharp landing and bounced dangerously on the landing strip. Climbing out of our seats as the pilot apologized for his rough landing, Craig and I ducked into the biting sleet storm and ran to the airport arrival gate. Once inside, we began to brush off our carry-on bags and looked around for the French passport control stations.

Spotting Soca nearby, Craig motioned to her and suggested an offer that would help all three of us to survive the Parisian transportation strike. "Would you like to split a cab with Julia and I?" he asked. "If you could negotiate a reasonable price with a taxi driver, then we could all get to the city at only a third of the price of hiring a cab alone."

Seeing the logic in splitting the taxi fare from the airport, Soca readily agreed to wait for us past the passport control gates so that we could travel together. Thrilled with our luck of finding a native French translator to deal with the taxi driver, I thanked my lucky stars that I was dating a resourceful guy that knows how to make friends in a difficult situation.

Passing through French customs without any mishaps, Craig and I found Soca speaking rapid French to an attendant at the airport information kiosk. Translating her conversation to us soon afterwards, Soca mentioned that the wait for a taxi would be roughly 30 minutes and that our only option would be to wait in line near the airport exit.

Rolling Craig's suitcase to the "taxi line", the three of us chatted while waiting for the next cab to become available. Luckily, we only waited about 15 minutes before making it to the front of the line and crawling into an idling taxi. Handing over addresses and haggling prices in French, Soca was eventually satisfied with the taxi service, and the cab driver pulled away from the airport.

The drive into Paris took about a half hour, but I was amused by watching French traffic weave across lanes at a speedy pace with no obvious order or logic. It wasn't easy to see the city from the taxi windows, but Craig and Soca were too engaged in another conversation on world politics to notice that we were quickly approaching Paris. As the cab driver maneuvered through the Parisian city streets, I spotted the Moulin Rouge only minutes before the taxi stopped in front of our hotel.

Clutching our coats, Craig and I thanked Soca many times before leaving the taxi. Wanting to express our gratitude, we handed her enough money to cover the cost of the taxi ride to our hotel as well as the rest of her trip home. Not wanting to accept the extra money at first, we insisted until she could only smile and thank us for our gift.

As the taxi pulled away, Craig mentioned to me, "I've always heard that the French are rather hostile to travelers, but I think that girl has just proven them wrong. The French are clearly some of the friendliest people I've ever met."

A Parisian Catastrophe

2008-07-22T09:20:00.012-04:00

Separated by merely the English Channel, there are three main ways that you can travel from London to Paris: plane, train, or ferry. By far, the most popular route is via a train route that travels underwater through a tunnel dug below the channel. My friend Bill decided to visit Paris with a group from the University of Surrey, and to save money, they crossed the channel via ferry. Asking Bill about the trip later, he admitted that the ferry ride was a bit long, but the price made the trip more affordable. Craig and I decided to bypass boats and trains to fly directly into Paris Charles De Gaulle airport from London Luton. I'll leave you to judge whether this was a smart decision or not, but my original reasoning for choosing flight went something like this:

Since we were already in London, Craig and I needed a transportation method that was close and affordable so as to not waste precious time in route. Location alone limited us to either flying or riding on a train to Paris. At first, I thought it would be best to take a train (a.k.a. "Eurostar") round trip from London to Paris and back. Compared to discount flights, train tickets were only slightly more expensive but it is a lot easier to travel via rail rather than plane. This plan would have worked fine except for the fact that Craig and I decided to add a few extra cities into our Western European tour. Wanting to take full advantage of our time in Europe, we thought that four days in London and four days in Paris would be too much time in only two locations. Rescheduling our travel plans, we decided that three days in London, three in Paris, and two days in Belgium would be the perfect balance for our short vacation. Our only restriction was that we had to start and end in London since this is where Craig would be arriving and leaving Europe. Logically, it would make sense to simply travel in a triangle: London, Paris, Belgium, and then back to London. This would allow us to skip all the airports and travel by train to all of our destinations. Unfortunately, Eurostar doesn't favor one-way tickets.

For my "triangle travel plan" to work, we would need three one-way tickets to Paris, Brussels, and London. In my American state of mind, I had assumed that one-way tickets would be roughly half the price of round trip tickets -- not quite. A round-trip ticket between London and Paris was approximately $150. A one-way ticket from London to Paris was $250. Why buy a one-way ticket when a round-trip is clearly cheaper? Though I still don't completely understand their rationale for over-pricing one-way tickets, I think it may have something to do with ensuring that travelers return to their country of origin.

Comparing train fares with plane tickets, I found that a flight from London Luton to Paris was only $100. Though airports are a bit more stressful than train stations, the overall travel and check-in time would be similar to riding the Eurostar to Paris. Assuming our flight would be running on time, I booked two tickets from London Luton to Paris Charles De Gaulle with the new plan of flying from London to Paris, taking the Eurostar from Paris to Belgium and back to Paris, and then flying back to London from Paris. Of course, things never quite work out exactly as planned...

After a very long train ride to London Luton Airport, Craig and I arrived just as the check-in desk was opening for our flight. Checking Craig's suitcase and handing over our passports, we quickly proceeded to a speedy security checkpoint and soon found ourselves near the airport terminals. Always having a lot of luck getting through Luton airport, I was once again pleased by the uncharacteristically quick airport service. With an hour and a half to spare before boarding, Craig and I found seats at an airport cafe and ordered two heaping plates of pasta to hold us over until reaching Paris later in the evening.

While twirling linguine with a fork, I felt my cell phone buzz with a new text message. Pulling the phone out of my pocket, I quickly read a message from Bill that quickly diminished my appetite. "What's wrong?" Craig asked, watching an expression of panic wash across my face.

"We might be in a bit of trouble when we get to Paris tonight," I moaned.

Handing him my cell phone, Craig skimmed Bill's message that went something like this:

"NO SUBWAY IN PARIS. CITY TRANSPORTATION STRIKE -- NO BUSES, TRAINS, OR METRO RUNNING. TAXIS ARE OVERPRICED. WILL LAST FOR REST OF WEEK."

"Looks like we'll be walking a lot," Craig said, handing back my phone.

"Or paying for an expensive taxi ride," I groaned. "The taxis are probably jumping their prices to take advantage of the situation. We would probably be able to haggle them down if we could speak French."

The good news in our situation was that Craig and I were able to learn of the Paris transportation strike before arriving in France. Earlier that weekend, Bill left Guildford to travel to Paris with a school group bound for Europe's Disneyland. Lucky for him, Bill's transportation around the city was covered by private bus, which meant that the transportation strike bothered him very little. Knowing that Craig and I would be depending solely on public transportation while in Paris, Bill gave us a little "heads up" with what to expect when arriving in the city. Without his thoughtful text message, Craig and I would have been much worse walking into the situation blind -- and not able to speak the native language.

Mulling over our options, I knew that the most important thing to cover first would be hailing an overpriced taxi to drive us from the airport to our hostel for the night. Everything else would have to wait until morning. However, I feared that the strike might severely limit our sightseeing for the week and prayed that we'd at least be able to make it to Belgium via train.

Trying to push our impending quandary from my mind, Craig and I finished dinner and then searched for a few seats in the waiting area with a clear view of the flight boarding schedule. Noticing that our flight was running a little behind, we relaxed for a few extra minutes before heading to Departure Gate 10. Since discount flights typically don't have reserved seating, Craig and I practically ran to the departure gate in hopes of catching a spot near the front of the line so that we'd be one of the first to board. Happy that we arrived just as the line was forming, our celebration was short-lived as a voice announced over the Intercom that our departure gate had just been changed to Gate 2.

Simultaneously, 60 annoyed passengers turned on their heels and began rushing to the opposite side of the airport. Grabbing my hand, Craig began speed walking towards the new gate at a pace that was hard to match with even my very long legs. Priding himself on his speed walking abilities, Craig and I were the first to arrive at Gate 2 and thus began a line behind the departure desk. Thrilled that we would still be first to board, our exhilaration was once again short-lived as the flight attendant informed us that we were standing in the "Premier Package" line and therefore needed to go to the back of the "Discount Boarding" line. Shrugging, Craig leaned over to me and said, "There are days when you just can't win..."

Luckily, Craig and I were still able to find two seats sitting next to each other even after being last to board the plane. Squeezing into cramped quarters, we buckled our seat belts and shifted our legs to fully take advantage of our limited personal space. Expecting to idle towards the runway any minute, we were surprised to hear the pilot's voice announce over the plane's speaker system, "Sorry for the delay ladies and gentlemen, but turbulent weather in Paris is forcing us to wait a little longer for clearance before taking off. We will give further updates shortly."

Rolling my eyes at our streak of bad luck, I mumbled, "Looks like it'll be a late-night arrival in Paris."

London Mornings and Paris Nights

2008-07-18T11:42:00.006-04:00

Hungry after our visit to the Churchill Museum, I racked my brain for restaurants in London that I remembered having decent food and reasonable prices. "Are you hungry for anything in particular?" I asked Craig as we hopped back on the subway for a quick trip to the British Museum.

"Since I'm in Britain," he began, "I'd really like to try fish and chips while I'm here."

"No problem. There's actually a pretty decent place right across from the museum. Let's grab a bite to eat first and then catch an hour or two at the British Museum before heading back to the hostel to pick up our luggage."

Before that day, I had eaten at this restaurant only once after Bill and I had toured the British Museum. It was our first real experience with British food, and from what I could remember, it didn't seem too bad at the time. In the few months between visits to this restaurant, however, I had visited several British cities and had tasted some incredible dishes during our travels. In short, I had become an amateur food critic and was a bit pickier about sub-par foods.

One of my goals for this trip was to find the best British food for Craig to try while he was in England. Since the British don't have a very nice reputation for their food anyways, my best two options were "bangers & mash" and "fish & chips". Having satisfied the bangers & mash requirement during Craig's first meal in London, I thought that it would be easy to find decent fish & chips near the British Museum -- wrong.

As the waitress brought our platters, I noticed that fish didn't look as crispy and fluffy as I had experienced in other parts of England. Admittedly, it looked more like breaded fish rather than the typical beer-battered fish that marks the dish as distinctly British. Overall, the food was alright -- mediocre but clearly edible. Disappointed, Craig wiped his hands on a napkin and said, "No offense, dear, but I've found better fish & chips back in the States."

Some of you reading this may feel that Craig and I were being a bit harsh with our food criticism and the last few paragraphs were mostly a waste of space, but I promise that there is something to learn from this seemingly unimportant story. Many restaurants in highly-toured cities cater to tourists, and tourists are usually willing to pay high prices for low-quality food simply because the restaurant is located near a main tourist attraction. Local residents, however, know not to waste their money on mediocre restaurants when they can walk a few extra blocks and have a great meal at a much more reasonable price. So my best restaurant advice for anyone touring a European city is to avoid restaurants near main tourists sights -- you will have a better food experience by finding a place further away.

Leaving a tip for the waitress, Craig and I walked over to the British Museum for a few quick hours of free London entertainment. For those who haven't read my earlier posts, the British Museum is the world's largest collection of civilization. Organized by continent, each wing of the museum is arranged chronologically from the ancient Egyptians to more modern inventions of the 19th century. Undoubtedly, the museum's most prized piece is a hefty chunk of the Rosetta Stone, which was the first artifact translating Egyptian hieroglyphics into Demotic and Greek languages. In a sense, it was the ancient world's first translator and an essential key to understanding tomb carvings in Egypt.

Telling Craig what I could remember from my first tour of the British Museum, we strolled through rooms of Egyptian mummies, Greek Parthenon statues, and other various artifacts from the Ancient World. Getting a little burnt out on museum sightseeing, Craig and I walked through the exhibits much faster than my first visit to the British Museum. Though I'd be content to examine the intricacies of the Parthenon statues, Craig isn't as excited by art and quickly moved on to other artifacts. "Let's check out the Americas," he said as we left the European rooms.

"Seriously?" I asked. "Why would you want to look at stuff that we can find back home?"

"It would just be interesting to see, I guess."

Humoring Craig, we walked to the North and South America exhibits -- rooms that Bill and I had purposely skipped on our first visit to the museum. As expected, most of the exhibits were devoted to a large array of Indian artifacts (pipes, stones, headdresses, etc.), but two displays surprised and excited us both.

"No way!" Craig exclaimed. "Gum-gum!"

It's o.k. if you're a little lost by my boyfriend's exclamation, but you might recognize the reference if you've seen Ben Stiller in the movie "Night at the Museum". In the movie, Ben Stiller plays a nighttime security guard who is startled upon realizing that the museum's exhibits come to life every night after the museum closes. The funny part about the movie is that each exhibit has a quirky personality that constantly finds trouble. One of the movie's museum exhibits includes an Easter Island statue that protests in a booming voice until Ben Stiller finds a way to quiet the statue by feeding him bubble gum. Chewing the bum and blowing gigantic bubbles, the statue smiles in self-delight and booms, "Yum-yum. Me want gum-gum."

Though no statues came to life while we were in the British Museum, Craig did manage to find an authentic Easter Island statue in one of the South American exhibits. Pulling a pack of gum out of his pocket, Craig tried offering the statue a piece, but I suppose museum exhibits only come alive after the museum closes...

The second exciting American exhibit hit a little closer to home. Browsing through aisles and aisles of Indian artifacts, Craig abruptly stopped at a small case and astonishingly said, "That's in Ohio!"

Not believing that Ohio would have anything worth showing in the world's most prestigious collection of human civilization, I backtracked to where Craig was standing and glanced in surprise at an entire case devoted to the Hopewell Mounds found in Mound City, Ohio. As a kid, my parents would always try to find time to take our family on vacation. During some years, we would stick around Ohio and visit various museums and Native American burial grounds dotting the state. Not too long ago, our family visited Mound City and hiked around the mounds learning tidbits about Hopewell culture and burial customs. Craig actually grew up near Mound City and was shocked to see his hometown area in a European museum. Reading the museum placard about the burial mounds, I was reminded how important sights of human civilization never seem all that important when they're near home. For travelers, however, they can be quite interesting and leave a lasting impression.

Glancing at my watch, I linked my arm around Craig and said, "Well, dear, we should probably start moving out of here so that we can catch our flight to Paris tonight."

Both ready to leave, we walked out of the British Museum and began the long trek back to the hostel to pick up our luggage. Stopping on our walk to the subway at a Scottish wool shop, Craig spent a few minutes perusing through the cashmere scarves and sweaters before purchasing a few Christmas gifts and hopping back onto the subway. Nervously glancing at my watch every few minutes or so, we managed to quickly grab our bags at the hostel and travel to the nearest station to catch the next train to Luton Airport.

"Isn't it incredible?!" I exclaimed as we waited for our train to arrive. "We woke up this morning in London and will be asleep tonight in Paris!"

"We are all worms..."

2008-07-16T17:04:00.016-04:00

Sleeping like logs during the night, my alarm awoke Craig and I much too early the next morning. Accustomed to the waste-no-minute mentality of traveling, I hopped out of my bed the moment my alarm started beeping. Leaving Craig to snooze for an extra half hour, I enjoyed a hot shower and dressed for the busy day ahead. Snoring like a baby, Craig eventually stirred as I rummaged through my bag looking for a pair of clean socks.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I cooed. "You need to get up so that we don't miss mass at Westminster Cathedral."

Sleepily rolling out of his bed, Craig dragged his feet to the shower and was ready in half the time it took me to wash up. Repacking our bags, we dragged our suitcases back down to the storage closet in the hostel basement before eating a meager breakfast in the ridiculously crowded dining room. "Better get milk for your cereal," Craig warned. "They're almost out, and there's a hungry crowd walking down the hall."

Sprinkling the last drops of milk over my cornflakes, I joined Craig at a long table to talk about our sight-seeing plans for the day.

"First things first," I began, "we'll need to keep track of time today so that we don't miss our 8 o'clock flight to Paris. The departure gates open at 6, and we'll want to be there right on time in case there's a long line. Bill and I have had too many close calls with flight plans for me to take any chances while you're here."

"Righto," Craig agreed.

"We'll need to check out of our hostel room before leaving this morning since we won't be back until later this afternoon to pick up our bags. Since we have an hour or so to kill before mass, I think we should catch the Tube into central London to see the lions in Trafalgar Square -- there are some great photo ops there. From there, we should be close enough to walk to Westminster Cathedral for mass. After mass, we can spend a few hours at the Churchill Museum, which will be a first for both of us. If there's time afterwards, you really need to see the British Museum since it's free and positively amazing. By then, we'll probably need to head back here to grab our luggage before catching a train to Luton Airport. If all goes well, we should be in Paris shortly after nightfall."

"You're such a planner," Craig teased. "Sounds good to me. Ready to go?"

After checking out of the hostel, Craig and I endured the lengthy subway ride into London and hopped off at the nearest stop to Trafalgar Square. On a nice day, Trafalgar Square is always packed with local lunch-goers and tourists, which makes it impossible to get a good photo with the lions on the square's central monument. Knowing this, I had planned for us to see Trafalgar Square early on Sunday morning while most Londoners and others would be sleeping off Saturday night's party scene. As expected, my foresight proved right and we had the square mostly to ourselves before mass.

"Welcome to Trafalgar Square," I said gesturing to the nearby area.

"Now this makes me feel like I'm in London," Craig replied.

Circumventing the central fountain, I walked Craig to London's photogenic lions. "These are the most photographed statues in all of London," I began. "You should hop on up so that I can click a few pictures."

Hamming up the spotlight, Craig carefully climbed all over the lions trying to get some funny photos without falling off the monument. Laughing as I took photo after photo, he eventually jumped down to let a few other early-morning tourists climb around the lion's mane. Though we couldn't spend much time in Trafalgar Square, we had seen enough of the now pigeon-less neighborhood and briskly walked to Westminster Cathedral in hopes of arriving before the opening song.

Contrary to popular belief, Westminster Cathedral is not affiliated with Westminster Abbey. To clear up any confusion, Westminster Abbey belongs to the Church of England and serves as the primary burial ground for British monarchs and other members of the royal family. By contrast, Westminster Cathedral is a Catholic church that was consecrated much more recently in 1910. For Craig and I, it was basically just a fancy place to go to mass on Sunday morning.

There's not much to say about Westminster Cathedral. Mass proceeded as it would anywhere else in the world, and the church itself was not very memorable. Sparsely decorated inside, Westminster Cathedral serves its most important underlying purpose -- worship. Though this might surprise some who view cathedrals as places of overwhelming pomp and circumstance, the bareness of the church did not surprise me. In Britain, Catholic churches were humbly designed so as to not upstage the Anglican churches. After centuries of quarrelsome debate, England hasn't been able to rid itself of Catholicism, but they won't let us gloat either.

Energy lagging a bit after the solemn mass, Craig and I ducked into a cozy coffee shop for much-needed cups of caffeine. Settling into a chair with a cup of Chai, I immediately pulled out my map of London and began circling the day's remaining destinations. Checking my Rick Steve's U.K. travel guide for museum hours, I said, "Looks like we can relax for a little while until the Churchill Museum opens. Are you up for a walk?"

"Sure," Craig replied while finishing his coffee.

Walking back to Trafalgar Square, we looped around London catching glimpses of Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and Parliament. Strolling through St. James's Park, I became a little befuddled with my sense of direction and stopped to ask a London police officer to point us in the direction of the Churchill Museum.

"I believe the Churchill Museum is closed today, but I cannot be sure on the matter," the policeman kindly replied.

Worried that my plans had been unknowingly foiled, we followed the officer's directions and eventually found the entrance to the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. Thankfully, the officer was wrong and the museum was open for its normal Sunday hours. Breathing sighs of relief, Craig and I paid the admission fee and began our self-guided audio tour of the underground Cabinet War Rooms.

During World War II, the Nazis embarked on an all-out siege of Britain's capital city. Enduring bomb after bomb from the sky, Londoners were forced to either flee the city or seek shelter in underground bomb shelters. Unwilling to abandon the city of London, Prime Minister Winston Churchill stood firm as he continued to lead from his offices in England's capital. But how did he survive the attacks from the air? And how did he manage to speak securely with world leaders while Nazi soldiers were well within range of intercepting communication signals? Why were Nazi troops never able to conquer London?

Some of these answers can be found in the underground Cabinet War Rooms. Originally covering three acres, the Cabinet War Rooms were part of an underground bunker built beneath some of London's prominent landmarks. Protected by a steel-enforced roof, the bunker served as a safe haven for the Prime Minister, his family, and over 500 government employees seeking to discover new strategies for ending the war. Listening to our audio guides, Craig and I were able to experience a typical day under Nazi attack while hearing sound bits of Churchill himself. Walking down empty corridors with dimly-lit corners, we saw Churchill's living quarters, workplaces of military strategists, and bedrooms of the Prime Minister's detectives. My favorite part of the war rooms, however, was the quirky sense of humor that Winston Churchill still managed to work into his underground bunker in a dangerous time of war. For example, the Prime Minister had a private phone line connected only to President Franklin D. Roosevelt for important conversations on sensitive war matters. With hundreds of employees floating around very tight quarters, how was Churchill able to talk to Roosevelt privately without being overheard? By installing the phone in a very private place -- his bathroom! This makes me wonder if passing-by employees were ever unnerved by Churchill's rather lengthy trips to the toilet...

Eventually reaching the end of our Cabinet War Room tour, Craig and I were greeted by one of my favorite quotes while entering the remaining Churchill Museum exhibits:

"We are all worms. But I believe that I am a glow-worm."

Not much of a WWII history buff, I had never realized before how incredibly witty Winston Churchill was as Britain's Prime Minister. Not wanting to waste such well-placed humor, the Churchill Museum was covered with various Churchill witticisms that actually united a nation during a very difficult time of war. Here's a taste of some of Churchill's best quotes:

"I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly."

"If you go on with this nuclear arms race, all you are going to do is make the rubble bounce."

"My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me."

"Eating words has never given me indigestion."

Laughing over Winston's quirky remarks, Craig and I eventually bade farewell to the Churchill Museum as the former Prime Minister reminded us, "I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter."

Memories I Have Already Forgotten

2008-07-14T22:17:00.022-04:00

During our nightly phone call last night, Craig mentioned that he had finally found time to sit down and read through my most recent blog posts about his arrival in London. "You're writing style is good," he complimented, "but you've already forgotten a few memories of our first day together in London."

Undoubtedly, I knew that I would forget some details over time, but after my conversation with Craig, I was surprised by how many important stories had already left my conscious thoughts. Not wanting to forget them a second time, I jumped from my couch to grab a pen and scribble a few notes on the back of a recently-sent birthday card. Rather than inserting them into an already existing blog post and risk these stories being missed by anyone who regularly reads this blog, I've decided to write this follow-up post in hopes of fixing all of my chronological mistakes.

To clear up any confusion, here's a re-cap of Craig's first day in London:
1) I took a train from Guildford to London Gatwick Airport to meet Craig as he arrives from Cincinnati.
2) Craig barely makes it through U.K. passport control.
3) While questioning Craig's need for an extremely large suitcase, we ride the subway to our hostel and conveniently drop off our bags.
4) Craig freaks out as I almost lose him in the London subway.
5) We both have a great time at the Tower of London.
6) INSERT FORGOTTEN MEMORIES HERE.
7) We finally arrived back at our hostel for the night only to discover that my mattress is soaking wet.

I must have suffered from a case of temporary amnesia as the hours between the closing of the Tower of London and arriving at our hostel were hazily blotted from my mind. So what happened during Craig's first evening in London that is seemingly important for me to re-tell now? Several things, my dear readers. Let us back up to the Tower of London...

As mentioned previously, Craig and I had such a great time at the Tower of London that we didn't leave Tower Hill until the museum was closing its doors for the night (rather, only late afternoon around 4 or 5 o'clock). After eating a late lunch, neither of us had an appetite for dinner at this point though pub dinners were just beginning for the evening. Wanting to make the most of Craig's visit to London, I suggested that we experience yet another aspect of British culture -- Evensong with the Church of England.

Though Craig and I are both devout Roman Catholics, my religious practices had changed a bit since living in England. Firstly, I had to adjust to the fact that Catholicism is not the primary religion in England. Though I had expected this, I didn't realize how challenging it would be to find a convenient place for mass on Sunday mornings. While it wasn't much of a problem to go to mass in Guildford, it wasn't always possible for me to attend Catholic mass while Bill and I were traveling across England and other parts of Europe. To make up for missing masses, I would simply adopt the local Christian religion for a weekend and attend nearby services on the weekends. Since many of our weekend destinations were in southern England, Bill and I had attended several Evensong services as well as Sunday morning services with the Church of England. To put it all in perspective, I never really saw many differences between the Church of England and Catholicism. If you remember your history lessons, you may already know that the Church of England arose from the Roman Catholic Church and broke off as its own religion when King Henry VII wanted a divorce that the catholic bishops were unwilling to give. Though establishing itself as a distinct and separate religion, the Church of England kept many of the same Catholic traditions including celebration of the Eucharist, scripture readings, sacraments, and a mid-service homily. Needless to say, I am still hard-pressed to find more differences between the religions than similarities.

On one of our many trips to London, Bill and I had visited St. Paul's Cathedral -- cornerstone of the Church of England. Though much newer than Westminster Abbey, Bill and I were both awe-inspired by the beauty of the cathedral. For Evensong, the cathedral is lit only by candlelight, and music sung by the Choir of Men and Boys is absolutely heavenly. Similar to a Catholic mass, Evensong lasts about an hour and includes singing, Scripture readings, a homily given by the pastor, and Eucharist. To further immerse my boyfriend into British culture, Craig and I reluctantly hopped back onto the subway (read my earlier posts to find out why we weren't fans of the subway) and headed westward to St. Paul's Cathedral.

Mainly, I had two motivations for bringing Craig to Evensong at St. Paul's: (1) the choir and church are gorgeous by candlelight, and (2) Evensong and other services are the only times when you can get into the cathedral for free (yes, we are both cheap Americans). Craig's first response to seeing the cathedral, however, was far from the quiet reverence that I was expecting:

"That's the dome they blow up in 'V for Vendetta'!" he exclaimed as we turned a corner and saw the cathedral towering in the near distance.

Laughingly, I replied, "Not exactly my first impression of the place, but at least you can say that you saw something famous today."

Eventually finding the main entrance, we quietly entered the church as Evensong was just beginning. Keeping our voices to a whisper, I pointed out various aspects of the church as we walked across the back of the chapel. Edging towards the middle of the church, we stretched our necks to catch a glimpse of the mosaic-clad dome before earning annoyed glances from the church attendants. Feeling slightly disconcerted, Craig nudged me back towards the entrance and whispered, "I think we should head out now."

Walking back outside, I asked him, "So what did you think of St. Paul's?"

"The choir was incredible and the church was pretty, but I didn't want to crash their evening service."

"We could have stayed for Evensong," I replied.

"No," Craig answered. "I think I saw enough to get the gist of the place. Besides, that relaxing music would probably have put me to sleep."

"Hungry yet?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Not really."

"Excellent!" I replied. "Then we still have time to hit Harrod's before it closes for the night."

Despite visiting London several times before, I had yet to see inside the infamous Harrod's department store. On par with Macy's or Nordstrom's in New York, Harrod's is not only the largest store in London, but it also gains a fair amount of fame from its owner. The owner, Mohamed Al Fayed, was the father of the late Dodi Al Fayed -- Princess Diana's lover who died with her in a Paris car accident. Wanting to commemorate the death of his son and Princess Diana, Mr. Al Fayed erected a bronze statue of the couple and placed it in a side entrance of his department store. Besides the vast amount of shopping opportunity, this statue alone attracts many tourists to enter the store as they peruse through the streets of London.

Walking towards the store, I noticed a large crowd gathered outside Harrod's main entrance. Grabbing Craig's hand so not to lose each other, we gingerly stepped through the mob of passionate protesters trying to convince shoppers not to enter the store due to its refusal to boycott fur coats and accessories. Annoyed, I led Craig into the store and was instantly greeted by an attendant holding a pile of store maps. Taking a map, Craig and I coughed through the overwhelming perfume aisles and entered room after room sporting a variety of specialty items. Not wanting to add any extra weight to our already heavy luggage, we contented ourselves with only window shopping rather than spending money on somewhat pricey souvenirs.

"Do you know where we could find a loo?" Craig asked me, sporting his best British accent.

"Darling," I answered in my even worse British impression, "let us consult our Harrod's map."

Following our map to the nearest restroom, Craig gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered, "Be back in a sec," as he ducked into the Men's Restroom. Thinking that this would be a great time for me to check out Harrod's bathrooms as well, I stepped in line at the Women's Restroom and patiently waited for a stall to become available. As we are all familiar with the differences between men's and women's public bathrooms, probably the biggest difference is the ever-growing line that winds throughout the women's restroom -- and for some reason, never occurs for the men. Eventually earning my turn to use a stall, I enjoyed the clean bathroom, washed my hands, and touched up my ponytail before leaving the restroom to look for Craig.

I immediately spotted Craig pacing outside the men's restroom with a distraught expression spread across his face. Nonchalantly walking over to him, I tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Nice restrooms. Ready to go now?"

Spinning around, Craig caught arm with a look of half-relief and half-scolding, "I couldn't find you again!"

If you can recall one of my more recent blog posts, you'd remember that Craig had developed a rather overwhelming fear of being stranded by himself in London on his first day in Europe. After nearly losing him on the London subway, I could understand how he could have legitimate concerns... but now??

"I just went to the restroom!" I exclaimed with an incredulous look on my face. "Didn't you see the line waiting outside the women's bathroom?"

"I thought you had wandered off again," Craig began, "and I'd have no way of finding you in this store."

"Craig," I started with an annoyed yet firm tone, "I am not going to lose you. You need to relax and just trust that I know what I am doing around here. Whether you believe it or not, I am always looking out for you around the city and know where you are standing at all times. All you need to do is relax and start enjoying yourself."

And that's when Craig finally started to relax...

Having seen enough of Harrod's, we left the store in search of a bite to eat. Walking on the sidewalk hand-in-hand, Craig abruptly stopped, almost causing me to trip over the sudden change in pace. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Cars..." he salivated. "Porsche, Aston Martin, and Lamborghini!"

Rolling my eyes, I humored Craig for a few minutes while he walked up and down the street ogling high-priced cars that we'd never see dotting the streets of Cincinnati. Since I'm pretty content with the latest Ford models, I had to ask Craig this morning for the "complete list" of cars that we saw sitting outside Harrod's Department Store: Lamborghini Gallardo, Aston Martin DB9, Maserati GranTurismo, Mercedes-Benz SLK McLaren, Ferrari F430, Bentley Continental GT, Jaguar XK, and Porsche 911.

I must admit that I'm impressed that Craig can remember the models of these cars nearly 8 months after our week in Europe together. I guess some things just leave a lasting impression on guys. ;)

Eventually, rumbling stomachs interrupted Craig's appreciation for London cars, and we continued down the street eyeing nearby restaurants. Too tired and late to grab a plate of inexpensive pub grub, we quickly settled on an Italian sports bar and hungrily devoured two plates of pasta while watching recaps of the latest British soccer match.

Wiping our mouths and paying the bill, we set out on the long subway ride to the Globetrotter Hostel. And, well, you know the rest...

Now I can officially conclude the story of "Craig's First Day in London". See what you would've missed if I had simply left this post out?

Lucky for you, our trip gets even better! Stay tuned for Westminster Cathedral, the Churchill Museum, another trip to the British Museum, and the Paris catastrophe that made our week unexpectedly fantastic!

Craig's First Day in London (Part 3)

2008-07-10T09:13:00.007-04:00

A master of all things witty, Craig finally began to relax and enjoy himself at the Tower of London. Buying our tickets at a nearby kiosk, we ran to the entrance in hopes of catching the day’s last Beefeater tour. For those of you who have read my earlier blog posts, you can already imagine what was in store for us at the Tower of London. For those of you just starting to glance through my blog, here’s a brief synopsis:

The Tower of London, in short, is more like a fort than an actual tower. Strategically placed in the center of London, its original purpose was to serve as a military outpost for England’s capital city. The fort, however, is best known for holding Britain’s most famous prisoners during the Medieval era (e.g. the wives of King Henry VIII and several others). Many legends have grown around these prisoners – torture, beheadings, and ingenious escapes. Traditionally, the Beefeaters are the guards of the Tower of London. Since ceremonial guards are not really needed in present times to watch over a popular tourist attraction, the Beefeaters are primarily comprised of retired military men with a witty sense of humor. Each day, the Beefeaters lead entertaining and joke-filled tours of the towers. Weaving history with legend, our Beefeater tour guide left Craig and I reeling with laughter.

"Now I feel like I'm in London," Craig whispered to me as the Beefeater spared no mercy on American politics with a distinctly British accent.

Applauding the Beefeater as he finished his tour with the tales of King Henry VIII, Craig and I hurried away from the crowd toward the Jewel House, home to the crown jewels of England. "Oooo-ing" and "ahh-ing" at the over-sized jewels, Craig dashed my hopes of receiving royal sapphires by saying, "Yeah, definitely nothing here that I can afford!"

Moving from the Jewel House, I glanced at my watch and noticed that we had an hour left before closing -- just enough time to browse through the Medieval armament. Walking through room after room of spears and swords, I began to notice that a lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with Craig.

"Want to grab a bite to eat and head back to the hostel for an early night?" I suggested.

"I thought you'd never ask," he replied with a look of relief washing across his face.

After ordering dinner at a restaurant that has since left my memory, Craig and I hopped back onto the subway for the long trip back to our hostel.

If everything had gone as planned up to this point, then my story of Craig's first day in London would finally be over. However, the Globetrotter Hostel made our day just a little more adventurous than we were expecting.

When I booked our rooms at the Globetrotter Hostel a few weeks earlier, I was looking for two things: (1) decent reviews, and (2) cheap cost. Unfortunately, that evening's events quickly made me realize why this hostel was so affordable.

Though we had dropped our bags off at the hostel earlier that day, we had to store them in a locked basement closet until we could official check into our room that evening. This wasn't a problem since neither of us kept any valuable belongings in our bags. At the time, the hostel looked clean, quiet, and otherwise pretty normal. When we returned in the evening, we saw a completely different view...

It was well after dark by the time we walked back to the hostel from the nearest subway station. Unshowered and exhausted, neither of us had much patience to deal with the loud, raucous party that was just beginning in the hostel lobby. Sidestepping girls in Britney Spears naughty schoolgirl outfits, we cut through the crowd to the front desk and asked to check into our room. Clearly uninterested in our check-in request, the girl at the front desk twiddled her thumbs before eventually looking up our reservation in the computer.

"I'm sorry," she apathetically drawled, "but you only booked a bed for one person, and we're already filled to capacity tonight."

"No," I replied in a strained voice, "I booked two beds for two people several weeks ago, and two beds were definitely charged to my credit card."

"Let me find my manager."

Trying to keep my frustration under wraps, I turned to my almost-falling-over boyfriend and explained the situation. Twenty minutes later, the manager finally showed up at the front desk, searched for our reservation on the computer, and replied, "Oh yes, I do guess that you reserved beds for two people. Here are your room keys."

After claiming our luggage from the basement closet, Craig and I sleepily dragged our feet up the stairs to our third-story room. Dropping our bags on the floor of our hostel room, we were both relieved to see pillows and blankets folded neatly on the beds. "You go first," I told Craig while nodding towards the bathroom. "I'll wash up after you're done."

While Craig was changing into pajamas and brushing his teeth, I collapsed on my bed with a sigh and pulled back the sheets to tuck my feet under the covers. "Eeeewwww!" I screamed pulling my feet from the blankets and tumbling to the floor.

"What happened?" asked Craig as he shot from the bathroom with toothbrush in hand.

"The sheets are WET!"

Ripping back the blankets, Craig ran his hand across the mattress only to find that the previous traveler had left us a little "present" by pouring water all over the bed. (And yes, we made sure to sniff the mattress to confirm that it was water and not some other random fluid.)

After a long day with little sleep, I was in no mood for childish games. Storming down three flights of stairs to the front desk, I caught the nearest hostel employee and let my rude American demeanor loose. "My... mattress... is... wet. I... need... a... new... room."

"Wet?!" spoke the girl at the front desk. "Wow, that's disgusting. Let me call my manager, and we'll find you another room."

In the States, an incident like this would at least result in a free night or discounted rate, but in Europe, a replacement room is about the best that you can expect -- especially at a cheap hostel. Thanking the girl, I walked back up to our room and started repacking my bag for the move to a new bed.

Despite being "completely booked", the manager somehow managed to find new beds for Craig and I. Walking into our new room around midnight, Craig and I needed little prodding to fall onto our pillows and quickly fall asleep.

Craig's First Day in London (Part 2)

2008-07-09T09:10:00.011-04:00

Like most days in England, Craig’s first view of London was the epitome of British weather – cloudy. This didn’t bother us much since we were still able to see Big Ben and the Parliament buildings from the Thames. Timing our arrival perfectly, Big Ben was just beginning to chime at noon while I snapped Craig’s first official "London photo”.

Strolling across Westminster Bridge, we both felt our stomachs rumbling for a quick lunch. “Ready for some authentic British pub grub?” I asked Craig.

“Sure,” he replied, “but I’ve heard that British food isn’t much to brag about.”

“I’ve actually grown quite fond of it.”

Glancing across various restaurant signs and window menus, I eventually pulled Craig into a crowded pub that was incredibly busy for a Saturday afternoon. “Wait here,” I yelled over the noise, “and I’ll grab a few menus from the bar.”

After asking the barmaid for two menus, Craig and I claimed a tiny table near the front before ordering our food. “So what would you suggest?” Craig asked as he flipped through the menu.

“I’m a big fan of bangers and mash. Sausages, mashed potatoes, and gravy – nothing too adventurous.”

“Sounds great to me,” he said as closing his menu. “Do you want me to put in for two orders at the bar?”

Nodding, I handed over my menu and shifted my long legs around the extremely short bar stool. Walking back with two waters in hand, Craig handed me a glass before crouching down on his own bar stool. “This is great!” he smiled. “Cozy, comfortable, and a selection of beers that I’ve never seen before.”

“Do you want to try one?”

“I was tempted,” he answered, “but I would surely be drunk with only three hours of sleep last night.”

Understanding, I looked up to see the bartender carrying two heaping plates of bangers and mash towards our table. “Hope you’re hungry!” I grinned.

After an early morning of lugging baggage around London, we were both ravished and quickly devoured generous piles of mashed potatoes. Since we had already paid our bill at the bar, we relaxed for a few extra minutes at our table before giving up our seats to other thirsty customers.

“Okay, where do we start?” Craig asked, refreshed from a hearty and comfortable mid-day meal.

“I think we should start with the Tower of London.”

Somewhat of a history buff, the Tower of London was high on Craig’s “priority list” of things he wanted to see while in England. (A professional British soccer game was also at the top of the list, but who can get tickets nowadays??) Heading back to the nearest subway station, Craig groaned as we waited for the next Tube train to arrive.

Having grown accustomed to the fanatic push to get on the subway car before the doors slam shut, I had forgotten to tell Craig that the occasional elbow or slight shove might be necessary to squeeze yourself onto the train. As we moved to press ourselves into the crowded subway car, I slid in against the car wall and glanced back to see Craig standing in the doorway just as the automatic doors were quickly closing in on him.

“Julia!” he exclaimed while reaching for my arm. Grabbing his hand and pulling him in against the crowd, a frantic look passed across his face as the doors snapped shut behind him.

“I could have lost you!” Craig scolded as the shock of being separated quickly dampened our moods. “And then what would we have done?! I would have no way of finding you, calling you, contacting –”

“Craig,” I interrupted, “if we get separated on the subway, just stay where you are, and I will ride the subway back to get you. And if we lose each other, you can always call my cell from a pay phone, and we’ll find each other. Just relax – I won’t lose you.”

For the first time, the roles in our relationship had suddenly flipped, and the realization was a little bit shocking for both of us. During our first year of dating, I had come to rely on Craig not only for his solid advice and calm demeanor, but I also depended on the sense of safety and protection that I always felt when around him. While touring Europe, however, I was forced to learn how to fend for myself and think quickly when travel plans went awry. In a sense, I had become very comfortable with unfamiliar places and had forgotten what it felt like to be in a foreign city for the first time.

Craig, on the other hand, was just beginning to deal with his first case of “traveler’s stress”. Characterized by an intense fear of becoming lost or screwing up travel plans, traveler’s stress hits almost every international visitor at some point. For Craig, the fear of losing me and not knowing where to go or what to do in a strange foreign city was enough to put him in a state of momentary panic. After realizing his fears, I suddenly realized that Craig completely and solely depended on me to keep him safe – a level of responsibility that I had never experienced before.

Taking his hand as we arrived at Tower Hill station, Craig and I were happy to leave the subway and finally see a few famous London sights.

Craig's First Day in London (Part 1)

2008-07-08T09:02:00.003-04:00

While listening to Craig recount his argument with the U.K. customs official, I scanned my eyes across the baggage claim trying to spot his suitcase before it passed us by. “Which bag did you pack?” I asked after he had finished his story.

“A black one with wheels,” he smirked.

“Thanks for describing half of the bags in this airport,” I sarcastically drawled.

“No problem,” Craig laughed as he reached towards a pile of slowly passing suitcases. “Here it is – black with wheels.”

“Oh goodness… I thought you were going to pack a small suitcase.”

“I only have two suitcases, dear, and the other one was too small for clothes plus souvenirs.”

With a rather incredulous look on my face, I hoisted my single duffel bag onto my shoulder and replied, “Well, I guess it’ll be alright as long as you carry your own luggage. Just make sure to watch the escalators and subway doors.”

After weeks of traveling across southern England and other parts of Europe, Bill and I evolved into very efficient luggage packers – a skill, which at that moment, I wish that I had more emphatically conveyed to my boyfriend. A weekend in Germany, for example, would require a single backpack with a few changes of underwear, socks, two T-shirts, pajama pants, flip-flops, one pair of jeans, and travel-size cosmetics. Everything else could either be left at home or comfortably worn through airport metal detectors. Since I would be traveling for fifteen days this time, I swapped my backpack for a slightly larger duffel bag and packed enough clean underwear/socks to last through the trip, two pairs of jeans, a pair of shorts, an extra sweatshirt, seven T-shirts, pajama pants, flip-flops, travel-size cosmetics, and of course, my Enzymology notes.

With a few extra clothing items, my duffel bag was nearly bursting at the seams, but this didn’t bother me since I had already formulated a plan to get rid of my dirty laundry – leave it at the hostel. Though it may sound a little odd, I felt no loyalty towards any of my old clothing items that had become stained and torn throughout my travels across Europe. Therefore, I had no problem leaving an item or two behind as we left a particular city. I sincerely apologize to any hostel staff that needed to throw out my left-behind socks, underwear, and T-shirts, but how else was I to pack for fifteen days with only a carry-on duffel bag? From a traveler’s point-of-view, this plan was brilliant and worked out remarkably well – even if it does sound a little odd.

Craig, on the other hand, wasn’t too keen about re-wearing clothes for multiple days or leaving underwear behind at a random European hostel – hence, the gigantic black suitcase with wheels. Sitting on the ground at three feet tall, I eyed the luggage and reluctantly imagined pulling Craig’s luggage through busy London subway stations. With few other options, however, we could only grab our belongings and catch the next train into the city.

Knowing we would both be running on only a few hours of sleep, I had planned a relatively light first day in London. First on the agenda: Get rid of Craig’s suitcase. Though our hostel was located far on the outskirts of London, I knew that we wouldn’t be able to truly enjoy the city while toting around cumbersome luggage. So upon hopping off the train in the heart of London, we walked to the nearest subway station to catch the “Tube” to our hostel. Unfortunately, Craig’s initial excitement about being in England began to subside as we sat for 45 minutes on a subway car before reaching our first destination. Some things just can’t be helped, however, and we hopped back onto the subway for another 45-minute trip back into the city after leaving our bags at the hostel. “I’ve been here 3 hours already, and I’ve only seen the London subway system!” Craig frustrately mentioned.

Wanting to make up for the fact that I had booked hostel rooms outside the heart of London, I pulled Craig off the subway at Victoria station and led him to the ground level of the city. There, for the first time since he arrived three hours earlier, Craig gazed across the Thames for his first view of England’s capital city.

Don't Mess with U.K. Passport Control

2008-07-07T09:22:00.008-04:00

Flying eight hours overnight from Cincinnati to London Gatwick, Craig was still rubbing sleep from his eyes as we waited by the baggage claim for his suitcase. “What took you so long to pass through U.K. customs?” I asked as we watched bags roll past on a conveyor belt.

Grinning sheepishly, Craig replied, “They almost didn’t let me into the country.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. “I’ve never had any problems getting through Passport Control in this airport!”

“True, but I didn’t think to bring our travel plans with me.”

For anyone who has traveled outside the U.S., you may be beginning to see why the British customs officers were giving Craig a scrutinous examination as he tried to enter the country. For those who are feeling a little bit “out of the loop”, let me explain a few quirks about British customs officers.

With the recent rise in terrorist activity, the United Kingdom has tightened its borders and has adopted a more rigorous screening policy for travelers to enter London from a foreign country. As a popular tourist destination, millions of international travelers pass through British passport checkpoints each year, thus making England vulnerable to terrorist activity. In an effort to better control who enters and leaves the country, long-term visitors (e.g. international students) are required to obtain U.K. visas, and short-term tourists must answer a string of questions concerning their destination, purpose of travel, and expected departure.

Since I had obtained a student visa before leaving the U.S., the U.K. customs officials would usually just flip through my passport, ask where I was studying, and stamp my visa while
waving me through the turnstile. For Craig, however, the process was not so simple:

Customs Official: “What are you doing in the U.K.?”

Craig: “Visiting my girlfriend who is studying here.”

Customs Official: “Where is she studying?”

Craig: “At the University of Surrey.”

Customs Official: “Where are you meeting her?”

Craig: “At the airport.”

Customs Official: “Where are you staying while in London?”

Craig: “At a hostel.”

Customs Official: “Which hostel?”

Craig: “Uh….”

Being the natural event planner in our relationship, I had spent weeks making hostel reservations, buying plane tickets, and planning travel schedules before Craig stepped on a plane in Cincinnati. Taking for granted that I would have our confirmation emails and schedule printed out upon his arrival, it never once occurred to him that he should pack a copy of his travel plans in case I wasn’t at the airport to greet him when he arrived in London.

Though this scenario was never a concern for the two of us, the U.K. customs official lectured Craig for another 15 minutes on a very valid point. When meeting someone in a foreign country, always bring a copy of your travel plans (hotel reservations, important phone numbers, etc.). If, for some unforeseen reason, I was unable to meet Craig at the airport, he would have no idea where to go or how to contact me upon arriving in London. Arriving in a foreign country for the first time can be overwhelming enough when you know where you are going… and I’m sure that it would be even more ridiculously stressful if you became completely lost after hopping off the plane.

Living an Ocean Apart

2008-07-03T10:09:00.002-04:00

When my boyfriend Craig and I started dating ten months before taking off on my European travels, I made it a point to mention that I would be studying for a semester abroad in England. Beginning my travel plans nearly an entire year before meeting Craig, I was determine to let no one talk me out of studying abroad. Thankfully, this was never a concern with Craig.

Since my return to the States, I’ve had several people ask me how studying abroad can affect a romantic relationship. Before answering their questions, I ask them one of my own, “How strong is your relationship now?”

I’ve known many couples that haven’t survived intercontinental long-distance relationships for a variety of reasons. One of the most common scenarios involves the simple case of not understanding the experiences of the other person. For example, let’s say that a couple who has been dating for a long period of time spends a lot time together while both are living in the U.S. Normally, this would be a relatively good scenario. However, how will this couple react when they are suddenly faced with spending no time together when one of them moves abroad for several months? In a healthy relationship, the person traveling abroad would embrace foreign culture and feel free to enjoy new experiences without the guilt of leaving their significant other behind. In turn, the person at home would enjoy listening to their boyfriend/girlfriend relate their travel stories and be happy to cultivate relationships with friends and family on which they would otherwise have little time to spend.

What happens many times, however, is that the person abroad may feel guilty about having so many fun and exciting experiences without their significant other, thus leading them to question their overall happiness in the relationship. On the other hand, the person at home may become jealous or not be able to relate to their significant other’s personal growth while studying abroad. Regardless of the underlying reason, living on separate continents can create enough individual change to allow two close people to quickly drift apart.

So how did Craig and I fare with an ocean between us? Incredibly well, I must admit. Though it may have been a little tough at times, we had many things going for us:

1) Great Communication: From the start of our relationship, Craig and I have always been very open about our feelings and day-to-day experiences. With modern technology, this aspect of our relationship never really changed despite being geographically separated. Skype and GoogleTalk are amazing tools that allowed us to talk through our computers without paying a cent for expensive international phone calls. During the week while I was taking classes in England, we always found time to talk every night.

2) Valuing Experiences Both at Home and Abroad: While international travel is incredibly exciting, it is important to value your significant other’s experiences at home as well. During our nightly chats, I would always ask Craig to tell me about his day, our friends, and the latest run-down of college football scores. In return, he would listen to me recount my latest trip, brush with quirky British humor, and new-found favorite food. By valuing life both at home and in Europe, we were able to better understand each other during our time apart.

3) Never Put the Other in a Threatening Position: This rule applies as much abroad as it does at home. If you wouldn’t cheat while back at home in the States, then don’t give yourself this liberty while you are in another country. While I had a great time going out with friends to the pubs and various parties, I never felt the urge to test Craig’s limits by leading on other men. Though there were times when guys made an advance or two, I usually just laughed it off and spun it into a funny story to later relate to Craig. Needless to say, we had a few great laughs over British strangers having a few too many drinks at the bar.

4) Consider a Short-Term Visit: Though this might not be financially possible for many people, Craig did get the chance to hop across the Big Lake and visit me in Europe for eight days. Timing his visit with a two-week break before final exams, we were able to spend some quality time together and do a little country-hopping of our own. Since I had already traveled pretty extensively before his arrival, I was able to pull off our travel plans without many glitches. Having not been to Europe in over five years, Craig was able to provide a fresh perspective on our travels by adding an adventurous desire to try all things new and local to the area. Our travels together gave me the chance to share with him what I had enjoyed throughout the semester as well as giving us a fun-filled experience that we continue to look back on today.

Though I can’t pretend to be an expert on intercontinental relationships, I hope this provides a little insight into what worked for Craig and I during my semester abroad. In retrospect, I truly think that my four months in Europe strengthened our relationship by allowing us to build an even stronger foundation of trust and communication. Regardless, an extended trip abroad will probably help you in the end – either by ending a relationship that was never very strong or by strengthening a great relationship that makes two people incredibly happy.

Now that I’ve given my tiny piece of informational insight, let me move on to our fun adventures in London, Paris, and Belgium…

The Best Sight in All of Europe

2008-03-31T08:52:00.009-04:00

One thing I absolutely hate is leaving a story only half-finished. So now I must apologize for becoming so wrapped up in my life back at home that I’ve nearly forgotten to recount my biggest and last month of European travel. I actually started this blog post back in March, but never quite found the time to finish it. So here begins another retrospective blog post that I started writing near the beginning of the year and am finally finishing today.

From the end of March 2008…

After fifteen amazing weeks in Europe, my greatest fear is that I'll get lost in my busy schedule back here in the States and forget to finish this blog. To give you an idea of where I am now, I have been back in the U.S. for four months and am gradually readjusting to American life. Before I delve too deeply into the quirks of moving home after a semester abroad, I'd like to finish my travel stories and eventually end with the bittersweet finale of my final flight back to Cincinnati. So bear with me as I organize my memories and recount my last month in Europe (which contained the bulk of my travels, ironically).

And so begins the story of the best sight in all of Europe...

After finishing our last day of classes on Friday, November 16th, Bill and I began frantically packing for separate trips in which we would part ways for the first time since arriving in Britain a few months earlier. Bill was leaving that night to catch a bus to Paris with a large group of Surrey students eager to enjoy a few days in Disneyland. An avid fan of animation, Bill was excited to see the European version of America's "happiest place on earth". Though I must admit that the Disneyland trip seemed like a lot of fun, the timing worked out perfectly for me to shoot off on my own two-week excursion around other areas of Europe. Treating Bill to a cup of tea before he left Guildford, I finished my packing and checked into bed early to find a few hours of sleep before waking up to an even earlier morning.

Waking well before dawn on Saturday morning, I was filled with a rush of excitement as I caught the 6 a.m. train from Guildford to London. With final exams only two weeks away, I settled into a window seat and began looking through a few Enzymology notes as the train began its early morning trek through Surrey.

Before I continue on about my solo trip to London, I'd like to take a brief moment to comment on the British train system and how I managed to hitch a free ride that would've normally cost me around $30. There are three main ways that you can purchase a train ticket in England. During normal business hours at major rail stations (like the one in Guildford), you would normally buy your ticket at a ticket booth, scan the ticket to reach the platforms, and be required to show your ticket to the train attendant sometime during your trip. At times when the ticket booths are closed, some stations have automated ticket machines that will print tickets as long as you provide a credit or debit card. If you're running late (as I was that Saturday morning) and the ticket booths have not opened yet for the day, you can hop on a train and pay the attendant as they pass through the passenger cars. Lucky for me, passenger trains are sometimes short-staffed on early weekend mornings and late at night. Running to catch the 6 o’clock train to London, I managed to hop on the train just as the doors were closing when I realized that I had forgotten to buy a ticket at the automated ticket machine. Planning to pay an attendant for my train fare, I scanned the aisles for ticket collector fully expecting to buy a ticket as he passed through my car. Waiting and waiting, I was surprised to reach London with not once seeing an attendant aboard the train. Shouldering my bags at the final train stop, I eventually gave up looking for an attendant and thought to myself, “Well, I guess that’s one way to hitchhike to London!”

“Why London?” you might be asking. Despite several trips to England’s capital city, there remained one sight that I had yet to see. Though not a landmark or famous theatrical show, I had planned to arrive in London a few hours early so as not to miss my “favorite sight” debut. Leaving the London train station, I found a comfortable tea shop and settled into a comfortable chair with a cup of hot chocolate, a croissant, and my well-worn Enzymology notes. While trying to cram the chymotrypsin cascade into my already over-flowing brain, I had to fight myself from glancing at my watch every ten minutes or so. By 8 o’clock the line at the tea counter began to grow as Brits and foreigners alike sauntered around the tables with morning beverage and Saturday newspaper in hand. Slowly sipping my hot chocolate, I forced myself to study until eventually giving up on my notes around a quarter ‘til nine. Packing up my study supplies, I decided to meander to my destination and wait patiently near the gate with several other early morning travelers. Many were gathered near the schedule board, but I merely shifted my bag from shoulder to shoulder while glancing impatiently at my watch every few seconds or so.

“Oh how I wish time would pass more quickly!” I thought to myself. Almost at that moment, I glanced up at the schedule board and saw the good news that I had been waiting to see.

“LANDED: 9:35 a.m.” flashed across the left side of the screen. From that point, my anticipation and impatience grew as I stood near the arrival gate. “Where could he be?” I asked myself. “I really hope that U.K. customs aren’t holding him up.”

After what seemed like an eternity, my favorite site in Europe walked through the airport gate. With big blue eyes, sandy hair, and a happy dimpled grin on his face, I was nearly jumping up and down to catch his attention.

“CRAIG!” I yelled while waving to catch his eye.

“Why, hello there,” he beamed while pulling me in for a big hug and quick kiss. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

For me, the best sight abroad was a special face from home.

Back into Blogging

2008-01-09T14:12:00.001-05:00

Deepest apologies for my month-long blogging sabbatical... December proved to be a bit busier than I had expected. Ironically, my most amazing European stories are those that I've haven't even written yet. Needless to say, I have a ton of catching up to do!

Before anyone gets too confused with where I have been for the past month and where I am now, let me bring you up to speed with my latest travel happenings.

Oh dear, where should I start...

I last left off with stories from my whirlwind weekend in Munich, Germany... which now brings me to a short day trip in Windsor, England.

Merely three days after returning from Germany, Bill and I met up with several other exchange students and our international adviser, Christina Ehlers, for a field trip to Windsor Castle located approximately one hour from the University of Surrey. As the largest inhabited castle in Europe, Windsor Castle is a treat for people of all types (e.g. history buffs, art fanatics, people who just love big buildings, etc.), which made it a perfect destination for our internationally diverse student group.

Starting with a quick walk around the outside of the castle before dusk, we snapped pictures of the sturdy stone walls before beginning our tour of the interior. Having toured nearly every major palace in Europe, I quickly saw the similarities between Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace. With ornate gold leaf walls and elegant furniture, Windsor Castle is distinctly British. Originally built in 1070, Windsor has undergone several renovations since its earliest wooden beams were commissioned by William the Conqueror. Though many of the stone foundations presently remain, the castle has been understandably outfitted with all of the modern necessities. (Honestly, does anyone expect the queen to live in the Middle Ages??)

Our tour of Windsor Castle began with an exhibit of Queen Mary's doll house. Queen Mary's cousin, Princess Marie Louise, commissioned a doll house to be built as a present to her aunt. Working with one of the area's top architects, Sir Edwin Lutyens, Princess Marie requested that the house be built and furnished with only miniature functional items. As you can probably imagine, this project quickly became one of the most extravagant of its time. Famous artists and various craftsmen contributed miniature paintings, furniture, and gadgets for the doll house. Even readable books where typed and bound at one-twelfth their normal size in order to fit on the bookshelves of the house. The doll house was also equipped with modern plumbing and electricity. While marveling at the creativity and ingenuity of the miniature palace, one outrageous thought popped into my head, "I wonder if they can shrink me down to a twelfth of my normal size to check out the wine collection in the cellar..."

Moving from the doll house exhibit, I stepped into a small royal art gallery to view a few pieces of Her Majesty's collection. Though not as large as most art museums, I was incredibly impressed with the plethora of notebook sketches scribbled by Leonardo DaVinci. Besides being an avid fan of the master painter, Da Vinci was much more than a mere artist. In his notebook sketches, his mind seemed to flit from thought to thought much like a child with ADD. In one corner, he may have sketched out facial expressions for the Virgin Mary in his painting "Virgin of the Rocks". While another corner will have schematics for his latest Rube Goldberg invention, and the margins have notes on human anatomy. It's virtually impossible to decipher what Da Vinci was thinking on a particular day because no notebook page seems to follow a specific theme. Looking back, I guess this is probably the best example of "creative thinking".

As much as I despise restoration and redecoration of historic homes and buildings (it destroys the historical integrity of the building), I must admit that there are exceptions and some events at Windsor Castle provide an understandable excuse to re-do a few of the queen's chambers. In 1992, a fire ravaged through the queen's private rooms and quickly spread throughout the castle. After fifteen hours of dousing the castle walls with water, the dying flames revealed nine completely destroyed rooms and over 100 other rooms damaged by the fire. Of course, like any other monarchy, the royal family was determined to refurbish their home to its original grandeur. General public dislike for the British monarchy, however, required them to be a bit creative with funding for the reconstruction project. Though it might sound odd to us Americans, the British have no great love for kings and queens -- particularly the Windsors. The biggest complaint is that they aren't even British. (Yes, it's true. The royal family has a primarily German heritage.) The second biggest complaint is that they are expensive for taxpayers to support. (Would you be willing to give money to an already wealthy family so that they can wine and dine with world leaders?) Facing a large amount of opposition, the royal family needed a way to fund the rebuilding of Windsor castle without using tax dollars. So what would any other European do to raise a bit of fast cash? Open a tourist attraction! Yes indeed, Queen Elizabeth opened the state rooms of Buckingham Palace to tourists and used the admission fees to rebuild her weekend home in Windsor. Though the royal family is taking blatant advantage of unsuspecting tourists, the reconstruction of Windsor Castle took only 5 years to complete and the damaged rooms look as good as new.

Upon leaving our audio-guided tour of the castle, we stepped outside just in time to catch the slightly ceremonial "changing of the guard" on the castle grounds. Though I truly doubt that anyone would be dumb enough to raid the queen's favorite weekend hideaway, I'm sure it's probably good to ensure security nonetheless. With this in mind, have you ever heard the phrase, "Some men are just compensating for something"? This was our exact reaction while watching the guards march from one end of the courtyard to the other. The changing of the guard happens something like this:

Three guards march in perfect synchronization from the guardhouse to their posts along the castle gate. One guard shouts commands while the other two follow silently to the castle gate.

The irony of this situation was that the two silent guards were of average height while the "commanding" guard was the loudest, most annoying shrimp that I've ever seen in my life. Reaching only 5 foot 5 inches in height, he shouted louder and louder as we rolled to the ground laughing at his tiny size. To make matters worse, we pushed Bill (who is well over 6 feet tall) to the forefront of the group so that we could snap a picture of the tiny commander next to a much larger giant. ;)

Noticing our great amusement over the ceremonial guards, an older guardsman approached our group and laughingly asked, "Are there by any chance a few Americans in this group?" Not quite knowing where he was heading with his question, we reluctantly admitted to hailing from the U.S. of A. "Are any of you from Boston?" he asked. Thankfully, we could honestly shake our heads and breath of sigh of relief. "It always amazes me," he continued, "how schools in your country can teach American history when the U.S. is slightly over 200 years old. To us, that is practically current news! So as you can imagine, we've hardly forgotten a little "tea party" in Boston that occurred just a few centuries ago. Now that you've lived in the United Kingdom, I would like to ask you one question. Why would you waste such great tea?" (After becoming a complete tea addict while in England, I must admit that he has a good point...)

After a few hours at the castle, the rest of our evening in Windsor was a nice relaxing chance to browse through the picturesque town and spend some time with our international friends. Though Christina (our adviser) is technically a German citizen, she has lived in England long enough to point us to the best tea and chocolate shops in the southern U.K. Stepping into a shop entitled "Whittards of Chelsea", I was surrounded by some of the best gourmet teas and hot chocolate mixes that I had yet to find in England. Splurging a bit on English breakfast tea and coconut hot chocolate mix, I made myself a promise to visit the company's store in Guildford to stock up on teabags before flying back to the States.

As night began to fall and people became anxious to get back to campus to start studying for exams, we loaded back into the bus and headed back to Guildford. Though Windsor was a only a short trip, it was a great chance to see one last British town before taking off on a three-week tour of Paris, Belgium, and Rome. I had a great time and am incredibly thankful to Christina Ehlers for putting together this incredibly fun field trip!

Finally Back in Guildford!

2007-12-01T12:45:00.001-05:00

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!

2007-11-23T11:35:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-11-19T12:52:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-16T18:32:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-11-16T08:46:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-11-16T07:30:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-11-16T04:09:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-12T12:08:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-11-07T06:38:00.001-05:00

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)

2007-11-06T04:40:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-11-05T12:58:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-29T14:18:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-24T03:03:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-19T10:25:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-16T17:18:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-15T05:24:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-09T03:43:00.000-04:00

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!

London Trip #2: Street Markets, Museums, and St. Paul's Cathedral

2007-10-01T11:18:00.000-04:00

Beginning to feel like true Brits, Bill and I decided to tackle the remaining chunk of England's favorite city in a single Saturday. On our first trip to London, our travel smarts can only be termed "green" at best. Looking back, I can count at least a dozen times where we made typical tourist mistakes that cost valuable time and money. With a little more travel experience under our belts, we were now more than ready to pick up the main sites that we missed on our first visit to Britain's capital city.

The first of these was Portobello Road. Every major European city can boast its own share of street markets where money-conscious travelers can either find themselves picking up a unique souvenir or an expensive piece of junk. (I've learned that the stereotype of the American tourist is one that jumps at any sale sign that proclaims "FREE" or "CHEAP".) A flea-market junkie myself, I had been wanting to browse through the stalls of London's largest street market in hopes of picking up a few characteristic mementos of my semester in England. A less avid shopper, Bill graciously tolerated my shopping whim. Still rubbing sleep from our eyes, we hopped on a train from Guildford at 7 a.m. and arrived at Portobello Road before 8 o'clock. Working off a tip printed in the BBC, I had wanted to arrive just as the vendors were setting up shop to ensure that we could have the best prices and selection. Looking back, I think that we may have arrived just a little too early. Though most vendors had claimed their tables by 8 a.m., few were truly ready to begin haggling until an hour later. This became evident when Bill and I stopped by a pastry stand to buy croissants for an early morning snack. When we asked for the price of the pastries, the baker replied, "One pound each." Walking past the stand an hour later, I scoffed to discover that the price tag on the croissants clearly stated, "Eighty pence per pastry." (The American in me wants to contact the Better Business Bureau, while the Brit in the back of my head shrugs and says, "Rubbish, it's your own damn fault.") After an initial run-through of the street market to grab our bearings, we headed back through the ever-growing crowds to start a bit of serious shopping. The goods sold at Portobello Road can be grouped into one of the following classes:

priceless antiques,
worthless junk that looks antique,
touristy souvenirs,
interesting but cheap clothing, and
food of every variety.

Despite original plans of shopping grandeur, I found myself a little overwhelmed by the notable differences in product quality from stall to stall. Not wanting to spend money on a piece of junk that I'd later regret, I intelligently decided to limit my spending to only the most interesting souvenirs (which will remain a mystery to anyone who reads this blog because a majority of my purchases will find themselves wrapped in Christmas paper and handed off to owners other than myself).

After only a few short hours, Bill and I decided that we had seen enough of Portobello Road and headed off to the nearest Underground station to begin a day of museum-hopping throughout the city. The greatest part about museums in London is that most of them are free. The lack of admission prices gave Bill and I the freedom to jump from museum to museum without getting burnt out on a single exhibit genre, which often happens when browsing through the upper level collections of history, science, and art. We started our museum tour with the London Science Museum. One of the best signs of a good friendship is the willing to compromise, which defines a lot of the decisions that Bill and I make on our weekend city trips. In this case, Bill survived my shopping spree on Portobello Road, and I gave in to spending a few hours in the Science Museum. A major fan of gadgets and interesting phenomenon, Bill was thrilled to browse through flight exhibits, technology displays, and the eclectic selection of toys in the museum gift shop. Don't get me wrong -- I love science just as much as my biomedical-partner-in-crime, but there was one main thought about the Science Museum that I couldn't get out of my head while we were hopping from floor to floor: 50% of the exhibits were American driven. No joke! Probably the biggest display in the museum was the flight exhibit, which sported replicas of airplanes, space shuttles, and other early flight inventions. Where was human flight first achieved? America! What country first landed on the moon? America! Who has sent more probes, imaging devices, and astronauts into space? America! (Get my point?!) I don't mean to act a little snug with my nationality, but it's hard to come from the U.S. state that was home to the Wright Brothers, Neil Armstrong, and John Glenn, and then try to experience European culture in a pre-dominantly American exhibit. So here's my recommendation for the London Science Museum: If you've seen COSI or any of the Smithsonians, then you won't find anything new in any European science museum. If not, then you might see something that peaks your interest.

After taking a few moments to gobble down a quick packed lunch, we walked a few steps down the street to the London National History Museum. One thing that I would love to thank my parents for is the hundreds of museums that they made me see throughout my childhood. Ranging from art to science and political history to natural history, I am thankful that I can distinguish between a good museum collection and a bad one. The London Natural History Museum falls somewhere in the middle. A step up from the previous museum, the best part about the Natural History Museum was the dozens of rooms with stuffed animals. Donated by generous animal collectors, I was very impressed with some of the animal displays -- particularly the bird exhibits. In one room, Bill and I came across a decently-sized glass cabinet with nearly a hundred small birds of every color, species, and variety. The birds were perfectly preserved and positioned on branches of a metal tree, which made them look as if they would quickly take off in flight. It was the most beautiful display of natural history that I have ever seen. The main disappointment of the Natural History Museum was the fossil exhibit. Having seen the world's largest dinosaur collection at the Chicago Natural History Museum as a child, I was expecting to see a large room with a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex posed to pounce on its next unfortunate prey. Following the signs to the T.Rex exhibit, I couldn't stop babbling to Bill about the awesomeness of the dinosaur king. After waiting in line for nearly twenty minutes, we stepped into the T.Rex room only to find that our "Tyrannosaurus Rex" was actually a computer-controlled robot that roared at museum tourists as they passed through the room. In disbelief that this was the extent of the T.Rex exhibit, I ran from room to room in hopes of finding a real fossilized skeleton of the giant lizard. Unfortunately, my efforts were in vain as disappointment quickly set in. So here's my overall impression of the London Natural History Museum: In my opinion, this one is better than the Science Museum, but don't get your hopes up too high for an overwhelming dinosaur exhibit. Though there were several large dinosaur fossils to be seen, the king of prehistoric lizards fails to make a true appearance.

Giving ourselves a few minutes to rest our feet in Trafalgar Square, Bill and I eventually made our way to the last museum stop of the day: The National Gallery. For those of you outside the London loop, the National Gallery is a very large art museum with works by DaVinci, Michaelangeo, Rembrandt, and VanGogh as well as several other famous art masters. The National Gallery is one museum that I was very grateful to tour with Bill. Having taken an art history class in high school, Bill noticed aspects of paintings that I never would have spotted with my relatively untrained eye. Needless to say, Bill was reveling in the fact that he was able to see paintings that he could only study previously from a textbook. By far, my favorite painting was DaVinci's "Virgin of the Rocks". For those of you who are fans of Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code, you may remember that Leonardo DaVinci painted two almost identical paintings. One was entitled "Madonna of the Rocks" while the other is known as "Virgin of the Rocks". The latter of the two bears a more pronounced religious presence, which Dan Brown uses in his amazing best-selling novel. To avoid a DaVinci Code tangent here, I loved "Virgin of the Rocks" mainly because DaVinci had a gift for painting the most beautiful faces that I have ever encountered. While most artists use color to create a masterpiece, DaVinci uses shadow to set his paintings apart from others. The angelic faces created by DaVinci in his paintings toy with the mind by his creative use of light and dark. Anyone who may have clicked on the hyperlink above to see a preview of this painting might just shrug and say, "This painting looks alright, but nothing special for the most part." A few months ago, I would have completely agreed with this statement, but upon seeing the painting in person, my breath caught in my throat and I actually felt emotionally shaken by the beauty of this masterpiece. The other paintings displayed in the National Gallery collection are virtually indescribable. I saw paintings of the epiphany where the gifts given to Christ from the Magi were so detailed that they appeared to be real golden vessels. Additionally, there were paintings that had the most creative hidden optical illusions that even the most skeptical art-goer would be amused by the cleverness of the artist. So before I get too wrapped up in my many praises for the London National Gallery, here's my overall recommendation: European art collections trump American art museums ten to one. I have never seen art this beautiful, colorful, or emotionally moving than the paintings in the National Gallery. With plans to see the Paris Louvre in November, I'm curious to see how the National Gallery compares to the most famous art museum in the world.

With plans to re-visit the National Gallery, Bill and I rushed off to St. Paul's Cathedral in hopes of catching Evensong (an evening Anglican church service). If you don't have time to tour famous European churches or don't want to pay the admission price, the best way to see the inside of a cathedral or abbey is to attend a church service. With dusk quickly falling across London, beautiful candle-lit shadows played across the walls of St. Paul's Cathedral. Much newer than Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's is no less majestic. Gorgeous mosaics adorned the ceilings of the extremely tall chapel, chandeliers hung from every corner, and the cathedral's infamous dome was painted with black-and-creme biblical scenes that were perfectly clear to the on-lookers over a hundred feet below. Despite having no loyalties to the Church of England, I was eager to attend Evensong just to hear the "choir of men and boys" reverberate their voices throughout the walls of the cathedral. Growing up in a musical family, I knew enough about music to instant realize that the sound produced by the choir was positively heavenly. The acoustical design of the church was so incredible that the sound vibrated across the chapel in such a way that no echo was produced -- only a constant ringing that sounded as if a giant bell choir was giving an exclusive performance. With the entire service taking place by candlelight and dimly-lit chandeliers, the chapel seemed almost magical with glorious music, beautiful art, and a quiet place to rest the feet of even the weariest traveler.

You may need to forgive my slightly nostalgic description of the National Gallery and St. Paul's Cathedral. Whether it be churches, art, music, or even a good story, sometimes you run across something that touches you in an emotionally indescribable way that you want to put into words but can never find phrases powerful enough to describe the experience to others. That is what these masterpieces did to me. No matter what words I use or how many sentences I write, St. Paul's and the National Gallery are two places that can only be experienced if you visit them yourself. I cannot stress enough the importance of seeing parts of the world outside the comfort of your home. No amount of money or time can replace the amazing things that I have already seen during my first month in Europe.

(Stepping down from my soapbox...)

To finish our day, Bill and I relaxed at a great restaurant in downtown London before heading back to Guildford via train. Feeling that we've exhausted almost all of the major tourist sites in England's most beloved city, we're ready to start tackling other parts of Britain and Europe. Next weekend brings CAMBRIDGE!

An Fabulous Surprise from an Unexpected American Visitor

2007-09-30T08:48:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, I received the most fabulous news via an email note from a close friend that graduated recently from the University of Cincinnati. Here's a summary of the unexpected surprise message:

RON DUPLAIN WAS SPENDING THE WEEK IN LONDON!!

As you've probably noticed, I was more than excited by the chance to see a familiar face from home. Seemingly by chance, Ron arrived in London last Sunday for a business conference and would be staying in England until the following Friday. Booked solid with conference events until Wednesday evening, we decided to wait until Thursday afternoon to meet up in Guildford. An experienced European traveler, Ron had no problem catching a train from London to Guildford and arrived early enough in the afternoon to see a few sites around my small British hometown. After a few quick hugs at the train station, Ron, Bill, and I endured the typical English drizzle and headed towards Guildford castle to walk around the Norman ruins. Today, there isn't much left of the castle beyond the foundation and walls of the main tower. In its prime, the entire castle grounds were surrounded by a widespread wall with the main tower located near the perimeter of the barricaded land. Most Guildford natives recommended skipping the castle ruins mainly because there are many better-preserved castle remains elsewhere in Britain, but with little to do in Guildford, I didn't mind the 1-pound admission fee for the chance to show Ron the best view of the city.

After wandering through the castle gardens and a bit of downtown Guildford, we strolled towards campus to relax with a few drinks at the main campus pub. Though there wasn't much to see in Guildford as fas as touristy landmarks are concerned, the three of us had a great time catching up on news, laughing over stories from home, and just enjoying the chance to hang out with fellow Ohioans. Taking a restaurant recommendation from my British classmates, Bill and I took Ron to a small Portuguese restaurant called "Nando's". The restaurant was unique in that I've never tasted Portuguese food or wine before, and I must say that I was pretty impressed. Wanting to try as many different nationalities of wine as possible during this semester, I quickly discovered that Portuguese white wine trumps Greek white wine (my last glass of wine ordered in London). One of the best parts of dinner was listening to Ron tell us about his European travels with his wife, which included Scotland, England, France, Belgium, and Germany. (Needless to say, his stories were part of the motivation for Bill and I booking flights to Munich the very next day!)

With stomachs full and appetites satisfied, we took a short walk to Bill's house to pick up our bags where we left them earlier in the day. An avid beer and liquor connoisseur, Ron graciously handed off a partial bottle of Scotch that he wouldn't be able to pack into his carry-on luggage for the flight home. While in Scotland on his honeymoon, Ron and Tekla (his wife) visited a Scotch museum where they learned the history of Scotch and the art of Scotch-tasting. Passing on his knowledge and trying a few sips ourselves, Bill and I quickly agreed that blended Scotch is probably one of the best liquors that we've ever experienced. To be completely honest, Scotch is probably the one liquor that I would drink straight on the rocks because any other additions would ruin the taste of this smooth beverage.

Feeling slightly light-headed from the Portuguese wine and few sips of Scotch, I cut myself off the alcoholic beverages a little early and walked back with the guys to campus to watch a few minutes of Bill's fencing practice. Since the fencing team was only teaching drills to the beginners, Ron and I left UniSport early and decided to grab hot chocolate at a small campus cafe. Enjoying a steady stream of conversation and the best hot chocolate in town, we later met up with the fencing team at the cafe after practice and introduced Ron to a few of our classmates and friends. Chatting over coffee and drinks, we hardly realized the late time until the cafe employees started to close shop for the night. Walking Ron back to the train station to catch a train back to London before midnight, I was a little sad to see a great friend head back to the US. However, the chance to see someone from home while halfway around the world is so rare and incredibly fun that I was quickly reminded that I only have eight more weeks before the my next American visitor arrives in London -- my amazing boyfriend Craig, of course.

Thanks again, Ron! Your visit to Guildford was the small reminder of home that I've been missing over the past month. Bill and I had an awesome time catching up with you on Thursday night.

Seeing Ron made me realized that sometimes you never know who you may see in Europe!

Bath: Swimmin' with the Romans

2007-09-25T15:15:00.000-04:00

It's hard to believe that our first three weeks in England are already over... time is flying way too fast! With all of the hustle and bustle of European travel, Bill and I decided to take a relaxing day trip to Bath last weekend to see the Roman ruins of a great temple to the goddess Minerva.

Reluctantly waking up after a crazy night of partying, Bill and I eventually met at the train station to catch an early train from Guildford to Bath. Switching trains in Reading, I managed to catch a few extra minutes of sleep on the second leg of our journey. Upon arriving in Bath, Bill and I were instantly enchanted by the quaintness of this ancient town. To brush away a few cobwebs to anyone back home who is a little rusty on Roman history, the Romans first conquered Britain in 43 AD. When the Romans settled in Bath soon after and discovered natural hot springs in the small city. Intrigued, the Romans built a temple around the springs and named the site Aquae Sulis in honor of the goddess Minerva (the Roman version of Athena). As we walked through the ancient ruins, I noticed that the architecture of the Roman Baths was quite advanced for that early point in history. The hot springs, which still bubble today, were enclosed in a small pool with plumbing connecting the water source to the other pools in the temple. The floors of the temple were built on stone pillars, which allowed steam from the hot water to pass underneath the floors to keep them warm. (I guess the Romans hated to walk on cold floors when passing from one area of the temple to the other.) The Romans believed the baths had healing properties, and the sick would visit the temple to alleviate illness. Other Romans would come to Bath to pay homage to the goddess Minerva. Archaeologists unearthed hundreds of notes to the goddess that were pounded into small sheets of metal. Most of these notes were requests for vengeance against thieves and evil-doers. Unfortunately for the Romans, their reign in Britain did not last forever and possession of the baths changed hands many times throughout history. As new civilizations occupied the once-Roman city, the conquerers tore down, remodeled, and added their own touch to the Roman temple. Today, the only Roman part of the temple that remains are the swimming baths and building foundation. Other statues, walls, and walkways that are present today were created at later points in history by other nationalities. Regardless, the temple still felt as if we were stepping back into Roman times.

Spending most of the morning at the baths, Bill and I couldn't stop from marveling at the beauty of the ruins. The water was an emerald shade of green (due to the algae in the pools), and the spring bubbled with the perfect temperature of bathwater. Finishing our audio tour, we headed back to the visitor's center where they gave us each a free glass of fresh spring water to sample. Expecting a cool refreshing glass of spring water, I was surprised to taste a warm, mineral-laced gulp of H2O. As our British friend Mathew described it, "The mineral water is supposed to be incredibly healthy, but it actually just tastes like shit."

Moving from the Roman baths, we headed through the city in search of a park bench for a relaxed lunch in the surprisingly warm sunshine. Seemingly deserted when we went into the Roman Bath Museum, I was surprised to see the town square packed with people in the afternoon. Home-grown musicians and bands lined the sidewalks in hopes of gaining a few pounds from passers-by their musical performances. Artists and merchants set up tents and booths to sell paintings, flowers, produce, and cloth. Bill and I laughed when we saw three people dressed as Native Americans giving a concert in the square. Their display was pretty elaborate with tee-pees and heavy-duty sound equipment. I can remember turning to Bill and saying, "Now that's one sight that I never thought I would see in Europe!" We also saw a mime covered from head to toe in silver clothing and facepaint. He was standing on a pedestal that stated:

If you:

Like It, £1

Love It, £2

Hate It, £50

After a bit of searching, we managed to find a bench near the Bath Abbey where a percussionist was giving a solo concert on vibraphone. (As a drummer myself, I was thrilled by the lunchtime entertainment!) Munching on a tuna salad sandwich, I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to relax and rest my feet.

Our next stop was the Bath Fashion Museum. Formerly known as the Costume Museum, this collection of clothes throughout the ages was interesting to see and not too expensive since we managed to pick up a combo admission ticket at the Roman Baths. The Fashion Museum was pretty neat with clothing displays from every decade. They even had a small changing area where women could try fitting into corsets and crinolines. (For those of you who are of the male gender, click here for a picture of these centuries-old female undergarments.) Squeezing myself into the ridiculously tight corset and trying to breathe as Bill laced the rib-crunching piece of fabric, I suddenly knew why women's underwear quickly evolved into the cotton Hanes-Her-Way version that we know today. My overall impression of the museum was alright. The exhibits were small and slightly haphazardly organized, but a few of their dresses were positively beautiful. As a former pageant girl, I've learned to appreciate the beauty of a gorgeous evening gown. ;)

Upon leaving the Fashion Museum, Bill and I decided to finish up our museum visits with a tour of the "Bath at Work Museum". In the early 1900s, Bath had a booming spurt of industry. It had a huge limestone-mining industry, was one of the first cities to produce and bottle ginger ale, and later supported tourism of the Roman Baths. The Bath at Work Museum was a cute little place housed in the shop of a former general store owner that solde goods, picked locks, bottled soda drinks, and made steel fittings from sand molds. In a nutshell, this guy did pretty much anything and everything to satisfy his customers. The museum was neat for catching a glimpse of the early 1900s during the Industrial Revolution, but by the end, I was getting a little burnt out on audio tours.

By midafternoon, Bill and I had seen almost every historical site in Bath: the Roman Baths, Fashion Museum, Bath at Work Museum, and the Bath Abbey (which I failed to write about, but is nearly as spectacular as Westminster Abbey). Seeing that the weather was positively gorgeous, we found a large park and parked ourselves on a soft patch of grass for an hour or so. Keeping up a bit of small talk, I was thankful for the short "breather" during a day of continuous touring. Once the ground started to feel a little hard, we headed back downtown to find a pub for dinner. Eventually, we found a cute pub, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and walked to our final destination of the day: the Thermae Spa.

The Thermae Spa is probably one of the biggest tourist traps in Bath. It's a modern full-service spa equipped with two swimming pools and multiple steam rooms. Their claim to fame comes from the fact that they pump treated water from the hot springs to fill their swimming pools. So in a sense, tourists can swim in the "springs" for $20/hour. Before buying a 2-hour swimming pass, I completely knew that this was a tourist trap alternative to swimming in the Roman Baths. However, Bill was determined to have a long relaxing bath in authentic Bath water. I can't fault him too much for standing his ground. The spa was incredibly relaxing and the water was fabulously warm. We spent part of our time on the roof-top pool where we could watch the sunset over the famous historic city. All in all, a few hours of quality relaxation may have been worth $40.

Heading home with wet hair, wrinked fingers, and jello-like muscles, Bill and I agreed that Bath was probably the quaintest city in England. Though small, it was beautiful, historic, and a wonderful day trip!

Loving Long Weekends in London (Day 3)

2007-09-21T11:43:00.000-04:00

With two incredibly busy days in London under our belts, Bill and I started to feel like true Londoners. We mastered the subway system, saw most of the major London sites, and had finally started to gain a sense of direction around the city. Waking early on Sunday morning, Bill and I checked out of our hostel before breakfast in order to catch an early morning service at Westminster Abbey. Originating from Catholicism, Anglican services aren't much different from Catholic mass. The main difference between the early Anglican service and a typical mass was that the Church of England version was significantly shorter. I don't think that all Anglican services are done in thirty minutes, however. Since we went for an early service, there was no music and only the basic ceremonies associated with Holy Communion. It was interesting and not a bad substitute for my usual Sunday mass.

After the service, we had a few minutes to spare before the opening of the British Museum. Jumping on the subway once again, Bill and I traveled to the north side of London and searched for a tea shop near the museum. Bypassing the ever-growing chain of Starbucks, we found a quaint tea shop across from the museum. With English tea for Bill and hot chocolate for myself, we chatted over a light breakfast while crazy museum fanatics stood in line for the first chance to see the Chinese Terracotta Army exhibit that had just opened in the British Museum a few days earlier. Enjoying the warm atmosphere of the tea shop, we were in no hurry to fight crazy museum crowds.

Eventually, we finished our breakfast and made our way to the massive British museum across the street. To quote my Rick Steves tour book, "The British Museum is the most extensive collection of modern civilization in the world." After only a few steps into the museum, I must admit that I complete agree. The British Museum is a huge building with three levels of ancient artifacts, famous sculptures, and exciting exhibits covering every civilization in the world... and they allowed us to take pictures! The British Museum is home to the Rosetta Stone, the sculpted head of Egyptian pharaoh Rameses the Great, statues from the Parthenon, and original sculpted busts of several great Roman emperors including Augustus Caesar. Each room covers a different civilization including Greek, Egyptian, Roman, Mesopotamian, Babylonian, Celtic, and American Indian. The best part of the museum was definitely the Parthenon exhibit. The ancient Greek statues were so detailed and lifelike that I literally felt as if I was stepping back into Ancient Greece to pay homage to their many gods. I doubt that Bill and I will find our way to Greece while in Europe, but seeing original artifacts from the Parthenon was the next best thing. The biggest obstacle to overcome while touring the British Museum is "intellectual burn-out". I have a pretty good tolerance for large amounts of history, art, and science, but even I was tired of looking at exhibits after nearly four hours in the museum. Realizing that we had missed lunch, Bill and I decided to say "farewell" to ancient civilization and search for a place to eat.

Thankfully, we didn't need to walk far before finding an authentic British restaurant serving traditional English fare. Wanting to try something new, I ordered an "English Hot Pot". Before leaving the States, several people had warned me that British food lacks in many ways. With this in mind, I read the food descriptions carefully. A hot pot is ground beef, peas, carrots, and sauteed potatoes baked in a dark gravy and served in a small pot. It reminded me of the filling in a typical American pot pie. The food was alright -- nothing spectacular, but quite edible. Bill ordered curry, which never fails to confuse me. Why would you order Indian food at a traditional British restaurant?! In his defense, the curry was probably more tasty than my hot pot.

With stomachs full and intellect satisfied, we finally decided to say "good bye" to London until another time. Catching an afternoon train back to Guildford, we started talking about all of the great things we want to do on our next visit to Britain's capital city!

Loving Long Weekends in London (Day 2)

2007-09-17T13:17:00.001-04:00

Our second day in London started rather early in order to catch the 9:30 opening of Westminster Abbey. Falling asleep before any of our other "hostel roommates" had arrived, I was surprised to wake up to five other people in my room. Mainly, the surprising part was that I never even heard the other five people check into the hostel and climb into their beds. (Thank goodness that I'm a heavy sleeper!) At breakfast, I had my first experience with "crumpets", which are mainly just thick biscuits made from a slightly sweeter dough. Grabbing a quick breakfast, Bill and I were off again for our second day of sightseeing.

Leaving our hostel around 8 o'clock, we decided to take a detour to Trafalgar Square for a few fun photos. For those of you back home in America, Trafalgar Square is the area of London where tourists would often buy birdseed from street vendors and feed the pigeons until the mayor passed a law that made pigeon-feeding a criminal offense in the famous square. It may seem that I am a bird-hater, but I'm siding with the mayor on this one -- the statues and fountains in Trafalgar Square are too beautiful to be covered in bird droppings. At the front of Trafalgar square is a very tall tower-like statue that has four very large lion sculptures placed on each of the four corners of its square base. These lions are the most photographed statues in London -- mainly because they are incredibly adorable and tourists are allowed to climb onto these massive beasts for some pretty spectacular photos. Ironically, the sculptor had never seen a lion when he fashioned the gigantic monument. Relying on likenesses and paintings of lions, the sculptor used a dog and a cat as his live models for the sculptures. This is probably why the lions have a notable endearing effect rather than the look of majesty originally intended. Not wanting to miss our chance for fun pictures with the lions, Bill and I took turns climbing onto the statues for a few crazy photo ops. The pictures are some of my favorites!

Leaving Trafalgar Square, we walked back to the nearest Tube station and took the subway to Westminster Abbey. There are not enough words to describe the awesomeness of Westminster Abbey. Serving as the center of the Anglican Church, Westminster Abbey is the most beautiful building that I have ever seen. (Yes, it tops Buckingham Palace ten to one!) The entire church is adorned in gold and the ceilings are entwined with the most elaborate sculpting that I have ever encountered. One of the chapel ceilings is even considered to be one of the great wonders of the world, which was not surprising after seeing the great detail of the moulded scroll work. The authentic stained glass windows are incredibly detailed with colorful designs and biblical pictures. They are so big that very little artificial lighting is needed on a sunny day. Even though tourists are not allowed to take pictures in the abbey, I truly believe that no picture could possibly capture the beauty of this massive cathedral. As we walked from chapel to chapel, I felt a quiet presence of the many British kings and queen buried underneath the abbey's floors. The most notable royal tombs include Queen Elizabeth I, Princess Diana, Queen Victoria, Mary Queen of Scots, King Henry VIII, and King Richard III. My favorite part of the abbey was entitled "Poet's Corner". This area of the chapel attributes its name to all of the great authors, composers, and intellectual contributors that are either buried or memorialized in this area of the abbey. Some of these famous names include Chaucer, Handel, Shakespeare, Isaac Newton, the three Bronte sisters, Lord Byron, and Jane Austen to name a few. I was taken aback by the surprise that so many famous people have been entombed within the Abbey's vaults.

The only tragedy of my trip to Westminster Abbey involves $6 worth of beautiful postcards bought from the abbey's gift shop to take the place of all the wonderful pictures I wanted to take while touring the abbey's chapels but could not because photography was forbidden. Planning to use these postcards in a later scrapbook of my European travels, I accidentally left my bag of postcards in a Chinese restaurant where Bill and I stopped for lunch. Though disappointed at first, I consoled myself with the thought that I will be returning to Westminster again with Craig (my awesome boyfriend) in November. Next time I'll keep an eye on my postcards!

Finishing up our tour of the abbey, Bill and I tried once again in vain to grab tickets for a 2 o'clock matinee of Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice". Unfortunately, even the matinee was sold out for weeks in advance. Not letting our spirits get too low, we decided to move on to Plan B and find tickets for a play at one of the theaters on the west side of London. Luckily, we managed to locate a discount ticket office next to the Tube station only a block away from Westminster Abbey. Much to our surprise, they were selling £35 tickets for the 2:30 matinee of Wicked! Needless to say, I was incredibly excited, and we decided to jump on the chance to see the play that sells out on Broadway nearly every night. (For those of you who are theater junkies, plays in London are considered to be second to only Broadway in New York City.) Grabbing a quick lunch at a Chinese restaurant and frantically changing into nicer theater-worthy clothes at our hostel, Bill and I managed to pick up our tickets and arrive at the theater well before the curtain call. At a first glance, I was surprised by the Victoria Apollo Theater. Expecting the audience to be dressed in their finest like at theaters in New York, it was surprising to see a majority of people in jeans and t-shirts. Even though matinees are generally more casual, I felt slightly overdressed in my grey slacks and button-down satin shirt. Despite the casual audience, Wicked was far from mediocre. The author, Gregory Maguire, wove an incredibly clever plot of the "true story" behind the Wizard of Oz. His version of the classic children's tale answers several questions such as, "Why is the wicked witch green?" and "Why can the scarecrow, tin man, and cowardly lion talk?" The music was also phenomenal, and if I'm not careful, I'll ruin the play for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. Undoubtedly, my recommendation for Wicked is two thumbs up and a must-see for anyone for loves theater and fairy tales!

Since the play was rather long (nearly three hours), evening was already falling upon the city as we left the theater. Answering to a pair of rumbling stomachs, Bill and I wandered back to the nearest Tube station and took the subway to Hyde Park Station, which is only a few blocks away from the very first Hard Rock Cafe. Believe it or not, Hard Rock Cafe originated in London when the two American owners traveled to England and were disappointed that they couldn't find a decent hamburger or American-portioned meals. Thus began one of the largest American restaurant chains in the world. Upon arriving at the restaurant, I wasn't surprised to see that it was packed. Since the wait for a table was only 45 minutes, this gave us the chance to browse through the rock memorabilia on the walls and search for a souvenir t-shirt proudly sporting the "Hard Rock Cafe - London" logo in order to prove that we had eaten at the original Hard Rock Cafe. With t-shirts in tow, we were eventually seated at a small table on the lower level for our first large, American-portioned meal of the weekend. Since this was Bill's first visit to a Hard Rock Cafe, he thought that the loud music and rock mementos were a lot of fun and worth the slightly high dinner prices. As for me, I was thrilled mostly by the chance to bite into a quality American pulled-pork sandwich!

With stomachs full, Bill and I decided to take a short walk around the Hyde Park area of London in order to see a little more of the city at night. In particular, we were looking for "Harrods", a large department store mostly famous for its ties to Princess Diana. The owner of Harrods was the father of Princess Diana's lover, Dodi Al Fayad. After the princess and Mr. Fayad were killed in a fatal car accident, Dodi's father erected a large fountain in his multi-level department store in which Princess Diana and her lover are holding hands and ethereally looking at shoppers as they pass by. Unfortunately, Bill and I only saw the brightly-lit outside of Harrods Department Store since they typically close at 8 p.m. on Saturdays. Regardless, the store looked pretty spectacular even from the outside!

As our eye-lids began to grow heavy, we decided to check in for an early night and eventually found our way back to a clean bed at our hostel. Once again, I wiped out as soon as I climbed under the covers. Walking around London is incredibly exhausting!

Loving Long Weekends in London (Day 1)

2007-09-16T15:45:00.000-04:00

Our travels have begun! Last Friday, Bill and I decided to take a day off from classes and begin a long weekend of sightseeing in London. (To be honest, our pharmacology class was canceled... so I didn't actually "take a day off from classes".) On Friday morning, we hopped on a train from Guildford to London in hopes of gaining an extra full day to see the sights. Walking out of the Waterloo train station in London, I was amazed at the incredible view of the city across the Thames River. From our side of the river, we had a great view of Big Ben, Parliament, and the London Eye (a giant sightseeing Ferris wheel that takes 30 minutes to make an entire revolution). Rapidly clicking pictures as we walked across Westminster Bridge into the heart of the city, Bill and I stopped at a small souvenir shop to buy tickets for a hop-on/hop-off bus tour. It took little time to find the bus stop and hop on the right route, but soon enough we were zipping around London on top of a double-decker bus. Riding around London on the upper level of an open-air tour bus is actually quite exhilarating. Thankfully, the weather was gorgeous, which gave us plenty of opportunities to snap pictures as we drove through the streets of London. While on the bus, I managed to grab a few photos of Trafalgar Square, Parliament Square, and St. James' Palace.

Our first stop of interest was Buckingham Palace, the official residence of Queen Elizabeth II. It's actually a rare treat to be able to tour the gigantic palace. For only two months each year, Queen Elizabeth leaves Buckingham Palace and allows the state rooms to be opened for tourism. Luckily for us, the state room tours are only offered during August and September. Expecting a large line of tourists waiting at the palace gates, Bill and I were pleasantly surprised to find virtually no line at all. (Our luck is most likely attributed to the Changing of the Guard... while hundreds of tourists lined the streets to view the pomp and circumstance, Bill and I rushed to the palace ticket booth in order to avoid the long lines that would likely form after the Changing of the Guard was completed.) For £15, we received a very thorough audio tour, baggage check, and the freedom to wander from room to room in the most beautiful palace that I have ever seen. Buckingham Palace is best described by two words: gigantic and ornate. The palace had incredibly high ceilings and large rooms filled with portraits, antique furniture, fine tableware, and famous artwork. Every wall was adorned with gold trim, elaborate wall coverings, and perfectly pleated curtains. The overall effect of seeing the palace is difficult to explain because no photo could capture the enormity of one of Britain's most famous landmarks. A special exhibit covering the 60th wedding anniversary of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip's wedding anniversary was also included in our tour of Buckingham Palace. This exhibit quickly became one of my favorite experiences of our entire weekend in London. Tying the knot in the late 1940's, Queen Elizabeth's wedding gown was the epitome of formal fashion arising near the beginning of the 1950's. Adorned with flowers on the skirt and flaunting a 13-foot train, goosebumps covered my arms and I quite literally shivered at the site of the beautiful royal wedding dress. A view of the queen's wedding dress came second only to the jewelry given to Elizabeth on her wedding day. I cannot remember a time when I had seen anything sparkle and glow as brightly as this part of the queen's jewelry collection. Diamonds, sapphires, and rubies were all carefully fashioned into the most beautiful necklaces, earrings, and tiaras. Visiting the palace gift shop, I couldn't even find postcards or pictures that could compare with the majesty of Buckingham Palace and the royal jewels. This is one castle that you will need to see for yourself!

Exiting through the queen's garden, Bill and I hopped back on our bus and headed south towards the Thames River (pronounced "Temz"... Bill and I had a discussion on this one). Stopping near the river, we jumped on a tour boat that would ship us from the middle of London to the southeastern edge near Tower Bridge. Our next area of interest was the Tower of London, which is home to the crown jewels and sight of Britain's most brutal beheadings. Expecting a single tall tower, I was surprise to discover that the Tower of London is actually a small fortress originally meant to keep prisoners in and commoners out. Wanting to bypass long lines, we walked into the Tower of London "complex" and headed straight for the crown jewels. Not quite understanding the concept of "crown jewels", I was expecting more jewelry from her majesty's private collection (tiaras, necklaces, bracelets, etc.). Rather, the crown jewels consisted of crowns and scepters used during royal coronation ceremonies. The crowns contained hundreds of diamonds and precious jewels, but I will admit that I was a little disappointed by the masculinity of the crown design. After seeing Queen Elizabeth's wedding jewels, it was hard to look at crowns notably less "feminine" and rather bulky. However, the crown jewels were not ordinary by any means. Upon leaving the jewel house, Bill and I managed to catch the beginning of a "Beefeater Tour". For those of you who are connoisseurs of liquor, you might recognize the brand name "Beefeater Gin" that is actually quite popular in the States. The term "Beefeater" originates from the Tower of London to describe the colorfully dressed guards of the tower. Today, Beefeaters are retired British military men who give hilariously witty tours around the Tower of London. They tell stories of famous executions, clever prisoner escapes, and basic history of the tower. To give you an idea of our Beefeater's sharp wit, here's the best joke that I heard during the entire weekend:

Beefeater: How many Americans are on this tour?
(We slowly raise our hands.)
Beefeater: Looks like we have about twenty Americans. How many of you are from Florida?
(About five people raise their hands.)
Beefeater: I guess we'll need to count the five of you twice.

After having our fill of medieval weaponry, Bill and I noticed that evening was quickly approaching and decided to check into our hostel. (Note that we were carrying our backpack luggage with us throughout the entire day and were ready for a chance to stash our book bags somewhere.) Hitching a bus back to the western side of London, we walked fruitlessly for over 30 minutes trying to find our hostel. Giving up, we hailed a cab and enjoyed the ten minute ride to Ace Hostel. Hurrying through check-in, we barely had time to set our bags down before we were off again in hopes of catching "The Merchant of Venice" at Shakespeare's Globe. Trying out the subway ("Tube" in British) for first time, we were pleasantly surprised how quickly and easily we were able to travel from place to place around the city. A person could easily travel from one end of the city to the other for only three dollars. Unfortunately, our efforts were in vain once we reached the ticket counter after curtain call and were told that Shakespeare plays often sell out weeks in advance. Needless to say, we're definitely planning a second trip to London for a chance to see the Royal Shakespeare Company in action!

Feeling a little disappointed, Bill and I decided to lift our spirits by walking along the Thames and viewing the city at night. Not far from the Globe, we found a nice Greek restaurant with what we thought were decent prices. Unfortunately, this was a rather "posh" Greek place that served mainly wine and appetizers. So for $10, I ordered a Greek wrap about the size of a McDonald's snack wrap. I must give the restaurant some credit, however, since my Greek dish was probably one of the best Greek morsels that I've ever tasted. Giving up on our hopes of large American meal portions, we ordered two glasses of wine and spent the rest of the evening talking about all of the great things we had seen on our first day in London.

Eventually arriving back at our hostel via the Tube, we quickly settled into our six-person bedroom. Exhausted from miles of city walking, I fell asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

One Week Done and Having a Blast!

2007-09-09T13:12:00.000-04:00

It's hard to believe that my first week in England is already over. It's more than true when they say that "time flies when you're having fun"! This past weekend has been so much fun that I'm finding it hard to believe that today is Sunday already.

Not wanting to jump into travel plans before getting a chance to settle in, Bill and I decided to spend the weekend in Guildford just to give ourselves a few days to relax. Though I'm ready to start seeing a bit of the world, I was thankful for the chance to organize myself and make new friends at the university. Needless to say, this weekend did not disappoint!

Backing up a little to a point before the weekend festivities began, I must mention that Thursday was also an eventful day to note. Thursdays are our busiest days of the week with classes from 9 a.m. until 4 or 5 p.m. For British students, it is quite common for them to spend an entire day in class... for me, it takes a little bit of adjustment. Not to worry though, the day went quickly, and I actually enjoy the classes that I am taking this semester. You might grimace at names such as enzymology, neuroscience, micronutrients, and pharmacology, but I think that these classes are a refreshing change from engineering projects and labs. After my neuroscience class, Bill and I ran into our academic advisor ("tutor" in British), and I quickly realized that Dr. Sa Bennett is amazing. She invited Bill and I to a reception where we would get the chance to meet other biomedical science students in our class. We arrived at the reception a few minutes late with plans to sneak in the back door. Unfortunately, we accidentally walked through the front door of the lecture theater, and Dr. Sa Bennett immediately pointed to us and announced to the students, "And here are our exchange students from America!" Fighting a tell-tale blush, I waved and was soon surrounded by the friendliest students that I have ever met. Many of them asked questions about the U.S., college in America, and our reasons for coming to Surrey. Several tried to convince us to join their student groups, but only one group really caught my attention -- fencing. Thomas, one of our biomedical science classmates, invited Bill and I to the school gym for a small fencing class in the evening. Thrilled by the prospect of learning something fun and new, I was incredibly excited and quickly agreed. A few hours later, I found myself strapped into a fencing uniform and holding a small sword (a.k.a. "a foil"). The fencing class was tons of fun, and I got a chance to snap a few pictures just to prove to all of my friends back home that I was actually learning to sword fight. In the end, Bill and I paired up against each other, even though he towered six inches above me and has much better hands-eye coordination. Needless to say, my lack of ability fell quickly to his extra height, and I eventually gave in to the sweat that was poring off my skin under the fencing uniform. However, I had an amazing time and will just need a little more practice before conquering the unconquerable William H. Wilson IV in fencing. ;)

On Friday night, Bill and I were invited to a party and dance club by a friend from Surrey who studied for one year in the U.S. at the University of Cincinnati. I quickly noticed that British parties aren't much different from American parties -- large groups of people, drinking, drinking games, and hilarious photo ops. Since I haven't partied much at UC, the chance to let loose and make a few more friends made me thrilled for a night out. For the most part, the drinks were the same as those in the U.S. (rum and coke, wine coolers, beer, whiskey, schnapps), and I was glad that the drinking games were played with schnapps rather than hard liquor. (With schnapps, you can have a few drinks and not get really drunk.) After pre-gaming at the house party, we made our way to the Rubix, which is a dance club on the university campus. When we got there, the club was packed with students. I must say that dance clubs are one thing that differs between the U.S. and Britain, and I prefer the British version. At the Rubix, they played awesome party music (surprisingly, most of it was American), and I was hard-pressed to find any "freak dancing" at all. Even the couples that came with us to the club spent most of their time jumping up and down to the music, snapping pictures, and mingling around the crowd to catch friends. It was really great to dance at a club and not worry about random strangers trying to hit on me and put their hands where they don't belong. Kudos to the British, who know how to run a classy dance club!

On Saturday, I walked to Bill's new house for a dinner party and the chance to tour downtown Guildford. I must say that Bill's house is gorgeous, and I found myself a tiny bit envious of the beauty of it all. Bill's landlord is an amateur artist, who decided to paint nearly every wall, ceiling, and doorway with a spectacular mural. The kitchen ceiling has a beautiful picture of the sun, Bill's room boasts an impressionist version of Guildford's High Street, and the dining room has murals that somewhat reminded me of Van Gogh. After gawking at the awesomeness of his living space, Bill and I headed downtown for a small shopping trip to buy a few "life necessities". Downtown Guildford is quite charming with it's historical landmarks and small shops. We first stopped at a store called Argos, which sells many of the same products found in Kohls or Target. However, Argos is unique in that there are no displays and only a few products located in the main storeroom. Instead, there are several catalogs with thousands of pages of products. You simply flip through the catalog, pick your item, and bring the catalog number to the register. After paying for your item, they grab it from their warehouse in the back, and you leave with your purchases. It's really a great idea because the store saves money by not spending quid (a.k.a "dollars") on useless advertising displays. It didn't take me long to buy a cheap hair dryer and straightener, and then head off on our way. We stopped at a cell phone store, bought cheap pay-as-you-go cell phones in order to call each other, and spent a few more hours touring the downtown area. Eventually, we made our way back to Bill's house where his house mates (two engaged Italians) made us an absolute amazing dinner. After tasting authentic Italian food, I became even more excited about our upcoming trip to Rome. (Bill and I found cheap airline tickets from London to Rome and are taking advantage of a light class schedule in order to see Vatican City, the Colosseum, and Rome's piazza.)

So now it is Sunday evening, I have a ton of studying to catch up on and can hardly believe that tomorrow brings another day of class. Overall, my first week in England has been a little overwhelming, extremely busy, and loads of fun. I absolutely love Europe and am so thankful for the opportunity to study abroad. This trip is fantastic!

Only four more days, and I'll find myself on a train to London for a long weekend of seeing the sites and having an awesome time. Isn't life exciting?!

Halfway Through My First Week

2007-09-05T14:41:00.000-04:00

Deepest apologies for the small gap in blog entries... so much has been happening that I haven't had much time to sit back and relax. Add in the fact that my computer crashed a fews day ago, and it's understandable why you haven't heard much about my first few days in Guildford. Luckily, I'm starting to get back to my normal routine and my computer is at least functioning now. (My biggest wish right now is that my Dell Inspiron lasts through the remaining fourteen weeks of this trip!)

Since my last blog entry was on Saturday after Bill and I arrived in the U.K., I'll start recapping events from Sunday. My second day in England was much more restful than the first, and it gave me a nice chance to get myself organized before starting classes on Monday. I managed to find a Catholic church near my house for mass on Sunday morning. One of the best things I love about Catholicism is that masses are generally the same in every part of the world. This one was no exception. Mass gave me a nice hour to reflect and celebrate the concepts of my religion. Though desperately trying to fit in, the parish was so small that almost everyone in the church realized that I was an outsider. After hearing my accent, they guessed pretty quickly that I was an American. One thing that I have noticed is that the British are incredibly friendly, and the people of St. Mary's Catholic Church were no different. One old lady even tried to convince me to join the church choir! Not ready to make any commitments, I declined with the excuse that I was unfamiliar with British hymns. This was a wise decision since the "choir" consisted of a guitarist, flutist, and pianist/cantor. Besides the cantor, I would have been the choir's sole member! After church, I wandered around the neighborhood looking for the nearest supermarket, got lost, walked back to my house, looked for the grocery store on Google Maps, and left again for a twenty minute walk to Tesco (the European equivalent of Kroger). The rest of the day was spent unpacking, wandering aimlessly until I found the university campus, and making a ham sandwich for Bill since he didn't realize that Tesco closes at 4 p.m. on Sundays.

Monday brought my first day of class, and I found it very overwhelming. After spending the past five and a half months completing a relatively easy co-op, I was in no mental state to go back to class. Even though I had only two classes in the morning, the rest of the day was very busy with various meetings and seminars. I did receive the pleasure of meeting my international adviser, Christina, who has been incredibly helpful with answering my questions and giving advice for my stay in the U.K. In the afternoon, Christina helped us register with the university and get our student IDs. After pocketing another college ID, I headed back to my house while Bill and Christina left to look for a house that Bill could rent during the semester. (International students who are studying at the university for only one semester are required to find a place to live off campus. If they fail to find a place before arriving, they are given a temporary room on campus to rent while they are "apartment shopping". This is what happened to Bill; I was able to find a house before leaving the U.S.) By a crazy stroke of luck, Bill was able to find a house in the center of Guildford, which is an ideal location since it's not far from campus and near everything in town. In the evening, all of the international students were invited to a bar on campus (Chancellors) where the Student Union provided us with free drinks while giving a presentation on student activities. The university has millions of things to do, and I'm hoping to pick up a new skill while away from home. The evening was my first chance to meet other international students, and I had a great time making new friends. In the short hour and a half that I was there, I spent a lot of time talking to Ava (Germany), Doroska (Poland), and Gabriel (France). Everyone was really open and incredibly friendly. It was a fabulous end to an otherwise overwhelming day.

Tuesdays are the easiest weekdays for my class schedule. I only have one class (Micronutrients), which doesn't start until 4 o'clock in the afternoon. So this day was an excellent chance to recover from the day before. I meandered to the grocery store, did laundry (which takes a considerable amount of time with European machines), and walked to campus to figure out why my computer crashed on Sunday. Unfortunately, I found out that Dell warranties purchased in the US are only honored in the United States. Giving up on Dell support, I took my computer to the campus computer shop for any help that they could give. In the end, I was really impressed with the computer techs on campus. They told me to not worry too much about the "blue screen of death" that my computer spat out on Sunday and to just keep a log of any other error messages that I might come across in the next few weeks. So at least for now, my computer is working relatively well... even though I'm getting my hopes up too high that it'll live through the rest of the semester. In the afternoon, Bill and I met up with a Surrey student who studied at UC in 2005-2006. His name is Mathew, and it was really cool to meet up with someone who is familiar with Cincinnati. We brought him gifts of Skyline Chili, Montgomery Inn BBQ sauce, and oyster crackers. Needless to say, he and his house mates were thrilled with the local delicacies. Mathew graciously cooked Bill and I dinner, and we hung out with his other four house mates for the rest of the evening. It was funny to hear everyone's stories from random trips to Americans. I've noticed that Europeans are much more well-traveled than Americans. After an education in British humor, I left feeling thrilled that I was able to meet another group of really great people.

Finally, this long blog entry can wrap up with today's happenings. Compared to earlier in the week, today was relatively uneventful, which gives me a chance to actually write an entry for my blog. ;) Rather than going through a typical day of classes, I'll leave you with one thing that I learned in Micronutrients class and one conversation that I had with a few small children on my way home from campus:

Random British fact learned in class:
"Vitamin D is produced by your skin through exposure to sunlight. People in the United Kingdom do not produce Vitamin D from October to February despite walking outside on a sunny day. This is because the sun's rays hit this region at an insufficient angle for human skin to produce Vitamin D."

Random British conversation with small children:

Three little boys were arguing with a small girl who had apparently gotten on one of the little boy's bike and refused to get off.

Little Boy to Me: Can you make her get off my bike?
Little Boy's Friend to Him (laughing): What could this lady possibly do?!
Me: I can't make her get off, but just make sure that you don't do anything to hurt her. You should never hurt a girl.
Little Boy to Me: Of course... say, are you American?
Me: Yes. Why do you ask?
Little Boy: You sound American.
Me (winking): And you sound British.

Finally in England!

2007-09-01T16:10:00.000-04:00

I have finally arrived in the United Kingdom. After saying a few tearful good-byes, Bill (a fellow biomedical engineering classmate of mine) and I boarded our plane for a direct flight from Cincinnati to London. Despite taking two Benadryl tablets in hopes of knocking myself out for the overnight flight, I only managed to get a few hours of sleep before our plane landed in London Gatwick Airport. For the most part, the flight was uneventful. However, this was the first time that I have seen the sunset and sunrise from thousands of feet in the air on one flight. The view was gorgeous.

Passing through customs at the United Kingdom boarder also went smoothly. There was a long line of non-European travelers, but we only needed to wait about twenty minutes before "officially" entering Great Britain. From London, Bill and I caught a 40-minute train to Guildford. While on the train, I got my first experience of being a "stupid American". After boarding the train with several pieces of luggage, I quickly realized that there was no room for all of my bags. Taking a risk, I stored them in the aisle in hopes that the train would empty on other stops and I could move them to a more convenient location. However, I didn't realize that an attendant and a snack cart would be perusing through the aisle only a few minutes later. Muttering apologies, I tried to move my bags -- obliviously dropping my heaviest bag onto a lady's foot. I tried to apologize, but my American accent gave away my nationality. Needless to say, the look on her face seemed to shout every American insult and stereotype currently in a existence. Luckily, Guildford was the next stop and I hopped off the train to put my embarrassment behind me. Unfortunately, I have no doubts that I will have several of these moments throughout the next semester.

Leaving the train station, Bill and I hailed a cab to take us to the university where Bill could pick up keys for his one-week temporary dorm room. After showers and a quick lunch, I called my landlords and asked them to pick me up at the university so that I could move my luggage into my new room. Taking one step past the front doorway, I instantly fell in love with the house. It's old and has a great deal of character. I have my own room with a twin bed, shelving, desk, chair, and closet. I'm sharing the bathroom with my landlord's daughter and have complete access to the kitchen. The best part is that wireless internet, water, and utilities are all included in rent! My landlords are awesome people and often go out of their way to make me feel at home. Tonight, Colin (my landlord) fixed my computer so that I could send emails to family and friends. Maria (Colin's "wife") also invited Bill and I both to dinner, which saved me a great hassle of fending for myself.

Besides frying my voltage transformer, I've adjusted quickly to British life.

Maybe I'll even come home with a British accent. ;)

Almost There...

2007-08-30T07:38:00.000-04:00

I'm leaving the country!

Tomorrow brings an eight-hour flight to London and the beginning of this crazy adventure. By the time that I wake up on the plane, it'll be Saturday morning in the British capitol. Since I've spent most of the week relaxing, I'm in a crunch to get everything packed and organized for my trip. Hopefully, I won't forget anything (fat chance!). ;)

Adios, bloggers! See you in Europe!

Things Not Normally Considered

2007-08-23T13:50:00.000-04:00

For those of you who may not know me, I am a huge planner. Therefore, it's no surprise that I started planning my trip to England about a year and a half ago. To be honest, most people probably don't need this much time to plan a semester abroad. I have no regrets, however, since a few extra months gave me plenty of time to handle the unexpected quirks of international travel. From one traveler to another, here is my advice list to consider when planning a trip abroad:

1) Organize your finances. This is probably the most important part of planning. Currently, the British pound is worth twice as much as the American dollar -- bad news for U.S. college students. By working tons of overtime hours at my co-op job, I've earned enough to off-set the cost of British living. Grants and scholarships have also helped tremendously to fund my semester abroad.

2) Get a credit card through Capital One. A little known fact is that Capital One charges no fees for international purchases. I really wish that I had known this sooner so that I could have built a better credit history with Capital One in order to get a higher credit limit. Most credit card companies charge high fees for purchases in other countries.

3) Apply for a student visa. Due in part to recent terrorist activity, the British government is requiring all students to have a visa in order to pass through customs. Apply about two months before your trip to ensure that important documents return to you before leaving the U.S. The visa process is a little nerve-wrecking in that they ask for a lot of specific documentation (i.e. bank statements, a passport photo, letter of acceptance from your host university).

4) Get a current passport. This should probably be put before the step above, but I'm too lazy to copy and paste it in there. In short, you should have done this step already if you even have an inkling to leave the country. Passports are now required for travel to the Caribbean, Canada, Mexico, and any country outside of the U.S.

5) Meet with your study abroad advisor. This is another vital piece of advice. The study abroad advisors at UC are amazing resources that can help you in a million ways. My advisor, Jill Winograd, sent in my application to the University of Surrey, encouraged my to apply for a Globalization Grant through UC, and made sure that I had completed all important paperwork for the trip.

6) Buy your plane ticket early. By booking my flight five months in advance, I was able to get a great price on a direct flight from Cincinnati to London.

7) Read Rick Steve's travel books. This guy really knows his stuff. Picking up this piece of advice from my boyfriend, I haven't regretted this Amazon book purchase at all. Rick Steve travels almost every country in the world each year, and writes a new edition of each travel book yearly to provide the most up-to-date travel information on places to see and things to do. Some of the tidbits found in these books are pretty remarkable.

8) Become an eternal optimist. This may sound a little corny, but positive people are generally happier people. Planning a semester abroad can be a little stressful, especially when leaving close friends and family. Travel abroad is not always cheap, and it's better to spend money on a great experience than a half-hearted one.

So there you have it... the most important pieces of advice that I could string together in one sitting. In five days I will be flying over the Big Lake (a.k.a Atlantic Ocean) for an experience of a lifetime. Special thanks to all of you that gave me a fabulous last weekend in the States. I'll miss all of you!

An American Brit

2007-08-22T15:02:00.000-04:00

Before starting college, I never really envisioned myself studying abroad in Europe. When someone would even suggest the idea, I would brush it off as "too extravagant for my lifestyle" or "too expensive for my budget". However, I always felt a twinge of regret after giving one of these feable excuses. So what caused my sudden change of heart that is sending me off to England for fifteen weeks? Quite literally... organic chemistry. No joke! Sophomore year of college was a little rough. Coming down from an amazing freshman year of new places and experiences, I found myself buried under homework, studies, and major exams as a sophomore in biomedical engineering. After studying organic chemistry late one night, I snapped, threw my hands in the air, and exclaimed, "I need a vacation!" The next morning, I scheduled a meeting with my study abroad advisor.

Though not exactly a vacation, I am hoping that this study abroad experience will be as fulfilling for me as they have been for other students. Despite taking a few very challenging classes (i.e. pharmacology, enzymology, and neuroscience), my class load is much lighter than in the States and will hopefully allow for a little bit of travel around Great Britain and other parts of Europe. I have decided to study in the United Kingdom for the most obvious reason -- they speak English. With a busy engineering curriculum, I didn't have time to take language classes and thought that it would be easier to adapt to a culture that is similar to the American way of life. In addition, I will be studying at the University of Surrey, which is an excellent school for engineering and science-related fields. Guildford (city of the university) is located about 40 minutes from London, which is kind of like the "New York City of Europe". From London, I will be in close proximity to many major European cities including Paris, Munich, Dublin, Madrid, Edinburgh, and Geneva.

So here it goes...

After a year and a half of planning, I'm almost ready to leave for the U.K. Hopefully, this blog will be a way to keep in touch with friends and family while I'm gone as well as encouraging other students to travel abroad during their college career. This will certainly be an experience of a lifetime and will change me in more ways than I can possibly imagine!