The Final Countdown

The last three days in Paris were a whirlwind. All of the sudden we realized there were still 10+ things we swore we'd do before leaving the city but were running out of time to do them. Plus we had the added bonus of a tax midterm due the morning we left for Normandy, so needless to say sleep was a secondary priority between that Monday and Thursday. I'll construct this post day-by-day in order to recount the details of the highlights as concise and orderly as possible.

Monday


This day was dedicated to a visit to the Louvre, sponsored by Rick Steves. The travel specialist has a number of free podcasts on iTunes that offer audio guided tours through Paris' main attractions. It even comes with a handy dandy map because lord knows you need one to find anything in the Louvre, even with the giant arrows everywhere that point to MONA LISA. While it took a couple wrong turns to finally get on track, my friends and I enjoyed an informative stroll through the Denon Wing of the museum.

You have no idea how many Asian tourists I had to bodycheck in order to get this close.

And of course no trip to the Louvre is complete without visiting the famous glass pyramids at the main entrance. 

We're actually standing on a cement block that they've placed for people trying to get that perfect picture of themselves touching the tip of the pyramid.

Been there done that.

We got into the habit of taking the Metro to places and then walking back, which worked in our favor because there's a lot to be seen as you stroll through neighborhoods that would otherwise be known only as a stop in the darkness of the subway tunnel. Which is exactly how we found a lovely French cafe and a chic shopping area along Rue de Rivoli. I made my first clothing purchase in France, which was a casual orange and white "color block" sweater. I thought myself very trendy at the moment, so I splurged on dinner at the nearby cafe.

I'm bringing croque monsieurs back to the U.S. Can't be too much of a culture shock, it's just an inside out grilled cheese.

Tuesday

More tax and more museums. Today was the Musee d'Orsay, home to Monet, Cezanne, Van Gogh, and the like. Way better than the Louvre in my opinion because the painting was more modern and creative. Instead of recounting events or glorifying the gods (as every single painting in the Louvre did), the painters in the Musee d'Orsay experimented with different styles and techniques to add texture as a new dimension to their art. 

I forgot to mention that we tried to go to this museum on Sunday afternoon after a long day of studying, but arrived at 5:16pm only to discover they stopped letting people in 45 minutes before closing at 6. On Tuesday we arrived at 5:14, but freaked out when the main entrance was already shut. 

Are we kidding?

Yup. We got in. 

Turns out Museum Pass holders enter through a priority gate, which remains open slightly longer than the main door, so we snuck in just in time. Best 40 euros I ever spent. Unfortunately they don't let you take pictures inside the museum so I can't share the amazing works with everyone, but I highly recommend this museum over the Louvre and it's definitely on my list of things to see again the next time I'm in Paris.

Wednesday

We all knew this day would come. And it went by too quickly, even though we managed to extend it by 12 hours or so (with sleep receiving the shaft). There was just too much to be done.

Our third and final group walking tour had been pushed back to Wednesday, which was one of the major sources of mayhem on our last day. We saved one of the best for last however--The Catacombs. Literally blocks of tunnels underneath Paris comprise this ossuary containing the skulls and femurs of nearly six million French people. Created when they ran out of space in the cemeteries, the tunnels were also used by the French Resistance during World War II. At first it was kind of creepy, but in the end I quite enjoyed it.

I see dead people!

I'll take what I can get.

After walking several miles underground, we resurfaced to walk another several miles to the Pantheon. Don't be mislead, even though the facade is modeled after the one in Rome, it is nowhere near as impressive in my opinion (spoiled having seen the real thing). To a tired, foot-aching me, this was just another ginormous old church.

Over it.

The one cool thing about it however is the crypt below. It contains the graves of all Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo... those infamous authors that tortured me in every high school English class. 

Thanks for all the sleepless nights, fools. 

We had tax class in the afternoon that day because our appointment time for the Catacombs was in the morning. I find tax much easier at the start of my day when I'm too tired to daydream. And it wasted precious afternoon hours that could've been spent taking our last strolls around the city, or completing that midterm due at 8am the next day that the majority of us hadn't finished. Afterwards we all worked on the midterm until around 9pm when we couldn't work any longer and the warm Paris night was calling us. 

First stop of our study break was a formal dinner at a traditional French restaurant. I had eaten nothing but cookies all day since I was out of food and too cheap/lazy to go to the grocery store the day before I was leaving, so needless to say I was ready to wolf down anything that resembled a non-carbohydrate. I tasted foie gras for the first time; it was weird. After that I skipped out on the escargot, as memories of the first time I tried the "delicacy" still haunt me. If you drenched cat feet in butter and garlic I think people would still eat that too. Then we headed to the bars around our area in the Bastille for the last time as well.

I already miss this. Especially while I listen to techno music coming from the gay bar outside my window in Geneva.

We stayed out too late, had the professor called by the hotel manager for excessive noise on our floor, and pulled all-nighters to finish those midterms we were regretting procrastinating on all week. I wouldn't have wanted my last night to be any other way. 

***

While the thing I'm really excited to share with you is my trip to Normandy, I've been blogging for over four hours so its about time I get back to my law final since I want to get it out of the way before I tackle the tax beast. Hopefully these few posts keep you entertained for a day or so until I find time to write more, and cross your fingers for me that I find some source of sustenance in Switzerland for the next six days. Later skaters!

The Last Weekend in Paris

Time to pick up where I left off on my Paris report, which is last Friday (oops). I took the opportunity to sleep in for the first time in over a week, since everything had been go-go-go from Bristol to London to early morning class to the Loire Valley field trip on Thursday. I actually made it to breakfast before it closed at 10am in time to snarf up a few chocolate croissants and nab some cellophaned pancakes for later, but immediately returned to my bed for another two hours before I got up for the day. Ugh, life is hard.

We had decided Friday would be dedicated to exploring the Latin Quarter neighborhood in Paris, which is the area surrounding the Sorbonne University in Paris. We were searching for young people, and more importantly prices based on a college budget. The area was upbeat and slightly more affordable, yet still pretty touristy. I think that would be my one complaint about Paris. Everywhere I went I felt like I was at a tourist attraction, mostly because there are major monuments and landmarks embellishing the entire city so you're bound to run into one every couple of blocks or so. And of course, every attraction is then surrounded by cafes, creperies, and souvenir shops abound, which all adds up to a constant sense of chaos. We did find one little souvenir street tucked away behind Notre Dame with affordable unique gifts, so we spent hours perusing the inventories and even came back on several occasions simply for the quaint atmosphere. Another gem we discovered there--the only one in all of Paris--a froyo joint. I have never been so excited to find something reminiscent of California. A staple in my college diet back in Westwood, all of the sudden gelato was no longer enough and I needed my frozen yogurt fix.

Reunited at last.

Not much else happened that day because it was spent getting significant work done on the law midterm due Monday. Although other highlights included successfully locating a famous patisserie called Eric Kayser in the Latin Quarter and indulging in cookies, eclairs, and fruit tarts over cups of coffee at a street corner cafe. Ah, quand en Paris... 

The reason why we had to get as much done as possible on Friday is because Saturday was Versailles Day! Which I can now say from experience is an all-day excursion, so I was quite pleased that we had planned ahead. It was about an hour train ride to Versailles from Paris, but the Metro could only take you so far before you had to pay an extra 4 euro to hop on the RER for the duration of the trip. In total travel time was probably an hour each way. I had checked the weather that morning and "accu"weather promised me it was going to be hot and sunny at Versailles, so I threw on shorts and sandals hoping not to repeat the day before when I sweat all afternoon long in jeans and boots. 

Fail. The second we got off the train it started to rain. (It fell mainly in the plain.) So we scouted around for shelter, and happily took haven in a nearby Starbucks. After an hour of lattes and small talk the storm had still not subsided, so we decided to carry on anyway and grab a couple of ponchos on the way in. Because of course after a week of carrying my umbrella "just in case" I had blindly put my trust in an online weather service's hands and left the rain gear at home. Alas, 6 euros and an obnoxious red poncho later, the rain stopped for good as soon as I left the store. 

Either way I was glad because we had to wait at least an hour in line just to get into the castle. Apparently everyone else had the same idea of "getting there when it opens" but instead arriving two hours late. The line formed a giant snake in the front courtyard, which was quite unfortunate because it meant we kept passing the same family eating hot dogs and fries for the entire hour on empty stomachs. At some point I was like finish it already because I was tired of being teased. Who takes an hour to finish that? That kind of meal wouldn't last ten minutes in my hands. 

The gates of Versailles. Note the unopened poncho in hand.

Versailles is HUGE. The Louis (plural) must've had a huge posse surrounding them all the time because nothing else could explain the massive amount of space in the palace. I wonder if the King needed a map to get from room to room. Most of the castle was bare, however, because the angry peasant mob stole everything during the French Revolution when they stormed Versailles trying to kidnap/imprison/guillotine Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. (FYI--they escaped, but were caught at the border of France trying to flee the country. AP European History FTW). The whole trip was made totally worth it though by the famous "Hall of Mirrors" which finally came to life after years of studying it in my French books. 

250ft of floor length mirrors. A sorority girl's dream.

We arrived at Versailles in a group of four, but left in pairs. The place is so big and so packed with people and giant tour groups that it was inevitable we would be separated. But eventually we all arrived home safely (and exhausted) from our all-day adventure. 

And just in time for a night out. Because the rule in college is if you had a long day and are tired, party till 5am. The bartender we made friends with a couple nights earlier brought us to this underground (literally) French club where we got to dance to American music and avoid French creepers all night long. 

This photo is misleading. We were packed like sardines down there. 

Sunday involved less sightseeing and more studying. The whole school thing really does put a damper on the abroad experience since you're constantly worrying about assignments with due dates on the horizon. Which is why ideally I'll find a job abroad for next summer so there's more time to explore without having that constant, daunting, and often torturous feeling of there's something else you should be doing. (Like right now when I'm blogging instead of completing my final.) The ease of the 3-day school week is quite deceptive because in reality the heft of reading and assignments you have to do takes up a significant amount of out-of-class time. 

So, in short, that was my weekend. A little bit of crazy and a lot of fun, with bits of studying interspersed here and there. 

Murphy's Law

... apparently applies in Switzerland. Because anything that could've gone wrong on our first day in Geneva, did.* It all began with the astonishingly awful bus ride from Normandy to Geneva.

National Lampoon's Study Abroad Vacation. 

*Disclaimer: This post is not meant to read as a complaint or a whine. Rather, it highlights the "hope for the best, but expect the worst" mentality of international travel. Really I find the absurdities quite amusing. 

We departed from the city of Caen at 8:00 in the morning, leaving behind the comforts of high-pressure shower heads and the last luxurious breakfast buffet. Had I known the latter, I wouldn't have felt any shame in swiping several croissants on my way out of town, but being on Cloud Free-Breakfast-Buffet for the past three weeks I assumed that food would not be an issue. Wrong. But I shall discuss that later.

Geneva is about an 8 hour bus ride away from Caen, but total travel time including all the bathroom breaks and snack stops summed up to nearly 11 hours. Getting out of our seats to walk around every 2.5 hours made the trip better than an 11-hour plane ride, but I still had stiff Barbie legs by the end of the journey. And no matter how hard I tried to be productive, I ended up sleeping for over 85% of the trip. I couldn't even finish an Instyle magazine. Volkswagen made a mistake in casting that baby to fall asleep every time the Jetta accelerated--I would have done it for free. 

Nevertheless we arrived in Geneva essentially without a hitch. Unfortunately the road trip was the last thing we should've been worrying about. Turns out our residence in Switzerland for the next week is not a hotel but rather a set of off-campus dorms from Kent State University in Geneva. Which would be all fine and dandy if they were anything like dorms at UCLA, but there were several issues impacting our stay:

1) No air conditioning. I'm generally not an A/C snob, but when it's 90 degrees every day and the temperature barely drops at night, that's a different story. At least my sauna of a bedroom at home includes a box fan. 

2) Bunk beds. What is this, freshman year? I pulled the short straw of the top bunk, meaning I must ascend into my peaceful (albeit sweaty) slumber via a rickety ladder. The entire bed rattles as I climb it, so I can't get up or down without waking my sleeping roommate. And in those last moments before I slip off into dream land I say a prayer that I won't have a Step Brothers moment in the middle of the night.

I think we all remember the events that followed.

3) No supervision. Our professor is staying at a hotel across town and our TA goes MIA at night, leaving 37 college kids in a building all to themselves. This situation is quite analogous to parents leaving their high school student alone at home for a weekend, as both of them can only result in one thing--a house party. I'll leave out the minor details but the end result was a nasty argument between our prof and the poor Swiss "R.A." this morning and a threat of nightly room checks for the remainder of the program. One kid even checked into the four-star hotel down the street to avoid the mayhem.

4) Everything's closed on Sundays. Because it's a Calvinist country according to my professor. Either way, arriving on a Saturday night couldn't really have been any less convenient. Nothing was open, except the Four Seasons Hotel bar and a few clubs geared toward tan, stick-legged escorts in 8-inch heels accompanying rich old men. Not exactly our scene. But really all of the above were the least of our problems, the greatest being:

5) No food. Anywhere. Every single grocery store is closed from 6pm Saturday till 9am Monday morning. Meaning we couldn't have arrived at a more inopportune time. Thankfully my daily 1000-calorie overages in France, which could have prepared me for an entire winter's hibernation, have generally curbed my appetite for any food whatsoever, but still the act of eating itself is necessary for my body to feel normal. Praise baby cheeses, one thing Geneva has an abundance of is McDonald's. Friends, never take the dollar value menu for granted again. Because in Europe, 3/4 of a U.S. Mickey D's snackwrap costs 3.50 swiss francs. For those of you too lazy to google the exchange rate, that's almost 5 dollars. Oops, that reminds me:

5.5) All the currency exchanges are also closed on Sunday. I had run out of time to exchange in France so I am still currently franc-less. 

No food, francs, or the foggiest idea of what to do in a city designed for rich business travelers naturally equated to frustration on my first night in Switzerland. Since yesterday however, things have gotten much better. I still have yet to consume my first Toblerone at its birthplace, but at least things are looking up. I promise to deliver a post with Rick Steves enthusiasm tomorrow on the latest developments in Geneva, but in the meantime I'm using this lack of activity to finally fill you in on my last days in Paris. 

I know, I'm more than a little behind. The problem is as soon as we got our midterms and had lots of work to do, time in France started to fly by. I'll break up the past week into a few posts so as not to overwhelm you readers, since I know y'all are more likely to read it all in pieces because it looks less menacing (although I hope reading my blog isn't considered a chore).

Stay tuned for lots of photos and French follies in the next couple hours!

Week Two in Review

So when I began this project I vowed I'd post every 1-2 days because the memories would be freshest that way, but of course I was bound to get too busy and lazy to keep that promise. Thankfully a picture is worth a thousand words and summons the powers of recall--of the good, the bad, and the... well, interesting. Without further ado, here is a recap of my week (Monday-Thurs).

Monday was actually rather uneventful. I spent the majority of the day lamenting over my separation anxiety from Bristol, wallowing in my remaining homemade pasties and English snack mix, and putting the "study" back in study abroad. There had been a serious lack of schoolwork attended to over the weekend because England was way too fun, and it was time I tackled the first of my two midterms. For dinner we discovered a hidden restaurant row only a couple of blocks from our hotel, so we grabbed tapas at a Spanish joint (because why would we want to eat French food in France?). We also uncovered a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop that offers a footlong baguette sandwich, drink, and dessert for only 6 euro. Beat that, Subway. But really that's a steal, considering the cheapest meal one can find at a cafe here is at least 10 euro. Needless to say I was stoked because that meant I no longer had to steal food from the breakfast buffet every morning to survive the rest of the day.

Tuesday involved more class and midterms, followed by splurging on my newfound three-course lunch. We decided to go out on Tuesday night, participating in happy hour at a local bar and heading off to the Eiffel Tower so my friends in the program could catch it lit up at night. They turn on the main lights around 9 or 9:30pm when the sun finally sets, but from 10pm-1am the tower lights literally sparkle for 5 minutes every hour on the hour. The sight is truly spectacular, and one of my (if not most) favorite views in Paris.

My ADPi sisters and I making "diamonds" along the bank of the Seine. And all creepily wearing leather jackets.

We walked all the way to the base of the tower to grab a midnight crepe, but ended up missing the last Metro train home (it closes at 1am, lame) so we had to pay for a cab home. We managed to squeeze seven of us into a minivan cab so it only came down to a couple euros a piece. Phew.

Wednesday was way more eventful, as it involved a nearly seven-hour walking tour of Paris with the other students in my program. Our professor lead us to some of the lesser known sights in the city, including l'Orangerie museum, the Paris Opera House, and Madeleine Church.

Monet painted several murals around the circular walls of the l'Orangerie, to be opened after his death free to the public as a gift to the people of Paris. The paintings were beautiful (and enormous), providing a few panoramic-like scenes that you could easily spend ten minutes walking from one side to the other if you wanted to examine every single detail.

French impressionism is not a joking matter.

It's a very small museum, so within 45 minutes or so we were walking over to our second stop, the Paris Opera House of The Phantom of the Opera fame. All I can say is WOW. Over 15 types of marble stone, pure onyx, giant mosaic murals...so much detail I can't even begin to describe all the grandeur. It was so over the top that it is somehow all pulled together. I didn't take a ton of pictures because I was too busy gawking, plus all the gold made the scenes too bright for my camera to capture, but I managed to snag a picture of the Phantom's personal box inside the actual theatre. 

The far right was the Emperor's box, and the second from the bottom box in the second column (Box 5) belonged to the Phantom. I wonder if he picked that himself on Ticketmaster.

We hit up Madeleine Church afterwards, which, let's be honest, looks like every other several hundred-year-old ginormous church I've scene in Europe these past three weeks. I think everyone else felt similarly, because within 15 minutes or so we were all headed down the street to the famous Laduree macaroon shop. 

Macaroons are basically meringue cookie sandwiches with cream fillings. And they taste way better in Paris. Laduree makes like 20 different flavors inside its super fancy store. I sampled raspberry, vanilla, and pistachio, and had a mini heart attack after every bite as the perfectly cooked meringue melted in my mouth. The 1.5 euro per cookie was the only thing stopping me from trying every flavor because they were to die for.

The Sprinkles Cupcakes of Paris. 

I stayed in Wednesday night in preparation for our whole day field trip to the Loire Valley on Thursday. Our professor sent us all wake up calls at 6:30 in the morning, and we were on the bus by 7:30am leaving any stragglers behind. It was obvious that the group had partied a little too hard the night before because everyone on the bus spent the entire three hour ride sleeping, and everyone else didn't even make it out of bed. 

First stop was Chenonceau chateau. To be honest I was not paying attention at all to the history of the castle (there's a limit to the amount of trivial French history I can absorb in one week) but from a real estate perspective it was like attending the open house of a place you know you'll never be able to afford but enjoy dreaming about living in nonetheless. Except they don't give you those blue booties to wear. 

Apparently these people weren't into the idea of having neighbors.

Compared to the chateau we saw later this one was actually rather small, but the gardens were gorgeous. My favorite was this little garden house that reminded me of my home in Hinsdale when my dad hasn't Paul Bunyan-ed the bushes in awhile. 

Maybe it's an outhouse. I'd do my business in there.

We hopped back on the bus for a 30-minute ride to another chateau in the area, Amboise. Leonardo da Vinci spent the last few years of his life hanging out with Francis I of France. The king hired him just for his company.. I think that relationship might be misinterpreted nowadays. Either way that's the reason the Mona Lisa ended up in France at the Louvre. Da Vinci is actually buried in a small chapel on the castle grounds, so we got to see his tombstone. 

The other 4/5ths of Amboise was destroyed over the years. I think I would turn into Jack Nicholson in The Shining if I lived in this place. Thank goodness there's no maze.

Amboise also sits on a hill on the bank of the Loire River, offering gorgeous views of the town below.

Modeling for next year's brochure.

After walking castle grounds all day, again the entire class passed out on the bus ride home. It's the quietest I've ever seen a group of 40 college kids. Of course two 3-hour naps in one day leads to nighttime insomnia, and what with having Friday off of school, us UCLA-ers spent Thursday night the only way we know how:

Discussing important world issues, of course.

The French are very encouraging of this lifestyle. Here, the drinking age is 18 and wine is cheaper than water, which really leaves us no choice but to take part in the cultural experience. If I'm being honest right now, this is what study abroad is all about. Hope that's not TMI, Mom and Dad. But as much as I'm learning about international business law and taxation, the school purposely makes the classes easier abroad so you have time to truly experience Paris beyond its tourist attractions. Now that the secret's out, you can probably gather that the reason I exploit the free breakfast buffet is because I'm allocating funds toward other uses: drinks and cabs home. And truly these are the moments that provide the greatest learning experience and growth through the study abroad program. I won't deny that it's an extreme privilege, but regardless this is where the maturing process takes place.

Making friends with the bartender. Even the French practice "photobombing"-the art of unexpectedly dropping into a perfectly good picture right before it is taken.

Taking a break now to finish a midterm and allow my parents time to recover from this information. More about my weekend to come later.

Gert Lush London

Now that was a great adventure.

Dave knocked on my door promptly at 6:30am with a cup of tea, and we were on the road by half-seven as they say in England.

Driver's seat on the right say whaaa??

I ate my first sausage and ketchup breakfast sandwich on the two-hour road trip and had managed to spill coffee all over myself by 9. We arrived in London around 10:30 but were stuck in nearly standstill traffic for almost an hour. Poor Dave our chauffeur suffered the most since he carries the infamous Y-chromosome characterized by traffic-induced impatience. So naturally by 11 in the morning, after finally parking in a gare-ahge, we were having our first and much needed half-pint of cider. Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" was playing in the background at the pub. Thus proving you don't have to be in college to have an experience like this. It was an exceptional moment.

First stop on the list was Platform 9 and 3/4, naturally, so we head underground for my maiden voyage on the Tube.

Little did we know it would be ages before we saw that Covent Garden sign again.

Once we arrived at King's Cross Station, we made a beeline for Platforms 9 & 10, only to discover that there's actually nothing there. Because of the volume of traffic, they have relocated the "platform" to the outside of the station. We had to ask about three separate station employees how to get there, which made me wonder if that's the most frequent question they are asked. I'm gonna go with yes. Because there was a 50-person line in front of us to take pictures by the time we found the darn thing. Unfortunately they were doing construction on or around the area so the trolley halfway through the wall had a little hut built around it, which affected the illusion a tiny bit. But given the choice between getting a good enough picture underneath the safety of a roof or being killed attempting to fulfill my childhood dream of visiting Platform 9 and 3/4, I think I'll choose life and use my computer's cropping tool. Didn't turn out to shabby now did it:

My second family. Cute innit?

After a hectic morning we were all ready for a good cornish pasty (pronounced past-ee). And boy did West Cornwall deliver. A pasty is like a really proper way of saying Hot Pocket (or Lean Pocket if that's your fancy), except instead of pizza it's filled with meat, potatoes, and veggies. It's the perfect on the go meal. Dave told me coal miners used to eat these but since they had dirty hands they'd eat everything inside and chuck the pasty shell. Such a shame... that's the best part. 

Feasting on pasties at King's Cross while looking for the line to the nearest pub.

By noon we had finished off our second half-pint and were ready to embark on the double decker bus tour. Not that I needed it because I was in the presence of the best tour guides in the U.K.

We totally knew where we were going.

That's why Dave was always a block ahead of us.

The next six hours were a whirlwind of sightseeing. I didn't think it was possible to see everything in London in a day, but we did it. Which explains the blisters on my toes and the tender spots still in my heels. But it was completely worth it. Here are some highlights:

St. Paul's Cathedral. I would totally be there every Sunday if this is what my church looked like.

I had an epiphany realizing the origin of the childhood song. Thankfully it wasn't falling down that day.

The Tower of London. Apparently there are 26 total towers on the premises, but after our 7th one I think Dave spoke for all of us when he said, "I think we get the jist."

Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. Although it's a replica and 200m away from where the original stood. Fraud.

But it was worth getting off the bus for Dave to take my picture wearing a St. Paul's Cathedral hat.

We drove past Trafalgar Square so many times that by the time we actually passed it on foot we were too sick of seeing it to get a close up picture.

Really excited to be at the gates to Buckingham Palace. 

The flag was flying which meant the Queen was there! Legit. Dave wanted to leave at this point, but I gave him the puppy dog face so he gave in and we carried on. I couldn't come all the way to London without seeing Big Ben up close now could I?

 Palace of Westminster aka the Houses of Parliament. The most gorgeous building I've ever seen in my life.

Thar he blows. The very best clock out of the hundreds we saw that day. Apparently the British like to be prompt. I wonder what that's like.

Westminster Abbey, for those of you who live in a cave and missed the Royal Wedding. (Guilty... Rachel had to point it out to me.)

By the time we got here (we had walked all the way from Buckingham Palace) all of our feet were dying. So we popped on over to The Nag's Head so Dave and I could get an IV drip of cider. On the way in however I got carded for the first time in Europe. Apparently I didn't look 18. And when I pulled out my Illinois driver's license the bouncer dude stared at me perplexedly and asked, "What's this?" After a couple minutes of convincing him that it was a legitimate form of identification he let me in. We then realized we hadn't had anything to eat since the pasties that morning, but the kitchen was closed so we hopped on the Tube back to Covent Garden (finally) and ate at the sweetest little restaurant called Bella Italia for dinner. I'm proud to say I matched Dave cider for cider that day and then calzone for calzone at dinner. 

Don't be fooled by my small stature, I have a stomach as deep as Mary Poppins' carpet bag.

I think I passed out within five minutes of settling down in the car on our way back home: part food coma, part loss of sensation in my legs. Dave says I snored, but I refuse to believe it. 

There are so many more memories made and laughs shared that I can't really put into words, but I think this is sufficient for blog purposes. It was such an exhausting day trip, but it was honestly a day I will remember forever because I spent it amongst the best company. I had such a blast the entire weekend that I forgot all about buying souvenirs, but I managed to snag these two in the airport on the way out, both of which I feel are appropriate given the circumstances:

I flew to Bristol on Thursday nervous and alone and departed Sunday afternoon already missing my second family. England hasn't see the last of me, that I know for sure.

Brilliant Brizzle

It was the reunion of all reunions. On Thursday afternoon, nearly ten years after our last departure and 17 since the year we spent together, I flew to Bristol, UK to spend the weekend with my favorite au pair Rachel and her family. I was stoked. As I descended over the gorgeous English countryside, however, I all of the sudden began to worry about what our relationship would be like. After all the majority of our interaction was when I was three, and frankly I don't remember any of it. What if our personalities didn't match up and the whole weekend was awkward? And was Rachel afraid the girl she knew at age three would be someone she wouldn't get along with at 20?

Now I've had some pretty dumb notions on planes before (I spend a lot of time up there), but I literally don't think I've ever been more wrong in my life. If it's possible to have a mother, an older sister, and a best friend all in one--that's Rachel. The nicest, most loving person with the sweetest infectious laugh you've ever heard. I exited customs with wide eyes frantically searching the arrival area for a familiar face, and there she was, right in front of me. We made eye contact, and suddenly everything just sort of clicked. After a tense week of being on my own in Paris, I was instantly relieved.

I spent Thursday night drinking my first cup of English tea, eating loads of pizza, and meeting Rachel's husband Dave and his son Sam. Sam explained cricket to me as we watched it on the telly, although I still don't totally get it. But they don't understand American football either so I guess we're even for now.

Later on I moved into the Purple Room upstairs, complete with my own bathroom and a lovely scenic window view. Which also meant time to open my suitcase and find out which fundamental item I had inevitably forgot to pack. Unfortunately it turned out this trip's casualty as a result of packing an hour before I left was pajamas. That's a new one. Usually it's a hairbrush or toiletry of some sort of thing that is easily replaced, so this particular forgetting really caught me off guard. Ashamed, I slept in my clothes.

The view. An excellent contrast to the hustle and bustle outside my window in Paris.

I slept like a rock the first night since I had really only gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before. Don't ask--what happens in Paris stays in Paris (I feel like I'm going to be saying that a lot this month). But I woke up promptly the next morning, in time for my second cup of English tea before we headed out to start my very own guided tour of Bristol, courtesy of Rachel and her amazing mum, Nanny Pat. Little did I know I would be completely smitten with the city by the end of the day.

First stop was the S.S. Great Britain. Admittedly I was only mildly interested at first, until it clicked on the way over about how big of a naval powerhouse Britain has historically been, meaning this ship was kind of a big deal. I learned that it served a lot of different purposes over the last 175 years based on the state of the nation during the time period; but, originally it was conceived as a luxury transatlantic ocean liner. After discovering this Rachel and I looked at each other immediately thinking of our mutual vacation proclivity: CRUISE SHIP.

The grandaddy of Royal Caribbean.

Accommodations have definitely been updated since then, but the inside of the ship was still pretty swanky for the 1800s. Except I was majorly creeped out by the lifelike wax figures of statues that I couldn't tell apart from the other real people on the ship.

We then head over to our next destination and to meet Nanny Pat for the very first time. Oddly enough it's a little nerve-wracking to meet for all these people who only know you from your baby pictures. I guess I raised a pretty high bar for myself at age three, so I was worried I wouldn't meet those standards I set when I was barely toilet trained. But I forced myself to forget about it because little did I know Rachel and Nanny Pat had planned an extensive itinerary that would keep me on my feet all day (literally). We began at St. Mary Redcliffe Church, just another 600-year-old architecturally stunning structure chilling in Europe. No big deal. That's the thing I love about Europe, there's so much more history here. Every building is fab, and constructed out of gorgeous stone or intricate woodworking rather than giant iron pylons and enormous glass windows that the U.S. really digs.

 She would stick out like a sore thumb in Hinsdale.

Before we knew it lunchtime was upon us, so we journeyed through the town until we arrived at my very first pub in England, The Llandloger Trow, a 400-year-old tavern that withstood a World War II bomb leaving half the roof missing and the upstairs windows tilted on a slight 15 degree angle. And bearing the only other word in the English language beginning with two L's besides llama. Thank goodness it survived otherwise I wouldn't have the opportunity to discover the delicacy that is the jacket potato. 

All bundled up. 

More familiar in the States as a baked potato. But jacket sounds so much cooler. Makes me want to rename other skinned fruits and vegetables, like "turtleneck banana" perhaps. The British have better names than us for everything really. For example:

How polite is that?

It basically implies, "If you wish to leave this is the route you would use, but take your time." As opposed to EXIT or SORTIE which is more like, "Get out of here already." Loves it. Or how about this one:

I half expected it to say "Rubbish."

Anyway I digress. After lunch we passed through St. Nicholas Market which was teeming with shoppers and vendors alike. Rachel and Nanny Pat's favorite tent sold t-shirts with stereotypical Bristolian phrases unintelligible to my American mind. Their hilarious translations had me doubled over, so I considered that my 8-minute ab workout for the day.

Not that I needed it because we walked everywhere. I should be used to it by now, but it's still exhausting. The end of the day made it all worth it though. We headed towards Bristol University through the trendy, youthful Clifton neighborhood that was reminiscent of a college campus back home, yet with a vintage feel surrounded by all that historic architecture. Like what an Ivy League school tries to look like. It was magnificent. 

I'm a sucker for gothic architecture.

It was official: I am coming back. As soon as possible, and for more than three days next time. Hopefully Rachel and Dave are down. If not I bet Nanny Pat will be.

The icing on the cake was our final stop at the Clifton Suspension Bridge. The guy who designed the S.S. Great Britain also designed the Bridge. Talk about an overachiever. Nanny Pat lead us to several viewing points so I could experience it from three different distances to get the full effect. It was brilliant. Opened 150 years ago for horse-drawn carriages, it meets modern standards for automobile travel across the gorge. Now that's engineering. I also learned that it used to be a common suicide bridge, which explains the extreme fencing job and the Good Samaritan Hotline number on the bridge towers.

I know I'm standing in the way, but you get the idea.

Lush. Gert lush. (It's a Bristolian thing.)

And as if that wasn't amazing enough, one after another about a dozen hot air balloons began to speckle the grey skies with some color. It was one of those moments where everything just kind of aligns. It was perfect.

If I were a mildly talented photographer showcasing at one of those art festivals everyone goes to but doesn't buy anything at, this would be my chef d'oeuvre. 

The next incident would change the entire course of events over the next two days: Dave bought me my first cider. It tastes just like sparkling apple juice you have on New Years Eve when you're six, until all of the sudden your limbs go numb and words start flowing uninhibitedly out of your mouth. Wicked. We all finished a pint at a pub along the Avon River and then relocated to another lovely joint so I could check one of my lifelong dreams off the food bucket list--real fish & chips in England. Also another pint of cider. And another English delicacy I wasn't aware of: mushy peas. They were quite delicious actually.

From baby food to a traditional English dinner, apparently Rachel's favorite dish to serve me is mushy peas.

We returned chez Miles and head straight to bed (not before another cup of English tea, mind you) in preparation for our trip to London the next day. All in all I have to say that I fell in love with Bristol. I think it's the multi-faceted nature that I'm obsessed with. Part countryside, part lovely habitable neighborhood, part harbor town, part college campus, all with Old Britain influence. Oh and did I mention Banksy?

Grim Reaper on the side of the Thekla boat.

The Cheating Wife down the road from Bristol Uni.

As if the aforementioned wasn't enough, the satirical graffiti artist was raised in Bristol and has left his creative mark around the city. I hadn't even heard of him until one of his works appeared in Westwood a few months ago, and now I was experiencing his originals in real life. Rachel has a few canvases depicting his work that line her hallway too and it looks really cool. I'm a huge fan. 

Friday night had me on a giant Bristol high, leaving me thinking that my trip couldn't get any better.

And then we went to London.