Lucky to be With The Loughers

The day Jenny left to go back to the States, I boarded my National Express bus to Bristol, England. It was so strange to be by myself after 3 and a half weeks together. However, the strangeness didn’t last for long as I was greeted at the bus stop by my next round of company, Mandy and Huw. Mandy and I worked together in Sydney and when I told her I’d be in England, she and her now fiance’ (woohoo!) graciously allowed me to stay with them. Mandy and I didn’t know eachother that well so I hardly knew what to expect however, I have to tell you, it was one of the best 5 days I’ve had in a long time.

Upon arriving in Bristol, Mandy’s hostess-with-the-mostest skills kicked in. We went back to their flat, she made me lunch, and then the two of us set out to go to her wedding dress fitting. I was a bit nervous about this because I’ve never been to a wedding dress fitting and I had fears that her taste would be horribly off from mine and I’d have to sit there and try to pretend to like something. This of course was a huge moment for her, I couldn’t let any disapproval read on my face! After about 2 minutes my fears were calmed, she stepped out in her dress and was absolutely stunning. That Huw is one lucky guy, though I’m sure no one needs to tell him that. We spent the rest of the afternoon running errands and preparing for our camping/canoeing trip in Wales that was to begin bright and early the next morning. I’ll get to that, but first and foremost I need to do a big thank you to Mandy and Huw. So here it is…

Mandy and Huw,

I just wanted to take a moment to express how truly grateful I am for the two of you and your hospitality. You took me in, fed me, did my laundry, let me sleep in your room, introduced me to your friends, included me on an amazing weekend in Wales, and most importantly, spent your time with a crazy American. You will never know how much it meant to me to see you and spend time with you. I did some serious laughing with the two of you. Whether it was practicing how to criticize people in British slang (F@*King WANKAS!), seeing the look on Mandy’s face on that canoe, having the weirdest and most amazing car ride home from Wales with Huw, harassing the bridal store sales lady, being introduced to Bruno, or just sitting around your flat, my smile was endless. I thank you for that. I feel so privileged to have worked with you in Sydney, Mandy, even if it turned out to be a nightmare. You see there’s a good end to that story, I got you out of it. You two make such a beautiful couple, something to really aspire to. Your synchronicity with one another is imperfect in the most perfect way. I can only hope to be so lucky one day. I realized upon leaving England that it definitely has a place in my heart and I was sad to have to go. However, it wasn’t the bustling streets of London, the scenic beauty of Wales, or the hominess of Bristol that made it hard to leave. It was the people. It was you. I hope to see you again next spring, as after exerting my pushy American ways with the sales lady at the bridal store, I must see the finished product. Until next time, take care of yourselves and know that you’ve got a friend who thinks the world of you both.

All my love,

Alex

And NowEuropeToDate…

Just Touched Down in Londontown

London. The final leg of our journey together. We were greeted surprisingly by sunshine. You Londoners may not realize but essentially Americans’ view of England is just gray. Ok, I probably shouldn’t speak for an entire country but I’d have to say I’d be correct on many accounts. What I’m trying to say here is that blue sky was a great bonus. Jenny and I did the most Londony thing we could in that sunshine and rode a double decker bus around the city. What I found so interesting about London was that it’s such a bustling city but looks as if it’s stuck in a time warp. The old black taxis, the telephone booths, Parliament, Buckingham Palace….there is just nothing modern or American looking about this city. And for that, I loved it. I believe we crammed more sightseeing in in London than anywhere we had previously traveled and I suppose that’s because London does indeed (how British do I sound!?) have sooo many sights.
One sight I wasn’t expecting was the motorcade of Barack and Michelle Obama. There we are minding our business, walking down Downing Street and all of a sudden no one is allowed to pass because oh wait….here comes Barack. Interesting that I had to go all the way to England to see our President. The closest I had come before was when he graced IU with his presence by drinking a beer at Nick’s in Bloomington. What a guy.

A truly memorable stop for me was Westminster Abbey. I’m sure this is more to do with the fact that the Royal Wedding was just held there and I along with about a billion other people of course tuned into it, than it was about the Abbey itself. Naturally, I did what any normal female would do…I walked down Kate’s aisle to Prince William….in my orange tube socks. So I didn’t feel quite as glamorous as Kate must have felt but at least I was making some sort of statement. (Note to myself on future London visits: People there do not understand tube socks over leggings and they will in fact look at you like you are a whackadoo…..Maybe you are.)

The most meaningful London stop by far though was Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. This trip was an homage to our grandfather, Pawpaw.A Shakespeare lover like I’ve never seen, my Pawpaw taught me a verse from TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, 22 years ago as a 5 year old. He never thought I’d remember it at the time and little did he know that I will never, ever forget it. This Shakespearean verse known simply to my family as, “Crab, My Dog,” is still rehearsed at nearly every holiday dinner table and I’m sure will be until the end of time. Though our stop to the Globe wasn’t extremely long (we were trying to catch the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace), it’s one place I will absolutely never forget going. My only regret is that he wasn’t there with us. He would have loved that, and so would we. So Pawpaw, because I know you must have the capabilities of reading blogs in heaven, this one is for you…

Crab, my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lived. My mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our made howling, the cat wringing its hands and all our house in a great perplexity. Yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog.

I think I’ll just leave it at that.

And NowEuropeToDate…

Ahoy Avanti and Hallo Amsterdam!

“How do you feel about staying on a houseboat?”

While planning for this trip I spent many a night up perusing my new favorite site, hostelworld.com. When it was time to book lodging for Amsterdam I began to notice a trend, houseboats. That would be sort of hilarious and a good way to mix up what we’re used to accommodation wise, I thought to myself. So after Jenny gave her consent, I booked it. Stepping off that train at Amsterdam Central, we made the trek to the Oosterdok, where our new home would be well, floating. There she was, looking a bit like the ship out of CAPTAIN RON, before its makeover, The Avanti. We climbed on board and were welcomed by British Jesse who showed us to our room. Now, I absolutely love houseboats and have been going on them for years down on Lake Cumberland in Kentucky. In fact, it is my favorite vacation. I’ve done this a million times. It will be great I thought! What I forgot about those trips was that my friends’ and my bags always slept in our designated rooms, but we did not. We were always sleeping in the middle of the living room or in tents on the roof. I didn’t realize how little space there would be to have all of our belongings and ourselves holed up in one room on The Avanti. To give you a better idea this room was probably 6.5 feet by 4 feet complete with a set of built in bunk beds that were the narrowest beds I’ve ever slumbered in. Seriously, if I’d eaten one more croissant or that crepe baby would have had even a day more development, I would have hung right off that thing. Jenny’s bed on the bottom, not so bad. Mine on the other hand had a sloping roof right above it so really only half of the smallest bed ever was even usable. Needless to say I would try to wedge myself under the roof slant but woke up many a morning by banging my arm on the roof or my head on the porthole window that was conveniently placed right at head height. The comical part about the room was that we couldn’t both get ready at the same time because you just spent all morning bumping into one another and getting frustrated so one person had to sit in their bed until the other was ready. I thought we had a hard time getting out the door before but this just about doubled it. While it sounds as if I’ve done a lot of griping here I actually sort of enjoyed waking up on the water. It was a nice change and once my body stopped rocking on land it was no big deal.

I have to say I had absolutely no idea what to expect from Amsterdam. All I can tell you is that I imagined half naked women in windows in the Red Light District (true story) and the smell of weed permeating from every crevice (also, a true story). What I didn’t realize was just how many canals make up Amsterdam. Our first day Jenny and I took a canal cruise and I was just blown away. All the locals were out on boats eating and drinking and cruising the waterways or people were out on deckchairs on their houseboats that were parked in the canal. It really felt like my kind of lifestyle. Furthermore, people ride their bikes everywhere in Amsterdam.Of course to fit in Jenny and I did the same. Now, I had been used to the cushiness of the seat on my beach cruiser in California…this was not that. I have never had my butt be so uncomfortable in my life, but the important part, as always, is that I couldn’t have felt any cuter if I tried.

The second day Jenny and I set out for the Anne Frank House. Let me tell you, that was an experience. I actually found myself getting kind of emotional when I really let the reality of the whole story and the place sink in. How horrifying that she died but one month before the end of the war. To be in her room and see the decorations she hung up to cheer herself up just felt a bit surreal. A really depressing experience but I’m very glad I went. Of course afterwards to lighten the mood of the day, Jenny and I headed to the Heineken Brewery.
For the small price of 15 Euro you get to tour the brewery, see some 4D show where you “get brewed” and then of course, sample much of the product. Not a bad way to spend the day. Overall, Amsterdam was just so much more than I expected and I sort of can’t wait to go back. Only this time, I’ll bring an inflatable cushion for my ass.

And NowEuropeToDate...

Paris: Something for Everyone

After the comfort of my Spanglish skills, France seemed a bit well, intimidating. Not that I don’t think pointing and smiling can get you pretty far but if I were to run into someone who didn’t speak an ounce of English, well then I would just be shit out of luck. Case in point, as glamorous as it sounds, Jenny and I spent our first night in Paris at….the laundrymat. You never want to have to give up a night exploring a fantastic foreign city in exchange for practicing your domesticity but that’s precisely what had to happen. After turning my underwear inside out for the third day in a row we figured it was time. Though, I love how we picked the country where I couldn’t decipher one written word of it even if there was a gun to my head to set out for a place where you are forced to read all of the instructions because the entire place is unmanned. Standing around staring at the literal writing on the wall and feeling like complete dumbasses for a good 5 minutes, some American girls finally came to our aid. Thank God for that or it would have been another week of unwashed clothes before we finally got to an English speaking country and I’m afraid I would have arrived smelling exactly like my frizzy-haired, sparkly- purple-clog-wearing friend, and well, that’s just not the kind of impression I like to make.

Sidenote: For some reason I crave Snickers when I’m in foreign countries. When I lived in Australia I wanted them all the time. So much so that my darling roommate, Brad, got me a ton of them for Christmas. It’s just odd because I rarely eat them in the States. Anyhow, during the laundry adventure I set out to find one and ended up buying one from a man who was camped out in his tiny market smoking a hookah. I’m sorry, I thought I had left Morocco. But there he was, smoking away. Sir, do you think you could please put down the hookah and hook a girl up with a Snickers. Merci. He finally smelled what I was stepping in and moved some boxes and other crap around to reveal a box of what I’d been searching for. The lesson here is that whether your Snickers comes from a CVS in the good old US of A, your cute roommate in Australia, or a hookah-wielding and highly disorganized market owner in Paris, a Snickers is a Snickers is a Snickers and wow, are they good!

One day while exploring the city and really making use of a 3 day Metro pass, Jenny and I were apparently and unknowingly cast as the new judges of PARISIAN IDOL: Metro Addition. While sitting on the train minding our own business, suddenly there was a ruckus and this girl started shouting. I assumed she was talking to a friend further down on the train and didn’t think much of it, that was until 50 Cent’s Magic Stick kicked on. One minute I’m riding the Metro, the next minute I’m listening to a girl rap in French to 50 Cent. What the shit? Apparently, she carted around this deafening speaker and assumed everyone wanted to listen to her mad rap skills and then pay her for it. What was a pleasant ride turned into a, “Is this really happening to me? moment” in the blink of an eye. Poor girl didn’t make much cash on our train so she quickly jumped off and was on to annoy the next round of passengers on a different line. I wish them luck. Truth be told, at least she was doing that and not working the corner somewhere, though I’m bound to think it would have been much more profitable for her. As if one wasn’t enough, our next train was accompanied by…wait for it….no really, it’s good….wait….a polka band! Seriously, accordion, trombone, clarinet. These men were having a grand old time and I have to say, so was I! I never knew I liked polka so much until I literally couldn’t stop bouncing to it and finally Jenny said, “Oh My God, stop.” It’s true, everyone was looking at me but that music was just so catchy and after the French female Fitty (dig that alliteration?) this was a Godsend. Now, you’re obviously thinking at this point my run in with Parisian Idol has certainly ended. Well my friends, you would be wrong. Last train of the night, we hop on….La La Bamba! La La Bamba! Oh yes, you visualized correctly, a slicked back-haired Latin man karaokeing to La Bamba, and why not right? Let’s really end this night off with a bang. Every city has street performers, but not every city can hit you with this kind of musical awakening all in one day via the metro no less. Paris, I thank you for it.

Here’s what else happened in France. I became impregnated with a crepe baby. There I am feeling so Parisian, wandering along the Seine between Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre to my right, chowing down (in a very posh way of course, this is Paris after all) on a selection of pastries and it hit me, this crepe baby is expanding at far too rapid of a rate to keep under control. That was my cue. Paris, I loved you but in the hopes of not appearing as a woman in my third trimester I’m afraid it’s time to Hit the Road Jack!, or Jacques I suppose if I’m being regionally correct (which I always try to be.) Au Revior! Me and my new large ass will miss you.


And NowEuropeToDate…

Le Fork Bandit

Tonight, I took on an alter ego. I’m to be known from here on out, but only in the tightest of circles (including the thousands of people I’m sure are reading this blog) as, Le Fork Bandit. The mission was no easy task, but I accepted it. Let me first give you some necessary background information…

Before embarking on this European adventure, I was working hard for my money, so hard for my money at Fleming’s Steakhouse in Indianapolis with a seriously crazy cast of characters. I didn’t work there long but sort of immediately fell in love with these people and the idiosyncrasies of the place itself. If you have ever worked at a restaurant, they all have them, and this was no exception. One particular mystery of the restaurant was known as the Double Fork Bandit. You see, at Fleming’s we remove the appetizer/salad fork off of the table before the salad is served because new chilled forks are actually presented with the salad itself (Fancy schmancy, I know!). This being said, you end up constantly carting around forks. Well, this phantom character they call the Double Fork Bandit is always leaving a fork duo behind…at the soda machine, at the Aloha station, next to the bar. One minute they aren’t there and then the next minute…he strikes!...like a bat out of hell….you never saw it coming…and then you are left, as you can imagine, mystified because as much as you want to and as hard as you try, you can never seem to put a face to the perpetrator. So Double Fork Bandit, whoever you are, because I’m so impressed by your righteous skill set, this one goes out to you…

THE MISSION:

One Saturday at work I was setting up my tables, making them look visually perfect as we are trained to do, and I noticed that the bane of my existence had once again taken up residence on my table. The culprit was a fork, and not any fork, a mismatched salad fork that does not look like any of the other silverware in the restaurant. This bit of proof that Satan does exist kept appearing on my tables. Finally, I’d had it. I had removed this thing far too many times and there it was again, all shiny and looking up at me, just mocking me. I seized that fork from its platform of ridicule and took it straight over to my boss, Hunter. “Hunter!” I said. “This fork does not match any of the forks in this whole place and it keeps ending up on my tables. May I please get rid of it?!” Hunter, clearly empathizing with the sheer frustration pulsing through my veins, told me I could take it home, better yet take it to Europe with me. At the thought of this, I jokingly decided to make some other waiter’s hell and we decided that I should leave it on a table in France. There it was…my mission, all laid out for me. Obviously, there was no turning back now.

THE PLAN:

I needed a restaurant in Paris that had a) a view of the Eiffel Tower as proof that I didn’t just pull a fast one and leave this thing at an airport Chili’s To Go, b) an unsuspecting waiter, and c) a really fantastic disguise so they couldn’t trace it back to me (deportation is not a good look for me).

THE SCENE:

Le Dome Café…excellent view.


THE WAITER:

Garcon (even I couldn’t make that up). Totally unsuspecting, and kind of a dick. Even better, as I was about to make his life a living hell. Revenge is a dish best served cold!...or to a random waiter in Paris who has never harmed you but just happened to cross your European itinerary on the wrong day.



THE SET UP:

Alex, the American tourist. He’ll never suspect a thing.


Alex, incognito. Le Fork Bandit has emerged!


THE FOLLOW THROUGH:

Act clueless and American. Smile a lot. Distract him with my charm as well as the flash of my ever present camera. Stick that flash straight into his eyes if I must. No stone unturned! Order, eat, and leave that tip with a little something extra….BAM!

SUCCESS:

You just got forked you French F*#K!

Le Fork Bandit strikes again!!!...or, for the first time, but hey, who’s counting?

AndNowEuropeToDate…

Random Ramblings from the Ramblas

Barcelona, what an absolutely fantastic city… The blue waters of the Mediterranean lapping at the sand on Barceloneta beach, the hoards of people strolling up and down Las Ramblas, the fancy and far-too-expensive stores of L’Eixample, the twists and turns of the Gothic Quarter, and the whimsical touches by Antoni Gaudi covering the city. With so much space conquered, so many sights seen, I’ll just go ahead and hit you with my random ramblings from the Ramblas…

1. Mini Kazoos. Barcelona, much like every other city, has hundreds of people trying to sell you little trinkets that they think you’re dying to have. Case in point, the mini kazoo. I’m not sure how this type of thing actually says BARCELONA in someone’s mind but apparently these things sell. They are tiny little things that you hide in your mouth but when you blow them they sound like kazoos only much higher pitched and not nearly as pleasant as an actual kazoo. (How good is the word Kazoo!?) The people selling these mind numbing toys were EVERYWHERE on Las Ramblas. What should have been a pleasant stroll was made so anxiety inducing daily because these guys would not leave you alone. I’ve never come so close to punching anyone in my life. If I never hear another one of those things again, I assure you, I’ll die happy.


2. Siestas. From all of this travel so far I’ve discovered one very important lesson (as witnessed in my previous post), you can either be a day tourist or a night tourist, you cannot be both. With all the walking and sight seeing and planning and eating done in a day it is virtually impossible to have the energy to then go out at night. This is why I feel Spain is really on the ball. This whole siesta thing is beyond crucial. I believe there was only one day we didn’t siesta in Spain…never again. I’m a big sleeper as it is. Love to sleep. Love to nap. This culture is made for me. While I’m petitioning Congress for cerveza dispensing vending machines, you can rest assured I’ll be adding in a little something about the value of an implemented siesta program as well.



3. Gawdy or Gaudi? You may have heard of this man they call Gaudi and if not, I’m here to tell you he’s a total whackadoo…in the most awesome way possible. He designed structures like Casa Battlo, Parc Guell, and the world famous, Sagrada Familia. This man is freaking crazy and I love it. I’m sort of shocked that Barcelona was down with him designing what he did for the city considering the time period. I mean you would think this man was tripping on acid. His gingerbread like designs make you feel like you’re walking through Candyland and let’s be honest, I could really get into that. Sagrada Familia was completely awesome. The front looks ancient and like it’s melting while the inside is completely innovative and nothing like any cathedral I’d ever imagine. What’s so interesting is that though Gaudi died years ago, the people of Barcelona are so committed to his vision that people work on this cathedral for years knowing they will never see the final product. It’s meant to take another quarter of a century to complete. Seriously, 250 more years. Sheesh! I guess that means I won’t be seeing it either…unless something scientific and crazy happens here in the next few decades, somehow I doubt it though.



4. Nudity. What’s awesome is laying out on the beach in Barcelona, Spain. What’s not awesome is when you see a guy looking at you from across the way and then you realize he’s naked…on the main beach…naked. THAT is all.


And NowEuropeToDate...

Drinking and Touristing Do Not Mix

Let me paint you a picture…

You pop up in your bed, head from pillow to vertical in one far too quick motion. You’re sure it must be the middle of the afternoon and you’ve missed all your planned activities for the day. Your head is throbbing as if someone has done batting practice on your skull. Your mouth is so dry you’re sure you’ve somehow had a Freaky Friday moment with that Moroccan camel you rode as it wanders parched through the Sahara, no water in sight. Your voice sounds like a dude. And best yet, you remember 24 year-old Anders from Norway wanted to sleep in your bunk bed. Awesome.

Welcome to Barcelona!

Here’s what happened…

Our first night in Barcelona, Jenny and I had a great plan intact. We were going to go to the huge market off of La Rambla, pick up some picnic-y things for dinner and head up to Montjuic to see the Magic Fountains. All ready to go, we head outside and all of a sudden, it’s raining. After the bluest of blue days, it just starts coming down. Unfortunately for us we had no Plan B and an umbrella did not go with my outfit! So there we are, looking cute, yet running through the rain. All of us ladies know, this combination does not mix. Naturally, we did the only thing that made any logical sense….we took solace in a bar…an Irish bar no less…in Spain. (I’ll call it a small tribute to our grandmother.) Just as I was sitting on my bar stool, drinking my beer, feeling a little bit sorry that our plans were ruined, a group of Danes came in…wasted. They were in town for the FC Barcelona game and REALLY enjoying their trip. Needless to say, we spent our evening pounding the most delicious mojitos and hanging out with a large group of Danes….in an Irish bar….in Spain. The evening was a great success, so much fun and quite memorable….ok maybe not sooo memorable. Not quite what we expected for the evening but hey, best laid plans am I right?

To add even more of a bonus to this one, after knocking back multiple Excedrine and looking for food to soak up that alcohol like we were on a mission from God, I looked down into my bag to find it full of coasters. Coasters, everywhere. One bag…full of coasters. Apparently, Anders from Norway wanted to do a little decorating under his glass coffee table and I was willing to help out. What is my life?!

And NowEuropeToDate...