Traveling Mercies

Home Again...for a night

2007-07-12T15:26:00.000-05:00

Chicago was really good in the end. I got irritated with myself for choosing it when it was all sex innuendo and lingerie for the first few numbers. The music and choreography were engrossing and unforgettable, though. The second act especially rocked, with huge songs, glitter, and great showmanship. London said goodbye with a bang.

The Cambridge Theater

The next morning I got up on time and headed out. I said goodbye to my spartan little room in Elizabeth House. Did I mention I was staying in a little bed and breakfast near Victoria Station? This place was low budget. The chairs in the breakfast rooms often lost their seats, and one of them gave me a massive splinter. I made it through breakfast and then went upstairs to perform surgery with tweezers. I turned in my key to the empty desk and headed to the train station.

Sad to leave London, not Elizabeth House

For the first time on this trip, my plans to be early worked. By 6:53 I was at Victoria Station, which conveniently offered Gatwick Express trains every 15 minutes to Gatwick Airport (directly into the terminal--beautiful). I took the 7:00 train and was at Gatwick at 7:30. The airport was a zoo, so I was glad I got there early. My flight was scheduled to leave at 10:40, so I had time to kill. I shopped around and had a nice breakfast before going to my gate.

The plane was late. I had an aisle seat, which was great because I got up to go to the bathroom at least once an hour. I drank and ate everything they offered me, and watched two movies, not in the mood for reading. The huge tome I'd brought with me was Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. I thought it was so smart to bring a huge book, because I'd be on trains and planes and wanting entertainment. Too bad over the month I only read about 100 pages, falling alseep each ten. By the end of the flight I had the feeling I was breathing all used air, and started getting a headache. Please, Lord, let this plane land soon.

Despite being late, my plane made it to Charlotte with enough time for me to bust through baggage claim, customs, rechecking my bag, and security. I was back in the States. My flight from Charlotte to Florida was fine, and then I was home.

In the air

On the ground

Home didn't last long. I thought we were leaving on Friday for the lake, but it turned out we were leaving Thursday. We'd go first to Savannah, then to the lake on Friday. So I enjoyed one luxurious evening in my sweet bed, and got over my jet lag.

The next morning was a comedy of errors. I'd been looking forward to several things at home: my bed, good coffee, a nice long bath, and doing laundry. (Well, I'd also been looking forward to seeing friends and family, but you know, first things first.) I actually woke up with a little backache. After my little prison bed at Elizabeth House, my awesome sleigh bed was too soft. Then I went downstairs, poured a bowl of cereal, sat down, and spit it out. The milk was sour. Then, no cream for the coffee. Mom had sweetened condensed milk, but she forgot to shake it so it was kind of gooey and lumpy in the coffee I'd been craving. I started a load of laundry and then went upstairs to bathe. I used the bathroom first and went to wash my hands, but only air came from the tap. I checked all the sinks--nothing. Somehow, in the move to their new office, my parents had neglected to change the billing address for the water bill. They hadn't paid, and so the water had been turned off. No laundry, no bath.

I hope you'll agree this was just ridiculous. Home sweet home.

Anyway we went to my grandparents' house last night and today we're headed to Elijah Clark State Park, just outside Lincolnton, GA. We'll spend a week at the lake, enjoying the boat, skiing, fishing, wakeboarding, and tubing. A lot of the family will be there at least for part of it, so you know it will be a circus. I'm excited. I'll update you guys when I get back, unless I'm hospitalized for neck injury, whiplash, or sunburns. Woohoo!

Last Day

2007-07-10T12:59:00.000-05:00

Last night after blogging I went to the Westminster Palace, home of the Houses of Parliament. Finally, after their being busy all day, I got a chance to see British government in action. I went into the House of Commons, the more rowdy and interesting of the two houses. It was nearly 9:30 p.m.; the House closes officially at 10:30. The place was smaller than I'd imagined, and full of ceremony. All of the Members of Parliament weren't there, but it was still fun. My two favorite parts: the dripping irony with which the opposition sometimes addresses the government official speaking, and the Speaker of the House. The Speaker has a thick brogue, and he presides over the whole affair. Near the end, it's his job to close certain business ("the debate") by putting the question. He actually posed about ten questions, and they all went something like this: "As to the....All in favor? (Aye, aye) Opposed--(he doesn't even break, really)--I believe the ayes have it, the ayes have it." Every time. Here are a few nighttime views from Westminster Pier.

For my last day in London and abroad I gave myself the luxury of sleeping in. I've noticed that I'm getting tired, running out of steam on this grand adventure. So I slept an extra 40 or so minutes this morning, and it felt great. I couldn't sleep through the smell of toast, though. Mmm, bread.

My first stop was once again Westminster Pier, for British Airways London Eye. I stepped into a little capsule and went round on this huge bicycle wheel for 360 degree views of London's skyline. The London Eye is the tallest thing around, so you get great pictures. It was impressive and fun. The second half of the spin was not surprisingly less fun than the first. I started thinking about the trip ending. This sort of marks the beginning of the downspin half of my summer, where I'll do more looking back than ahead. I still have the lake, but school haunts: only one month left of this blissful summer.

After my spin, I headed out to market. It was quite an experience. I hit the whole spectrum, from Pinto to Ferrari. I started at Old Spitalfields. The vendors have booths and do their best to display their wares for buyers. Here you can haggle.

Next I hit Covent Garden. Moving on up, this place felt like a Park Ave. It had nice, permanent stores like Lush and Gap along with street vendors and artisans. I enjoyed looking around, as much at the people as the merchandise.

I walked to Picadilly Circus and took the tube to Queensbridge, where the place to go is Harrods. Harrods is Saks on steroids. You're struck by the massive place immediately, and intimidated by the impressive show of luxury cars parked VIP-style in the street, drivers waiting.

There are seven floors to the most elaborate and expensive department store I have ever visited. Lucky for me, they were having their only sale of the year--a huge, up to 50% off sale. The trouble is you're looking at dresses by Valentino, bags by Gucci and Hermes, suits by Armani himself. And the dollar is currently crap compared to the pound sterling. So I look at a beautiful coat, and find the tag: £1010. Wait, it's minus 50%: £505. Then convert to dollars: £1010 or even more now. I was surrounded by beautiful Arabian people who weren't even carrying their bags. They had checked them. I saw a purser pushing out a large crate that you might find at the end of a forklift, full of Harrod's packages. Once again, I was out of my league. That's okay, I'm not sure I want to be in that league. I wouldn't mind having a Gucci bag and shoes, though.

Scary. Waxen Mr. Fayed welcomes people to his store.

Tonight I'm going to grab a quick dinner and finish this trip in true London style--at the theater. I'm seeing Chicago. I wasn't an enormous fan of the movie, but I really like the music and it's London's biggest show. I'll have to post the pictures later, I guess. They are taking too long to upload and I've got to get to the show. Tomorrow morning early, I'm heading home. Thanks to all of you for your comments and for reading. It has been fun letting all of you in on this amazing journey. Should I continue blogging? I'm not sure my regularly-scheduled life is that exciting.

Thanks to Mom and Dad for an awesome gift. Thanks to God for traveling mercies. Home again, home again...soon.

ESPNLondon

2007-07-06T13:16:00.000-05:00

Sorry it's taken me so long to write a new post. I've been a busy girl, and have lots to fill you guys in on. Here's the highlights reel. Well, highlights and then some; now that I am finished and looking back at it, it's more like the entire game.

I went to the Tower of London this morning. A Beefeater yelled a tour of the place. There are about 150 Beefeaters who live in the Tower, and they serve as guides and hosts to the Tower's guests. My guide was pretty sassy. At one point he asked a lady to put away her video camera because he doesn't like those things pointed at him. Hmm. In addition to the Beefeaters, the Tower is home to the Crown Jewels, eight ravens, an armory museum, and a lot of bloody history. William the Conqueror built it as a fortress, complete with prison tower, executioners block (where several nobles lost their heads), and stinky feces-filled double moat. Pretty impressive.

With a Beefeater

The White Tower, the Tower of London's major landmark

After the Tower I cruised the Thames River to Westminster Pier. It was sort of a dreary day, but a fun ride and neat view of the city. Once ashore, I walked up to Westminster Abbey. This place is all at once very beautiful and just a little bit weird. It was built by William the Confessor, and has held every royal coronation since his (he crowned himself). It also holds the remains of some famous dead, including Bloody Mary and Elizabeth I (both queens). In Poet's Corner I stared at monuments honoring Chaucer (buried there), Dickens, Shakespeare, Browning, Shelley, the Brontes, Wordsworth, Handel, and many more. I stayed for Evensong, my second ever Anglican service (the first was a wedding). It was impressive. I was there early enough--having stayed--to get a coveted seat in the choir loft. The boys/mens choir came in and filled in near me. There was responsive reading and singing, and it was all really beautiful. I really loved watching the little boys. They did a Magnificat in another language, really staccato, and made the best faces. Except for this one little Asian boy on the front row, who sang all his parts but looked bored out of his mind.

After Evensong I did Rick Steves' Westminster Walk from the Abbey, Houses of Parliament and Big Ben to Trafalgar Square. On the way I saw cool old buildings, monuments, and #10 Downing Street, home of the UK's new Prime Minister. Trafalgar Square was filled with people when I got there. They were hosting a pre-Tour de France event. I didn't realize that the Grand Depart was taking place in London this weekend. When these terrible dancers came out, dressed like road (gray suits, white stripe down the center) I couldn't handle it anymore and left. I walked home on the Mall past Buckingham Palace.

The next morning I headed to Henley for the Royal Regatta. Yes that's right. I am here in London at the crossroads of some very important events: Wimbledon, the Tour de France, the Henley Royal Regatta, and the Justin Timberlake Concert at the new O2. I'd heard from my seat friend on the Eurostar that I had to get to the Regatta, to have a look at English society.

I had to make two trips to the station, because the first time I left my Tube card and I was too impatient and stubborn to wait in the long lines to pay for a single pass. (Too thrifty also--I'd already paid for the week, why pay more because I'm forgetful?) Finally, out of Paddington Station, I was on my way. On the train I was suddenly surrounded by all these chic young people. I felt very conspicuous, very American. At least I'd worn a dress. My denim jacket felt like a neon sign. The men were mostly wearing jackets with their nice shirts, some ties. Bottles of wine were opened before we left the station, and I noticed most people carried grocery bags. Picnic lunches--how could I not know?--crap! The ladies dressed ranged from hip, slightly slutty to did-you-just-pull-that-out-of-your-grandmothers-dress-up-box? prim. They looked like they'd been dressed by costume designers from Amanda Bynes' movie, What a Girl Wants. They even had hats. The cutest ones were more suggestions of hats than real hats: stiff circular bows, trimmed with feathers or ribbon.

Dressy, dressy. Notice hats on left. Lady on right shares my denim dilemma.

Stripes! Some of them wore ties that perfectly matched the jackets.

I was way out of my league. As I got out at the station and took a bathroom break (always a good decision) I made up my mind to have a good time. I wasn't easily convinced. I noticed that most people had little paper shields pinned to their dress straps or lapels, almost like gift tags. Where could I get tagged? I walked over the bridge, catching sight of the grand festivities, and headed toward the sales tent. "This stand is for members, only members can buy. I'm sorry, but all of the public stands are sold out today," a kind lady told me. "But you can walk along the footpath. It's quite nice."

So I headed off. Actually, being alone, this was by far the best way to go. I walked the entire length of the regatta, watching the racers row by in turn. I passed very posh people at the start. Men looked very proud to have on loud magenta and green striped coats, or carnation pink blazers with matching ties--oarsmen with fine tradition. The hats got bigger as the ladies got older. As I walked further along away from the members area and toward the start, the crowd got decidedly less genteel. I even saw girls in just their bathing suit tops and shorts. Shabby and improper. I had a good time, and headed back to the city a little early.

Back in town, I headed to Leicester Square in the heart of the West End theater district. I ate a little picnic dinner in Trafalgar Square, and then got tickets for the new show, "In Celebration!" This show's main draw for me is that it was starring Orlando Bloom. That's right. I paid a nice fee to sit for two hours 50 feet away from Orlando Bloom in person. The play was good, despite all that. It was about family relationships, which is always an interesting subject. Did I mention I saw Orlando Bloom in person? There were girls in the audience who looked like they'd dressed expecting him to ask them out from the stage.

Fountain in Trafalgar Square. Note the Tour de France stands behind.

The next morning I headed to the Mall near Buckingham Palace to watch some behind the scenes action before the Tour de France Stage One left. The riders were all in and out of their buses, getting interviewed, and talking a little with fans. I stood next to a cycling enthusiast who helped clue me in to everything (very helpful). I saw Fabian Cancellara, the rider who won the Prologue, wearing his yellow jersey. It was a good, laid-back location for up-close views.

When they left, riding toward Greenwich and the official start, I headed to the Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum. If you visit London, go here--whether you think you're interested or not. It is an incredible, interactive, and informative place with a really cool, subdued feel. It's one of my favorite museums on this trip littered with the great European museums.

I left WWII and headed to London Bridge and the Old Operating Theater. This place was really fun for me. It is a museum to the old practice of medicine, surgery, and training medical students. It's loaded with herbs (medicines for the humours), equipment, and photos. I'm very glad to be learning medicine now, rather than then. At that time consenting to surgery was basically agreeing to physician-assisted suicide. I read patient notes that made me shudder.

View the students would have had: patient on wooden table, no anesthesia, physician's cane between the teeth for pain, sawdust box below to catch running blood.

I ate lunch overlooking the Thames and then crossed the Millenium Bridge, aka the Blade of Light or Wobbly-Twobbly, to St. Peters and back.

Millenium Foot Bridge

Then I hit Tate Modern for a look at art from the last century. In my hour and a half blitz I only saw two galleries, but they included incredible works by artists such as Jackson Pollock, Henri Mattise, Pablo Picasso, and Marc Chagall. If I have any time left over tomorrow, I think I'll go back.

Tate closed just in time for me to walk back over to the Globe Theater to watch Shakespeare's Othello. As I walked in I felt like I was walking either back in history or onto the set of Shakespeare in Love. But it was real. I was too late to get one of the cheap standing-only tickets; instead I sat comfortably on a rented cushion in the back with a great view of the stage. The play was just okay, I'm sad to say. Iago was incredible, as were Rodorigo and Cassio. The girls were pretty good, but Othello just didn't quite hit it. His voice was too soft for the Moor.

This morning I did a double decker tour and then watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. In other words, I was definitively a tourist. A little bored with the grand procession, I headed off to the British Library.

They say that Britain's greatest contribution is in its written word, despite all its imperialistic history. As an English major and long-time lover of books and words, I'd have to agree. The British Library literally has a treasure chest room, housing incredible works. Here's a snapshot of just a few of the hand-written things: Handel's Messiah; Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre; Lewis Carroll's diary where he writes of finishing writing down Alice's Adventures; the Beatles lyrics of Yesterday, Help! (in marker, I think), and others; letters from Queen Elizabeth I, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Beowulf, the Magna Carta and lots of other stuff. In print, one of the first Gutenberg Bibles, a first printing of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, and other illuminated and sacred texts. I had a ball.

In the afternoon I went to Kensington Gardens, and looked at Kensington Palace, which was once the home of the late Princess Diana. The people still mourn her. I walked to the Orangery, just behind the palace, for high tea. It was very pleasant, and very expensive. Definitely something you have to do at least once. I did champagne tea: a flute of champagne, pot of tea, cucumber sandwiches, scone with clotted cream and berries, and chocolate cake. It's very traditional. Let's face it--it was dinner.

High Tea at Orangery

That brings us up to date! I know this was long, so sorry about that. I only have about 40 hours left on this amazing adventure. I'm doing much better than I even expected alone. My little room is a nice home base. London is a great city alone, because there's enough to keep me constantly busy and surrounded by other people. I'm minding the gap at stations, feeling safe even at night (though I'm on guard, don't worry), and am even getting the hang of looking the right direction when crossing the street. It's helpful, though, that they paint big "Look Right" and "Look Left" signs at the ends of the walks. I get nervous when I see cars going by with no one in the driver's seat, though; that still manages to make me laugh.

The Mall, leading straight to Buckingham Palace

Thanks for making the trip with me. Hope you're all doing well. Let me know.

Chunnel of Victory: 9 minutes

2007-07-06T04:09:00.000-05:00

Hey all. My trip here yesterday could be called an adventure in almost making it. I decided to play it safe and get to Brussels extra early before my Eurostar to London. I would take the 8:06 a.m. train from Den Haag HS instead of the 9:06, which would have put me there just in time. I woke up at 6 a.m., planning to catch the first bus after seven. I hadn't rechecked the bus schedule, but I was pretty sure the bus from Wassenaar to Den Haag came at about 17 minutes and 47 minutes after. I ate breakfast, drank one last Nespresso, prayed with Adam and Casey, and headed out. I was only a few minutes off schedule, and still made it to the bus stop at 7:10.

The first 7 bus came at 7:01. I was nine minutes late. I wasn't too nervous, though. I caught the 7:31 and made it to Den Haag Centraal at 8:01, just in time to watch the train to Den Haag HS leave the station without me. I had to wait until 8:21 for the next train to leave, and rode the 3 short minutes to the next station. But it was okay, I'd catch the 9:06 as originally planned and things would just have to work smoothly in Brussels. I sat down to wait and pulled out my journal. Trains were moving in and out of my platform quickly. I'd gotten lost in journaling, so I almost missed my train. I was relieved when I got aboard. We started to move too quickly, though, and then I noticed I was on a 9:01, not a 9:06, and the B-city I was headed towards was not Brussels.

I just about threw up right there. The guy across from me noticed me looking green, and asked the question with his face. "I think I'm in the wrong train," I told him.

"Where are you trying to go?" he asked.

"Brussels Zuid," I said. He looked nervously toward the woman across from him.

She leaned forward. "It's okay," she said, "You have to change in Rotterdam. They all go the same direction."

"Thank you," I replied weakly. "I think I'm going to go wait downstairs." I went down toward the doors and plopped down on my suitcase, wringing my hands and worrying. Would this intercity train with all its stopping actually beat my train to Rotterdam. I had a five minute headstart, but I wasn't sure that was enough. I started praying hard. Lord, you know everything. You are in control, not me. You can make this train fly. I closed my eyes and pretended we were actually flying along. As the minutes ticked, I felt sick but just kept praying. This was my shot. If I didn't make it onto that train there was no way I could catch my Eurostar. I'd have to wait till evening and wouldn't make it until 10:30 p.m. Father, put some train person on the platform that knows which platform I have to get to--let there be enough time.

We pulled into Rotterdam with about 2 minutes till my train was supposed to get there. Two train men were on the platform almost right in front of my car. Platform four! one said, then I was off, dragging my bag on one wheel and then its belly, not caring.

I made it. Then I made it onto the Eurostar, where in my first class seat all the panic of getting there was forgotten. We got a nice lunch, two drink services, coffee, dessert, and a chocolate. I sat next to a nice Irish guy who has a family and three houses. It was a fantastic trip.

I arrived in London at the Waterloo station and took the tube to Picadilly Circus to pick up tourist information, a map, and exchange my money. London's underground metro really does look like a tube, so it's an apt name. All that settled, I went to my bed and breakfast in the Victoria neighborhood to check in.

The guy behind the desk was a foreign guy, who was not shy. I'd stood there all of half a minute when he started telling me how beautiful I am, how lucky they are to have me stay there. He loves Americans. "Here's your key. Room 36, gorgeous," he said.

"Oh, boy," I replied. This phrase is getting to be a thing with me. What is it with these guys? Luckily right then Nick Vu walked in and we headed away from Romeo. I got settled in and then we went to get theater tickets. We bought tickets for Wicked and then tried taking the tube to Hyde Park. We went to Green Park on accident, and suddenly ended up at Buckingham Palace. We finally made it to lovely Hyde Park, but in the rain Speakers Corner was empty. We went back to Victoria and grabbed a quick, yummy dinner and then went to the show.

Wicked, if you're not familiar, is an incredible musical. We'd never seen it before, so it was just thrilling. The performers were just amazing, and the show itself is a lot of fun. I had chills. And basically, I'm hooked. I think I'm going to eat less so that I can see more shows here. Afterwords we walked along the Thames from about the Tower Bridge to the Globe and got some dessert. When we finally got back to Elizabeth House (the B&B) I was zonked. It had been a long day.

Nick just left so now like Cosette I'm on my own. Get ready for a lot of goofy pictures of me doing stuff. I'll keep you posted. Cheerio!

My Night With Giovanni

2007-07-04T17:06:00.000-05:00

Here it is, folks, the long-awaited story of my Italian date night. Some of you are probably thinking, is this Emily Taylor? She would not go out on a date with an Italian guy while on vacation with her family! You are right. Well, you should have been right.

As I mentioned before, the date began with Giovanni, the hotel waiter, asking me out in front of my parents. Just in case you've forgotten, it went like this: Mom, Dad, and I are sitting out on the terrace, enjoying a drink after dinner. Giovanni serves us. A few minutes later he returns and says, "Can I ask question?" then he looks at my dad and says, "Not you, her." Mom and Dad immediately start laughing but play it pretty cool. "Would you like to have a drink with me across the street?"

As you know, in the end I accepted. He said, "Okayuh. In, um, fifteen minutes I come back and tell you. Then I go. Then in ten minutes I come back. And then we go. Where will I meet you?" I struggle through: "Here?" "Okayuh."

Sure enough, he came back the first time, telling me he was off. Then he left, and about ten minutes later he returned. Man, did he return. This guy was ready for date night. He was dressed in a sleeveless black tshirt that said "Nike" on the front. On top of that, a thick chain. He wore jeans and black and gold sneakers. Yes, I said gold--mostly gold. He had on three silver chain bracelets, which later served as a conversation piece: ("Which one do you like?" Trying not to laugh, "This one?" "Me too.")

We walked out of the hotel and directly across the street. There were lots of people about our age there. Of course he asked the guy if we could have the only open table right there on the porch. I suddenly felt very displayed. Oh boy, I thought, now I'm the hotel girl. He ordered a beer for himself, cappucino for me. This was a huge highlight of the date--I discovered I like cappucino, and have been drinking it ever since.

He knew everyone. It's a small town. He asked if he'd taken too long and told me he'd run down to shower. He was still sweating from the effort. He lives with his parents he tells me, which he says is common for boys in small towns to do until they are thirty. He's 24, how old am I? Twenty-six. "Is okay?" he asks. He tells me about first seeing me, and his requirements for asking a girl out: "First, beautiful. Second, I not have girlfriend. Third, not a beetch." "Oh boy," I said.

He points out people, telling me one guy is gay and asking if I see the girls at the other end of the little terrace. "They're...how you say, uh Rusca? From Rusca?"

"Russia?"

"Yes, uh...Russia. They're beetches. But not the other one, she's not with them. She only lives with them. She knows they're beetches."

Oh boy.

Some guys he knows come and start talking to him. It's all Italian, I have no idea, and they keep smiling these funny alright! smiles. "When you have to be home? When you like?" he asks. I shrug and say not too late. "When we, uh, finish, we can, if you like, go for a walk if you like."

"I guess."

I'm not sure, but I think he may have downed his beer at this point. We stand up and start walking down the street. At the first uphill left he tries to put his arm around me. "Nope," I say, "just friends. I'm not going to kiss you."

"Oh," he says, and takes my hand. "Friends is good. I not ask you so I can kiss. I'ma gonna show you this spot. I like this spot. Sometimes, if a girl likes, I come here. Is very romantic, thisa spot."

I'm thinking, alright, cool--I'm getting to see a cool spot that only the locals know about. We get to the spot, which I'm expecting to at least have a view. It is literally a little cement sidewalk cul-de-sac with about five benches, obscured by trees. Very romantic. As we get to the edge of the cul-de-sac he shows his true colors, and turns me toward him with gusto. I shrug away: "Oh boy... Friends."

We sat down on the bench and I kept my distance. It was on this special little bench that I then heard the play by play of Italy's last World Cup victory, including the winning streak prior, players names, and crowd reactions. "Then [so and so] is like," kicks, "and then it's like...whoosh," fist up, "hhhhaaaaaahhhhhh" (the crowd goes wild)! I kid you not the story lasted about 30 minutes. The Italians love their soccer.

At about that time another couple comes giggling down the steps toward his secret romantic spot. Giovanni greets them as they sit on another bench. Giovanni says something dirty about them; he apparently knew more English than I would have guessed. This puts another little romantic fire under him, so he grabs my shoulder and yanks me toward him. I'm like, "Friennnnds." He responds, "Just head on shoulder. Is okay, see head on shoulder is all." "Oh boy," I said.

For whatever reason I just let this go for a sec. Then tiny kisses starting grazing my forehead.

Yeah-stinkin-right. Don Juan Giovanni.

I shrugged him off and stood up. "Let's go. Time to go home. I'm tired."

We took a different path back to the hotel. I think he didn't want his friends to see him bringing me home early. On the way he asked if I would meet him again tomorrow night; I said probably not. What did I think of him, he wanted to know. I longed to be gracious: "I think you're nice."

"Nice," he repeated. "And?"

I thought about it. "And Italian," I said, and bid him goodnight.

Amsterdam

2007-07-04T16:08:00.000-05:00

Today we couldn't get it together. We'd had this great plan to get up early, have quiet times, drink Nespresso, and be in Amsterdam by around 11 a.m. That was a pretty big deal, because thus far we've had a hard time leaving anywhere before 11 a.m., much less arriving. Sure enough, when I finished my morning bathroom routine there was no sound from the Hammond room. I knocked on the door, and told them the time. Casey shot to the door, apologizing. "No big deal," I said, "I'm just getting going too...we're not in any rush."

I went downstairs and had breakfast and Nespresso and read my Bible for a bit. Casey came down and asked for my Tide To Go pen. Before I knew it, we had laundry problems. Adam and I hopped on bikes (very Dutch) and rode to the grocery store for an arsenal of cleaners. It made me appreciate for our Hispanic population at home that cleaners are often labeled in both English and Spanish. Here we had to sort through the Dutch, which wasn't always easy. We asked one woman if she could help us, and she said she spoke some English. We asked her what a particular bottle's use was, and she read it and then said, "It's for cleaning." Since we were on the cleaning aisle, this wasn't news to us. She was kind to try.

We made it back and put out our first defense. Finally, at about 11:30 we headed to the bus stop. We almost tried a new bus route but just as we were going to cross to the other side of the street the bus flew by us. Settling back into our original plan, we headed to the Den Haag Central Station. We made it there and went down to the train platform. That's when I realized I'd neglected to bring my Eurail pass.

"They don't often check," Adam said.

"Yeah, but I also have to book my Eurostar to London today," I replied.

"Oh yeah."

I had to go all the way back to Mark's Dad's place to get the dumb thing. I should have been in pain--I was kicking myself the whole ride back. But I busted it and, sprinting up to the stop just as the bus arrived, got to the Leiden station in record time. I was supposed to meet the Hammonds in front of the station.

I waited for an hour. The lesson here is try never to split up with the Hammonds. Finally I decided to chuck it and just get on the train to Amsterdam. I'd buy my ticket for tomorrow and then get on a train to Utrecht for the rest of the day by myself.

When I arrived in Amsterdam I was nearly bowled over by Casey. They'd been waiting for me there. Ah, communication. They were loving that train station, especially when we had to go up and take a number at the international ticket office.

Finally out on the town, we searched out a restaurant called Eat Mode. Adam led the way.

In Dam Plaza

Busy Amsterdam

Pretty soon I smelled pot. A few steps later, pot again. Another coffee shop, more marijuana smell. Then came the windows with blatant pornography, then lavish displays of sex toys and advertisements for erotic shows. Adam was leading us to lunch in the Asian neighborhood directly through the red light district. I was reminded why I don't like Amsterdam.

It was a gray day anyway, and I just felt heavier and heavier in my spirit. It rained outside and in; I couldn't finish my lunch. We saw all these groups of young guys, and I kept feeling sad.

Apparently there's a Christian hostel in town that most people stay in because it's the cheapest. They enforce segregated dorms and have Bible studies each morning. I can't imagine trying to live in Amsterdam permanently, but I respect the people who do try and make a difference. What a mission field. It's funny though: the more I thought about it, the more I realized Amsterdam only makes obvious what goes on more subtly in other places. Selling sex isn't new, it's just a little more raw and gaudy here. I spent a lot of today in prayer. We're all guilty of lusting after the pleasures of the flesh. They never satisfy us because we're made for more.

Don't get me wrong--Amsterdam isn't all bad. The canals are fun, the architecture is crazy, and there are some great museums (including the Van Gogh Museum and the Anne Frank House). We were just planning to walk around, though. We didn't stay long. After the long day of mishaps and soul-sadness, we were pretty tired. We headed home pretty early.

Zonked. Bri and Ryan--surprised this isn't me?

Home to Jonkerlaan! I just love saying that.

We had more Nespresso out on the little patio by the canal. We've had great talks every day, and did again this evening. Tomorrow we'll split ways. I'm definitely going to miss the Hammonds; pray for them in their travels. I'm really excited about London. I've been taking it pretty easy for the past week; I'm back into tourist mode starting at 6 a.m. tomorrow. Hopefully there won't be a train strike. Duwey! (bye)

Wassenaar

2007-07-03T19:00:00.000-05:00

First things first--I've added pictures to the last three posts, so scroll down and check them out. There are a bunch so it might seem extra long, but you at least don't have to reread the words.

God really intended for Barrett Jones to have some friends while he was in Munich. We all went to the train station to catch our night trains, which were leaving around the same time. Upon arriving, Adam realized we had incorrectly remembered our departure time, and we were actually on the same train as Barrett. He would get off somewhere in Germany, and we'd ride all the way to Amsterdam. We were an hour early, so we broke out the Yahtzee. We continued it on the train, and I had my best game ever. I rolled three Yahtzees. I'm sure you're cheering.

Only in Europe would they have a whole car for bicycles, the perfect place for Yahtzee

We all went to sleep in the couchette a little after midnight. For once there were no snorers. Barrett had to get up just after 3 a.m. to make his connection to the airport. I vaguely remember him waking me up so that I could relock the door to our couchette.

We found out later in the morning that we sat at that station for 140 minutes. We'd heard the night before that we'd narrowly missed a German train strike. Not so narrowly, as it turned out--we arrived in Amsterdam four hours late. At that point, we abandoned our plans of going to Brussels and opted instead to hang out at Mark's dad's house just outside the Hague in Wassenaar (where we are staying).

Bus face

We ate lunch at this awesome place in town. We were so hungry. We'd made a pauper's breakfast out of our old groceries on the train while once again sitting at a station forever, but that was about 7 hours earlier. We found a place that served lunch till 4 p.m. We'd made it with 10 minutes to spare. We all ordered sandwiches: Adam, the house specialty; Casey, salmon; me, chicken. Mine was the only one with cooked meat, which was a bit of a shocker to the Hammonds. Casey likes sushi, but this was a huge piece of fish. I'm not huge on sushi, so when I tried hers I almost threw it up. Mine was stinking awesome. I think I could eat it almost every day if it didn't give me terrible onion breath.

Picking up breakfast foods at the store

Ah, Holland

Back at the house, the goal was to get clean. Casey had been wearing the same clothes for four days, ever since she bought the new shirt in Interlaken. We took turns showering and doing laundry, and it felt great. After paying so much for things here in Europe, it's kind of amazing to receive the hospitality of Mark's family. Suddenly we have a place to sleep and eat, do laundry, and use the internet all for free. Free, fast internet is the reason I've posted so many pictures. I'm really thankful.

I'm also thankful for the fellowship I've gotten to have with the Hammonds over here. It's been awesome to sit, journal, read my Bible, and then just talk about whatever we're thinking. We've gotten to discuss Scripture, pray together, and share struggles. Community in the family of God is a necessary blessing, I believe. God has provided in neat ways.

We're going to Amsterdam tomorrow. The Hammonds leave the day after. At this point, I am still going to London. Nick Vu is there now, and I'll hang out with him my first night before he flies home. I've prayed about it and don't feel directed not to go, so I'll take the Eurostar through the chunnel on the 5th.

Munchen

2007-07-02T10:18:00.000-05:00

We arrived in Munich last night after a long day of traveling from Interlaken on a smelly train. Our second class car smelled of urine and was very hot. Oh well. We got here, bought an expensive Munich map (which told us almost nothing) and then followed the walking directions listed on the sign above the train station to the hostel.

We found it, checked in, and received our free city map, drink vouchers for the bar, and room key. It was a card--very classy. We walked upstairs and into our five bed mixed dorm room. There we met Barrett Jones, who has become a fun part of our Munich tour. He just finished his first year of med school at the Medical College of Georgia, and is a Christian. So we all had lots of stuff in common. His friends had not arrived because of a stolen pack in Rome; they were waiting on the US Embassy to issue a new passport. We said he´d be welcome to hang out with us. We changed while Adam and Casey did a little sink laundry. We crawled out of our window and left the laundry drying over the rail on the roof. Very clever of us.

We bought meal vouchers at the hostel desk for the brewery-restaurant across the street. Adam and Barrett ate sausage and sauerkraut, while Casey and I ate duck and these weird knüdle-dumpling-potato-bread-shaped-like-a-ball things. It was called "side." We walked down to Marienplätz, the plaza at the center of Munich. We walked by lots of stores including one selling sweet lederhosen.

Casey telling the "dirty, dirty, dirty" story to Barrett. If you don't know it, ask her. You will laugh for at least 10 minutes and then again every time you remember.

Marienplatz

The Hammonds with our new friend, Barrett

We walked over to the Hofbräuhaus just as it began to rain. Waiters there have arms of steel, carrying giant glass beer steins heavy with ale. You should see them, five glasses in each hand, two glasses stacked on top of those five. It is pretty incredible. We had this bald waiter that first forgot our order, then forgot us entirely. No matter, we made our own fun. With Yahtzee and a stein of beer, we closed down this famous beer hall on a Sunday night.

This royal beer hall used to be the royal chicken coop.

Mmm...huge Bavarian pretzel

You'd think they'd kick me out for not drinking beer

Today the rain continued, which was a bummer. Still we went on a walking tour of the city, listening to a well-informed, fun Kiwi guide. He was tips only, the tour was free. We were wet and cold, but we still made it over to the famous English Garden and walked there for awhile after the tour ended.

Quick cappucinos to warm us up before the cold tour

The Glockenspiel: twenty minutes of my life I'd like to have back. Twenty because I've actually been dumb enough to watch this think twice.

Munich's symbols: officially, the lion and the monk; unofficially, beer.

We went the free tour route--peeking in windows

English Garden

Now we are back at the hostel and killing time before we eat dinner. We take the night train to Amsterdam tonight, and Barrett takes a night train to Frankfurt. In the morning we will go to Brussels. Adam and Casey were so sick when they were in Brussels before that they didn't try Belgian waffles. We mean to rectify that. Then we will stay near the Hague with Mark's dad. Adam and Casey leave on the fifth of July, when I'm supposed to go to London. Pray for me about that. I've wanted to go to London for a really long time and I've been looking forward to it the whole trip. But today I've been seeing lots of terrorist crisis stuff in Britain on CNN. I'm praying about it. I don't want to be foolish. Right now my plans are still to go, but I'll be keeping a close eye on the news over the next few days.

Ready to go

The only word I know in German is thank you, so danke for praying and keeping in touch.

Sleeping in Straw

2007-06-30T09:44:00.000-05:00

The next morning we left Rob Larkin and Nick Vu at the bus station and headed up the valley further into Gimmelwald. We had to take a bus to Schelteberg or something like that and then a cable car up over the trees to Gimmelwald. I'm going to go ahead and make a conservative estimate here, and say the population of Gimmelwald is 50 people, 14 cows, 30 chicken, and a black cat.

The cable car - mountain transport

Our first stop was Esther's Guest House. Casey had contacted Esther about staying there based on the recommendation of her friend, Michelle. Esther didn't have any room in the inn, but said there was room in the straw. Sound familiar? When we got to reception, she took our 24 francs each and said, "The barn is 80 meters that way on the right." "Internet around here?" "No. Murren." There was nothing else.

Home Sweet Hay

Our first real welcome was the smell as we approached the barn. It was basically terrible. There was a chicken coop at the edge of the yard; within it the Schlaf im Stroh! sign that let us know we were home. As we got closer the smell got worse, till we were running for dear life to get into the stinky barn. Later we determined the cause: a grate in the sidewalk revealed a sludge pit of cow poo. Apparently it washes into this pit from within the barn, and then wafts up like a welcome mat. I saw a sign in the kitchen this morning when I washed the dishes that said to conserve water because the excess runs off into the pit, causing it to rise. Oh boy.

The barn was thankfully sans cows, which had just been taken out four weeks prior. We looked around, saw piles of blankets, and found our stall. We knew it was ours because they had taken the time to pin a thin piece of paper with "Casey Hammond, 4 persons" pinned on it. We took some time to shake out some blankets and make our bed. There was no heat, so we piled on lots of thick blankets and determined we would cuddle. The only light switch was outside the barn, so whoever came in last would have to make a blind run for their section of straw.

You can't see the big sign that says, "Please shake out and fold the blankets before you leave."

Our little stall

We also noticed a couple of signs that informed us that straw sleepers were NOT to use the facilities of Esther's guest house. We kept making jokes about going up there after rolling in the straw and trying to blend in. Would they recognize us as Straw People?

Just an example

Did I mention there was nothing really to do in the barn? And since it smelled, we carefully tucked away our clothes to prevent them smelling, and headed out for a walk. We quickly made it to the end of town. At this point that should probably not shock you. We bought a ticket on the next cable car upward to Murren, where we heard we could find internet.

Sweet Murren

We walked the town, which was bigger and a little prettier than Gimmelwald, I thought, but busier. We found lunch on a terrace and had some of the best food in Switzerland yet. I had a huge, fantastic club sandwich and Adam and Casey tried these hash brown things. We got sunburned: I have raccoon eyes and a Rudolph nose. Boo.

We walked back down to Gimmelwald and promptly realized we didn't have much to do. So we stopped in at Mountain Hostel, which we'd not heard great things about, just to see what it was like. It was awesome, warm, with a nice deck and the smell of awesome pizza floating from inside. It was almost painful to realize we were paying more per person to sleep in a barn. We stayed for awhile, then went to change as it was getting colder. We tried to make our barn stop as short as possible and then went back to the hostel. We ordered pizza and played a game of hearts with a guy we met, John. He told us he was quite the hearts shark. I beat him resoundingly.

Casey, the Shark. Actually, she often accidently shows us her hand. Every time we play cards one of us starts humming Kenny Rogers: "You've got to know when to hold 'em..."

We stayed at Mountain Hostel till about as late as we could, and even used their free internet. Remember the lady at our hostel saying no internet in town? Riiiight. Or across the street at the hospitable warm place for free. When we finally got back to the straw we realized we had a lot more neighbors. Someone had left their laundry out to dry right near the poop grate, which I thought was just a terrible idea. We made our way to our stall and then to the bathroom using Adam's head lamp. When we got back to snuggle in Casey got a fit of the giggles. The dad in the stall next to us stopped snoring long enough to shush her. I think I am destined to sleep with a snorer till I get to London.

The sleep was surprisingly sweet in the straw. I was cozy, warm, and comfortable. The 7:30 wakeup with breakfast's arrival wasn't the best. But the breakfast they provided was sufficient and fresh. We took the cable car back down to the valley (a stomach-dropping experience) and finally found beds at a hostel called Funny Farm. We're not that excited about it, once again feeling a bit ripped off, but it's just one night. We made it over to the Nissan Outdoor Games in time to catch a lot of the Bouldering competition, including watching Nick Vu. He was the only American in the competition. Go USA! He did well. The walls were ridiculously difficult. Casey had joked about joining the women's competition, but was glad she didn't when she saw all the jacked girls.

Nick at his peak

Posing with our friend, the international athlete

Later, at the finals. This is a start for the Finnish guy who won.

Tomorrow we head to Munich. Pray that we find housing. How different from traveling with Mom and Dad! We're having a blast, though. I'll be sad when they have to leave. The Swiss have three official languages, and I'm not sure how to say Bye in any of them. Till next time...

Lauterbrunnen

2007-06-29T03:57:00.000-05:00

The little jaunt down to Interlaken was a warm up for yesterday's hike up to Wengen. The only breaks in the uphill climb were the ones where we stood slanted and paused for a look at the scenery. I found out I am not in such great shape.

Two hiking girls

We made lunch, maybe the best sandwiches ever, near a church with a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. I think we were at an altitude of about 4,000 feet at this point. We took a little siesta, hung out, and then walked back into town.

Beatiful view: the brownish blob near the center by the waterfall is Lauterbrunnen. We hiked up from there.

Mmm...sandwiches. Note the fresh avocado.

Love photos with the timer. R.O.B. is the guy with the thumbs.

Here we were trying to jump at the right time. Only Vu was successful.

The town is really cute and slightly larger than Lauterbrunnen. Rob stopped in a pub for some fish of fish and chips and we all ate a little of it. We wanted to board a train up to Jungfraujoch, "the Top of Europe." But it cost 145 Swiss francs, so we decided to continue our free hike instead.

We love the Hammonds

Wanderweg = hiking path

I'm glad we did. We found this beautiful little hillside where we sat and played cards with a great view. Paragliders kept swirling near us. We played Indian poker with punishments for the losers. We all narrowly missed having to exchange pants (Casey's crazy idea) by guessing our correct order. It was our first time to all guess correctly.

Punishment example: you have to play the next round with grass stuck in your teeth

We walked back and picked up groceries at the CoOp. Casey and I made salad for dinner, and Rob made a brie thing. So far, Rob wins the culinary award for the trip. We played Yahtzee the rest of the night and ended up getting shushed by the hostel owner when we got a couple of Yahtzees and Casey went crazy. We headed up to the mountains the next morning...to be continued.

Swissland

2007-06-27T16:57:00.000-05:00

Here are a couple of pictures from yesterday: me arriving really late and the sweaty train, and new friends, Alex and Katrina.

Things have worked out very well. I met Adam, Casey and Nick Vu at the train station yesterday. It was a relief to see them. We basically immediately boarded a train to Milan, heading to Switzerland. On the train we met some nice older people who hadn't been able to book first class tickets. We ate some incredible pizza in Milan and then boarded the train to Interlaken.

We had to change trains in Speitz. We were playing cards on the train, though. Nick and I taught Adam and Casey hearts, and then we were playing a loud and funny game of BS. Adam happened to look at his watch, and realized we were already supposed to be at Speitz. We were afraid we had missed it. Then we noticed we were slowing down. Casey looked at the ladies who were sitting next to us and asked, "Speitz?" like "Sp-eye-tz?" The older lady shook her head; she and her friend had been speaking German. Casey said it again, "Speitz?" and kind of motioned, is this coming up? The ladies looked at one another, then a light bulb came on: "Shhpitzsz!" Yes, she said, this is is. "Brr..." she said, and rubbed her arms. Oh boy. Casey was wearing a tank top.

It was dang cold outside, and we quickly realized this was just the beginning. We made it to Interlaken, and then caught the little train just in time up the mountain to Lauderbrunnen. Rob Larkin met us outside the train 9:40pm. He supplied us with some chocolate, which was a treat. He pointed out the first of many waterfalls we'd see in the area. We went back with him to Valley Hostel, got our sheets and duvet covers, and headed to bed.

The hostel is pretty nice. It's a mixed dorm room with bunk beds. Having been looking forward to getting out from rooming with my snoring mom, I of course end up next to the loudest snorer ever. He was one of those guys who snores in and gasps out like Darth Vader: "Coh." He rolled over and I though, yes, sweet relief. But the snoring only got louder.

It was a sweet bed, though, and I had a great night's sleep. We woke up, ate some breakfast, and went to look for warm clothes. I didn't have much with me that could stand getting wet, and it drizzled all day. I bought a fleece and a beanie. I may need another pair of pants, but hopefully not.

We hiked down to Interlaken today. Even though it was mostly downhill, it was a long walk. We walked 2 and a half hours along the river, enjoying the views. Surrounded on both sides by mountains, the sky misting rain, everything green, I felt fresh and alive. We passed cows with their famous bells. We ate at a tea room in Matten, because when we finally hit this little town before Interlaken it was 2:30 and we were tired and hungry. I had the kids' weinerschnitzel and fries. Very yummy.

We walked down the rest of the way into Interlaken, stopped in a few shops (chocolate!). We got some groceries and took the train back up to Lauderbrunnen. Casey and I took showers while the boys made dinner. It was sort of a strange hodge-podge pasta dish, but it was tasty. Rob made fresh guacamole, and that was dang good. Tomorrow I think we're going to head up the mountain, which may be a little crazy. It will be cold, at least.

A Day to Endure

2007-06-26T03:36:00.000-05:00

No pictures, just a quick update. Yesterday was the craziest day ever. I woke up early at 6am, caught the 6:30 shuttle to the train station, said bye to Mom and Dad. Mom was teary, as usual.

I arrived in Rome without problem. I bought the ticket at the Fiumicino station because I was dumb and did not notice that my Eurail was first class (enabling me to get on basically any train). What a waste of money. Then I got to the Roma Termini station, where everything was a madhouse. There were people everywhere, trains waiting at the platforms, red times next to all the trains. Everything was delayed, including my 8:50 train to Venice. Great, I thought, how will I meet Adam and Casey?

I waited for about 4 and a half hours, just seeing my train get further delayed, each time without a platform listed. Then I looked up around 11:30 and saw the tiles for my train were spinning. Yes! Time to go! They all went black instead. My train literally disappeared. There was tons of confusion, as all these people with 8:50 train tickets flooded the information desk. I managed to get on the 11:30 train to Venice, which did not leave the station until 1:20 pm (about 15 minutes before I was supposed to meet the Hammonds).

I was on a hot car with all these Italian people who were shouting and banging on the windows for them to turn the air on. I have learned while here that the less you move and the less you think about being hot, the more manageable it is. So I just sat there quietly, waiting for it to pass. A grandpa sat next to me with a large nose, kind face, and hairy arms. Across from me sat a man who belonged in the original Italian mafia, dressed in a button down black shirt with thin stripes, tanned, bald with a ring of white hair, drawn lips, and square sunglasses. He even had the whispery voice when he answered his cell phone.

The train kept stopping in cities and even in tunnels. I can not tell you how many stupid tunnels we stopped in! It was in one of these tunnels that I realized that I was not on the express train I had paid to reserve, but was rather on a slow train. The trip took 7 hours.

Upon arriving at the train station, I did not see Adam and Casey. This was not that surprising, as I was there a full 7 hours after I had planned. I waited for about an hour, and then saw an American couple. I had been praying, Lord you are in control of everything; show me what you desire, give me a way. I walked up to this couple and asked them if they knew about the campgrounds, where I knew the Hammonds were staying. Unfortunately there were 3 campgrounds, and I did not know which. They were from Florida, the first Floridians I had met. I ended up getting a hotel room with them. We had a lot of fun, actually.

The cool God confirmations kept coming through the night. After I came back from the bathroom in my PJs (standard European wear for me: my faded blue Denver Broncos shirt that I do not even know how I own and capri pj pants), Alex, the guy, went "What is that shirt?" He glanced over at Katrina, who was wearing a nearly identical shirt. Both shirts are faded, hole-ridden, and neither of us are Broncos fans. But they are our favorites, so we love wearing them. Then later, I find out that Alex went to Orange Park, and he knows the Cassidys (including Casey) and was really good friends with Kelly.

Things are working out. I am meeting the Hammonds at the station in 30 minutes, and then we will hopefully manage to keep tabs on each other from there. I have gotten a taste of Europe on my own though, and it is crazy. I will keep you all posted when I can.

Mom and Dad's Last Day

2007-06-24T15:30:00.000-05:00

So last night something crazy happened. We were waiting for the lift, and an old Italian lady tumbled down the stairs in front of us. There was a rumble, and I looked up in time to see a flying ball of black crash in to the wall. Lucky the wall was there, actually. There was some yelling, and the poor lady sat up with the most dazed expression on her face. Had it been a cartoon, stars would have circled her head. Everybody made sure she was okay, and then we tried to stop watching. The elevator arrived and we got on and started laughing. I know, it was terrible.

This morning we got up, ate breakfast, and left Amalfi. It was sad, driving away. Our sweet mid-sized Beamer was full to the brim with the three of us, four suitcases, and two backpacks. Our ride to Rome was far more successful than our first try. Check out the road signs, and see if you wouldn't get a little confused. We were headed to Sorrento.

We stopped in Sorrento for lunch. Most things were closed, as it was Sunday and still a little early. We found an open bar/patisserie that offered sandwiches. We should have suspected it when they came in plastic containers. This was by far the worst lunch we have had on the trip. Dad's prosciutto and cheese sandwich was missing the ham and had tomatoes instead. Mom's bread was wet. I had a pile of napkins taller than my sandwich, trying to wipe the mayonaise off. The waiter guy came and looked shocked: "No? Butter?" Ewww.

Dad got nervous when we left the car in a garage. Would we be able to get it out? Even as I tell him I'm writing this, he justifies--"I saw no place to pay! It was Sunday..." Oh boy. The automated machine was in the next parking spot over, and we--hooray!--left the garage without problem. We stopped again in Sorrento when Mom's eagle eyes spotted a open laundromat. Clean clothes! Thank you, Lord, I smell good again. I'm ready for round 2. To make sure everything got clean, I wore Mom's sweet polka dot dress.

We had a good time recapping the trip today. We've really enjoyed ourselves. This has been a huge adventure for us. We've not done many sightseeing vacations prior to this, so we had a learning curve. Dad has found things to be stressed about along the way (tonight's is whether or not they're for sure booked on the flight out of Rome tomorrow). Still, he says he's glad my mom "brought him." He's actually a great traveler; the language barrier has just been killer. Wish them Happy Anniversary tomorrow (June 25)--it's their 30th. I love and appreciate them a ton, and I'm sad to see them leave. The posts from here on may be a little shorter since I'll be paying for time at internet cafes. I'll keep you updated, though. Keep emailing and posting your comments--it's great to hear from you.

Here are a few fun pictures that didn't make the cut before:

Eating tartuffe aka "Death by Chocolate" in Rome

They know you're from out of town, so signs here are very expressive

Taylors are number 1--this time, at cards

Amalfi and Ravello

2007-06-23T16:30:00.000-05:00

Our hotel is located about midway down the Amalfi Coast in a little town called Praiano. Yesterday we went west to Positano, today east to Amalfi and its neighbor, Ravello. On the SITA bus ride over, I got out my camera to eat up the views. It wouldn't turn on. I had left out the dumb SD card. My first thought was ridiculous but you'd have it too: well this is going to be pointless if I can't get any pictures. Now really that is just stupid. People traveled for a long time without cameras, recording memories in diaries and drawings. But I just bought a new SD card at the Tabacchi shop.

We walked down away from the square to the harbour to find a taxi/tour to the Emerald Grotto. After signing up for a 12:30 pm boat, we had about 45 minutes to kill. Mom found a pair of pants. I found a lovely paper store. Amalfi is well known for its paper-making industry, which has been nearly forgotten in favor of tourism. But they still make and sell some beautiful things. Anyone who knows me should know I'm a sucker for the school supply aisle.

We made it back to the harbour and caught the boat to the Grotto Smerelda, aka Take My Money at a Cave. We expected Pirates of the Caribbean. We got about a 50 ft. diameter cave. The water did look beautiful, though. A natural undersea tunnel somehow shuttles light in from below. The oarsman/tour guide made a big deal of the miracle of emeralds that happened when he splashed his paddle in the water. Something strange: a television donated a manger scene, which the cave people sunk down into the water and spotlighted. Mom said she thought they were drowning Baby Jesus.

The tour neatly dumped us ashore just in time to catch the SITA bus to Ravello. Amalfi is touristy. Ravello has earthy beauty. It is crowned by two villas. I don't think either is occupied now, and one has very lavish gardens. It's what you think of when you picture Italian villas in movies. Ravello is well-known for a concert series it has throughout the summer at Villa Rufulo. Every night is something different, from dance to orchestra and performance. We could have caught a piano concert that night but, feeling tired, we headed back down the hill.

On the SITA bus

Villa Rufolo

Vineyard

Terrace of Infinity, Villa Cimbrone

In addition to beautiful villas, we went into a smaller church. I walked with Mom and then had to walk back outside to get Dad to come and see. At the front alter a glass case was there, looking like a casket with the side open. I'm pretty sure there was a life-sized statue of Jesus in there. Weird--don't they know He rose from the dead? If I hadn't felt strangely sacriligeous doing it, I'd have taken a picture. Near the doors I did get a picture of this guy, who I can only guess is John the Baptist. All I know is it's by far the ugliest sculpture I've ever seen in a church.

Rick Steves was right, Amalfi gets less touristy the higher you go from the city center. After poking in and out of shops, we found ourselves in what felt like a pretty residential area. We ate a light dinner, and then walked to the square to catch the bus home. On the way, we saw two things of grand proportions:

It's been a great stay here at the coast. We'll drive back to Rome tomorrow. We were going to stop off in Pompeii on the way. Mom's ankle has been hurting still though, and it seemed like too much walking. Hopefully after tomorrow I will again have clean clothes. I'm starting to smell European even after showering.

Positano

2007-06-22T17:47:00.000-05:00

What a day! This place really is magnificent, and for the first time in the trip it feels like vacation. We woke up this morning and had breakfast on the terrace. We could see Positano in the distance, a little preview to the day. An older woman was having breakfast alone near us. She'd had dinner by herself last night, and was talking with a British woman about her friend: "She doesn't like to get up early. She sleeps till 11, maybe 12 o'clock. But look at this!" she said, gesturing out to the bay. I can't imagine being on a trip with someone on such a different schedule. Then again, Ryan and Brianne can probably imagine--they went to Europe with me!

We finished breakfast and waited on the orange bus to Positano. The trains run on time. The buses here on the coast do not. The orange bus arrived finally when the SITA bus was scheduled, so we thought what the heck, it's here. We packed on like sardines and thought we caught a deal from the bus driver. He only charged us one Euro per ticket, instead of two. Turns out we just misheard him the first time.

I took a little video of a bus ride here on the coast. I'll have to try and figure out if there's a way to show it to you all. Leave a comment if you know. Basically it's break-neck: the roads are tiny, the curves sharp, and traffic goes both ways on a road wide enough for one. The bus drivers are artists, gracefully sweeping their large rear ends along. Two little honks around a curve warn the other direction, come at risk of death. Did I mention there's basically a 500 foot drop into the sea on one side?

The views are worth it, though. I've never seen anything like it. The closest I've come is a ride out on the California coast line with Brianne, Jackie and Brodie on Highway 1. Maui also comes to mind. This is different in that you swing around the bend and a house is impossibly situated on the cliff. Not only that, it has a garden.

Views from the bus:

We reached Positano and got off at the Sponda stop. On the full bus, a couple from Tennessee we'd met outside our hotel keep yelling, "Spawn-duh?!" each time the bus paused. Finally, they got the go ahead, and we followed. Not having a clue where we were, we walked down to the next bus stop. Stupid Americanos.

The streets of Positano are closed to auto traffic. Carved into the mountainside, most of the "streets" are actually staircases. Don't be fooled when you look at a map and see a road named Via Something. You're going uphill or downhill, and one way may have far fewer exits. We worked our way down slowly, pausing in expensive shops. The clothes reminded me of what gypsies would wear at the beach--light, flowing, with lots of strange ruffles, beads, and sequins. Other things looked granola but cost a fortune.

On the way down to the beach, we hit the little Piazza with the town church. There was a wedding getting started. Mom and Dad sat down on the steps while I ran down to the tourist information office to get a map. When I came back up, the bride came down. They got her ready outside the church. Mom kept saying stuff like, "They're not doing her veil right. They don't know what they're doing. They need to straighten it along her dress." (From this you should guess that mine and my sister's weddings will be perfect.) A lady walked up the stairs saying, "Just what you want--to get married in front of a bunch of tourists." Her comment was perfectly punctuated: when the bride went into the church, the people outside clapped and then followed her in, snapping pictures. One girl had on a pair of shorts that said "Tweetie" on the rear end--very classy.

We made it down to the beach and decided to spend the extra money for the private beach and its chairs and umbrellas. We met a nice guy and his father. The son gave us a deal. Apparently, it was because we were from Florida. The black rocky sand was hotter than Hades but the water was cool and clear. It was a relief in the hot sun, and the shade from the umbrella was lovely. We took a dip and then lay down to sautee. The beach was very European, but not topless. Dad kept making jokes: "Hey Ann, I'm thinking I should get me a bathing suit like that," and pointing to the guy in the skimpy green Speedo shorts. You saw that picture of him at the pool; you know he'd look good.

After lunch nearby and another round of the beach, we were ready to head back. We wanted to go another way back to the bus. This was maybe not such a good idea. We found one of the Vias I mentioned before--

We took another lurching orange bus home and then had dinner down the street. The best thing about it was the view. Mom's fried shrimp were still in their shells (equals boiled shrimp?), and Dad had the largest "shrimp" he'd ever seen atop his risotto. I think it was a really small breed of lobster.

When we got back we hung out on the terrace of our hotel and I got a taste of Praiano local life. One of our waiters, Giovanni asked if I wanted to walk across the street with him. Actually it went like this: I was sitting with my parents. He walked up and said, "Can I ask question?" then looked at my dad and said, "Not you, her." We all started laughing. I ended up saying, "Sure," and then wondering if it was really me that answered. Later he said, "I never had someone say to me, 'Oh, boy'." I guess I'm not a girl easily swayed by Italian romantic efforts.

The Road to Amalfi

2007-06-21T17:09:00.000-05:00

You know how when someone gives you directions but you don't get it fully, you just sort of nod and then go in the general direction they point? You're already planning to ask someone else just a little further down the road. That has been life in Italy, especially when the free maps from the tourist information office or hotel are not very specific.

That was not about to work for driving to the Amalfi Coast. The jolly man at Europcar, where we went to pick up the rental, said, "It's so easy. You a right, right, big circle, a Napoli." My dad asked him to go outside and point. That at least got us to the main street he was talking about.

Dad is great at driving. Really. He's driven tons of cars, and has a great little Honda convertible with a stick shift now. I'd probably stall out on the Autostrada. But driving and directing are two very different things, and my Mom bless her heart was almost no help. She just kept finding highway names that she remembered from the directions--I'll get back to that.

Cars were flying around us and it felt like we should have huge magnets on both sides of the car: TOURISTS. The motorcycles especially--they take traffic lights and lanes as suggestions. We manage to get onto the "big circle," a highway that rings the outer limits of Rome (think Atlanta, St. Louis, etc.). We make it to A1, the highway that will take us all the way to Naples. We feel pretty dang proud of ourselves. We're even handling the toll boths with a level of finesse.

Highways make me sleepy, and since we had about 50 kilometers or so before Naples, I tell my parents I'm going to rest. The next directions are "after leaving Naples, take A3 toward Solerno." They were going to wake me up when we got to Naples so I could make sure we went the right way.

They wake me up with, "A3, right? A3!?" My mom is pointing, "There, David. Right, Emily? A3 to Salemro?" (She remember it from the directions.)

Sitting up and squinting, I agree and we take the exit in the nick of time. "That was fast," I said. "Why didn't you wake me when we got to Naples?"

"We haven't gotten to Naples," my dad said.

"But the directions were for after Naples."

"It said A3."

I guess there were two starting points for A3. I was so frustrated. And got on my high horse thinking, if they would have just done what I said. By the time we turned around...Wait, picture this: we go through the toll both, pay, and whip around to get back on as a large truck comes flying at us...we probably could have just taken another road. Meanwhile, my mom is laughing so hard she gets the hiccups. As we drive on there's another stupid fork in the road, and my dad freaks out. "Which one?"

"Straight," I say.

"But Napoli--" he points, to the left.

My mom is saying something, there's total confusion, and I literally yell as loud as I can, "STRAIGHT!!!" Dad drives straight. Mom hiccups.

We get back to A1 and I started laughing and apologized to my dad for yelling at him. Then, oh my word do the Italian directions nail us again. We got almost to Solerno before we realized it and turned around yet again. It was ridiculous. The trip was only supposed to take us about 2 hours, and I think we turned it into four.

But it was worth it. If you are prone to jealousy, please do not look at the following pictures. I didn't take that many, because at that point we were just ready to get to the hotel. Mike and Amy, we are sorry. We really wish you were here. Mom finally got her pool. Here are some views from the roof of our hotel. We're staying in Praiano. You can see Positano in the distance.

Don't be fooled, he's sucking in. And he thinks it's funny.

Our hotel's restaurant has a porch with a great view.

Languages

2007-06-20T17:48:00.000-05:00

Being multilingual has always been a fantasy for me, being bilingual a goal. Every time I travel abroad I get confronted once again by this desire. It's nice to know a little language, enough to say please, thank you, hello, how much, and where are the bathrooms? But I love to communicate. When I studied abroad here in college, I learned that European school children learn at least three languages: their own, a neighboring country's, and a major language (English, French, Spanish, German). I was jealous, thinking back to my limited Spanish language training in elementary school.

While my family napped in Florence, I hung out in the cafe downstairs. A couple walked up to the bar, speaking some Scandinavian language (from what I could tell). The man tried ordering his drink in Italian, but the Italian-speaking waiter could not understand him. They both switched to English--problem solved. I wished it were me.

Emotional languages communicate fairly well among emotional people. That is, within Western culture there's a certain connectivity possible via simple expressions and gestures, body language. For instance, with a man in Venice who spoke no English, I laughed and smiled; we enjoyed each other and I expressed approval over his books. Another example: I saw two teenagers necking in the park today in front of St. Paul-Outside-the-Walls. The girl was obviously not into it, maybe playing coy; the guy clumsy but insistent. She sat straight up and would not look at him. He coiled around her to get to her face. Body language.

I experienced some frustrating language difficulties when I reached Rome Termini the other day. Trying to reserve a train to Venice, I was directed to three different people. One just looked at me, banged her fist down like a stamp, and pointed. Finally I was told I needed my passport. My dad had it. The station was hot, and I was more than ready to leave. But I persevered, went and got my passport, and headed back to the long line to get my Eurail validated. At the desk sat an older man. I had been praying, "Lord, please let me speak with someone who understands." I looked at him hopefully and said, "Anglais?"

He squinted his eyes and said, "Little little Italiano?"

I shook my head no. Then I thought of something: "A little Spanish."

He said, "Aha!" We proceeded in broken English until I had a question. He just did not get it. So I switched to Spanish and--Voila!--problem solved.

When In Rome

2007-06-20T11:15:00.000-05:00

I've been a lazy blogger, so this will serve as both the hello and goodbye to Rome. Rome lasted 1000 years, and so will this post.

My dad and I took a walking tour of Florence before we left the other day. Not only did the tour guide do a great job of giving us interesting background and cool stories, she also enlightened us as to the derivation of some phrases. For example, we stopped in front of a palace and noticed a tiny door in the wall. After big parties, she said, the poor people would come to this small door and beg for the leftovers. The rich feasted, and beggars could enjoy the spoils to go. They'd just go down to "that little hole in the wall" to get a great meal.

The train to Rome arrived on time. They even posted which track it would use. If these things are not surprising to you, shoot my dad an email and tell him to chill out. In his defense, they did not post the track number until about 8 minutes prior to departure. The funny thing about a relaxing vacation abroad is that if you've never been before, it can be incredibly stressful. My dad has never been this stressed in his life. He's slowly calming down as we stay here longer, and I think he'll relax even more when we get down to the coast tomorrow.

The train station in Rome is understandably huge. We almost got conned there. Needing a taxi to the hotel, we headed toward the taxi stand. Two men intercepted us, walked us to their van, and started piling in our luggage on top of boxes. The van didn't say taxi, and they wanted 50 Euro to drive us. When we said that was too much the driver said, "I's'a good price...five people, luggage, gas...i's'a good price."

Red flag. Let the warnings in your head sound anytime you hear someone say "I's'a good price." If they look the least bit illegitimate, haggle them down or walk away. When we said no, he started throwing our luggage onto the ground. Jerk. We left, with my mom apologizing to the man. She has such a sweet heart; don't send her anywhere alone. If I'd read ahead in Rick Steves' book, I would have seen a warning about this exact situation. We made it over to the actual taxis and headed to our hotel.

St. Peter's Basilica

We're staying right down the street from St. Peter's. The largest, most lavish cathedral in the world is our neighbor. I should genuflect when I walk outside. That first night we went for the guidebook's "Evening Stroll Through Rome." Rome is prettiest at night. When the sun slowly dips, all the buildings turn pink and orange. The city feels romantic and warm. Night beckons you out of doors. The day blazes, and warns you to stay inside. We found drinking fountains and the Trevi fountain, Piazza Navare, the Pantheon and the Spanish Steps.

Public drinking fountain: plug spout, open mouth

In front of the Pantheon

Throwing coins into the Trevi Fountain, to ensure our return to Rome

Our first morning in Rome we stood in line for the Vatican Museum. Just before entering, we put on our sweaters. In the Vatican, as Jenny would say, modest is the hottest (and required). We slalomed through the vast place and finally made it to--breathe--the Sistine Chapel. For the first time since I've been here, I broke a rule and took a picture. Don't worry, I turned off the flash. In my opinion, it is the most beautiful place in Rome, and maybe the world. It took Michelangelo four years to complete. All of the ceilings and walls are covered in fresco paintings, with portraits of saints, scenes from the life of Christ, and visions of heaven. A note about fresco painting: the artist works on tiny sections at a time, adding plaster and painting while it's wet. Once it dries, it is finished. He gets one shot. If the nose is wrong, he has to chip off the face and start again. When you know the background, it only adds to your awe (if you could add to your awe).

In front of a tapestry. Amy's getting the boot.

Contraband: Ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

We took a secret exit out of the Sistine Chapel which dumped us onto the front porch of St. Peter's. Our first stop inside was Michelangelo's Pieta. Not his only Pieta, but certainly the most famous, this sculpture of Mary holding Jesus is piercingly beautiful. From there we walked and gawked. Pope Benedict XVI's home parish is exquisite. Apparently much of the marble was taken from the Colosseum. This is yet another example of the redemptive nature of God: scavenging beauty from horror for His glory. Check out Michelangelo's dome, the tallest in the world.

A bus tour later that afternoon took us through Ancient Rome's sites: Piazza Venezia, redesigned by Michelangelo during the Renaissance; the Roman Forum, the seat of the ancient city; the Colosseum, site of the Roman games; and St. Paul-Outside-the-Walls, the Vatican's second major church, housing the remains of the Apostle Paul. I love the history of all of it, especially since reading Francine River's Mark of the Lion series. But to me, though it's cool, Rome is kind of ugly. To each her own, though--Mom keeps gazing around at dilapidated ruins breathing, "Just beautiful."

Amy and Mike left this morning. We were sad they had to go, me most of all and for three reasons. One, I never get that much quality time with Amy and really loved it. Two, they're hilarious. Three, I now have to move in with my parents (my mom snores). We're waiting for an email to let us know they made it home safely. After they left, we went for an inside look at the Colosseum, avoiding the brutish men dressed as gladiators asking, "Photo?"

Then we rode the metro, which is much less user-friendly than in Paris. I rode on high alert, guarding my stuff and my body. We made it to Piazza Spagna, where Dad and I climbed the Spanish Steps. Then we all cooled our feet in the Sinking Boat Fountain. That reminds me, all of the water from fountains in Rome is cold and potable (from the spout)--good news on hot days.

Tomorrow we head to the Amalfi Coast. Can't wait for the pictures? Try watching the old movie Only You, with Marissa Tomei and Robert Downey, Jr. We're ready to get out of the city. Ciao, Roma.

Florence, Part II

2007-06-17T19:38:00.000-05:00

Today was an art-lover's dream. Especially if said art-lover also loves sleeping in late. When we finally got up (and by we I mean Amy and Mike) we headed into the Piazza della Republica to meet our tour guide for the Accademia.

The Accademia's claim to fame is being local address for Michelangelo's David (below). Our tour guide took us through about a century of art history leading up to the Renaissance, and then gave us background on the building, the Medeci family, and Michelangelo himself. We saw a collection of Michelangelo's unfinished sculptures, called the Prisoner (or Slaves). David himself is huge and beautiful, posing and considering his monstrous opponent, Goliath.

After the tour ended, I headed back to the square to meet the next tour while the fam headed to the Duomo. The Duomo was constructed with a huge hole in its ceiling, meant for a dome. Only at the time, no one could construct a dome that large. They built it on faith. Not too many years later, Brunelleschi completed the task.

Mike and Amy climbed the bell tower and got some fantastic views. I guess the climb was pretty tough.

I headed over to the Uffizi Museum with the next tour and had an incredible time. The tour was pretty informative. The guide was a serious Flourentine woman--she takes great pride in her home city and casually bashes other cities and countries. The Uffizi houses one of the greatest Renaissance collections in the world, including works by Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Titian, and Botticelli (including The Birth of Venus, below).

We played Rummy and ate a great dinner. On the way, we saw a guy with some awesome jeans. We had our favorite waiter tonight--so fun!

On to Rome. Ciao.

Florence, Part I

2007-06-17T18:07:00.000-05:00

Leaving Venice was kind of funny. After the mishap with the train in Paris, Dad was anxious. We arrived at the Venezia Mestre train station a full 50 minutes before our train was scheduled to arrive. So we sat... And waited... Once on the train, I was shocked by first class. I've only traveled Europe by Eurail before, and second class is a lot different than the sweet seats in first. They recline. But we couldn't sit down. Our seats were taken, and there was a lot of weird confusion. We felt like we were on stage as the train left the station, and finally found seats elsewhere in the car. Mom got a little green riding backwards, and I politely but assertively informed a guy sitting in one of our seats that he needed to switch with her. Finally the conductor came and moved everybody. They were supposed to be back in car 11. Freeloaders. We settled in and enjoyed the rest of the 2 hour ride to Firenze--Florence.

I think I am destined to get us lost at least once each city. We got a terrific map from the Tourist Information office near the train station. I made the wrong second turn, and our walk to the hotel took twice as long as it should have. It wouldn't have been so bad, but our party included 7 suitcases and one sprained ankle.

We left the hotel in search of the Pitti Palace and its Boboli Gardens. We arrived too late to see the interior of the Palace with its Modern Art Museum, so we toured Boboli. There were quintessential Italian photo ops, fountains, sculptures, and lots of people enjoying a little nookie. Mom loved the views, hated the hills.

We had a lot of fun with this one sculpture.

We headed back over the Arno River via Florence's original and oldest bridge, Ponte Vecchio. It's a weird, huge thing that is beautiful accidently. It's filled with jewelry shops and tourists. We ate dinner off the beaten path and then headed back to the tourist zone for gelatto. I forget how to say, that's stinkin good, in Italian. Yum-mizzi?

Ponte Vecchio in the distance

Venezia

2007-06-16T16:16:00.000-05:00

As you know, our plans got shuffled the day we left for Venice. Aside from the ridiculous snoring in the couchette, everything worked out and we arrived in Venice yesterday morning. We found our hotel, showered the train off of us, and then headed to the bus. We were staying in Venice Mestre, on the mainland. We had to cross the causeway to the 100 island complex we know as Venice.

We fed our bellies near the train station and boarded the #82 vaporetto (public water taxi) for Piazza San Marco. We had booked a tour of the Grand Canal and had a few hours to fill beforehand. On the vaporeto, I had to keep reminding myself, you are in Venice, you are not in Epcot. I kept expecting to round a bend and end up in Russia. The Grand Canal was filled with boats. It was incredible--gondollas, wooden taxis, vaporetti. We crossed beneath the major bridges: Rialto, stone with its markets and prestige; Accademia, netted to keep the falling wood from hitting boaters. We saw the beautiful palaces of old Venice, when it was the middleman city for all trade. Finally we jumped out at the St. Marks Square stop.

I found the Grand Canal tour in Rick Steve's book. (Shocker. Our whole trip can be found in Rick Steves' books.) We had given them our credit card information to charge over the phone, and had only "Meet us in front of the Royal Gardens at 5:30 p.m." in exchange. We located the Royal Gardens for later. My dad was feeling nervous, but let it go.

Heading into St. Mark's Square, we were immediately struck by the crowds, the architecture, and the pigeons. There are thousands, and rumor has it the bird seed they sell in the courtyard is laced with birth control.

At the southwest corner of the square you see first the Doge's Palace (Palazzo Ducale, on right above). Looking into the Piazza beyond, you see St. Mark's Basilica (to the left). That's where we started. The Basilica houses the remains of Venice's patron saint. St. Mark's bones were smuggled into the city in AD 828, according to Rick Steves. The Basilica has a Byzantine influence and is covered by mosaics within. Pebble-sized stones create masterpieces on all the walls and ceilings, telling stories of Adam and Eve, Noah, the Ascension. Even the floors are mosaic designs. Thankfully, we were all dressed modestly. Otherwise we'd have been caught by the fashion police at the door and forced to wear large paper towels over our knees and shoulders.

Mosaic over the entrance, no pictures allowed inside

We headed to the Doge's Palace afterwords, and got a look at lots of art, cool armory, and the prison. One highlight: crossing the Bridge of Sighs. Out of the courtroom, reenacting the walk of a convicted criminal (or enemy), we headed through the covered stone bridge, took one last look at Venice, sighed, and walked into the prison for torturing.

Sighing on the Bridge of Sighs

Our canal tour was not a rip-off. The guides met us and about 30 other English-speaking tourists at the Gardens and put us into boats of eight. We heard stories about famous families, the Venetian plague, and throwing golden plates out of windows after dinner at the Ca'd'Oro.

Rialto Bridge

We walked through tiny back streets in the labyrinth of Castello, the district near St. Marks. We ate dinner canalside and then walked back to St. Mark's Square for the nightlife we'd heard so much about.

With the gondoliers

It was magical. Cafes lighting up in the square, people dancing (ok, Amy and Mike dancing). They have nightly orchestra groups dueling in neighboring cafes. We started at the Caffe Quadri. The water was coming up through the floor of the Square; I guess the tide was in. The smart waiters in their tuxes and white ties wore rubber boots. The orchestra was playing "My Heart Will Go On," which felt very fitting as we felt the city sinking. We later moved over to the more famous and pricier Caffe Florian, where they had classical music. In the glowing streetlight, I kept imagining Casanova sneaking in for a secret rendezvous.

The orchestra played its last song and we were sad that the night ended. Venice has been our favorite city so far, my favorite in Europe.

Problems in Paris

2007-06-14T09:03:00.000-05:00

The dinner cruise didn't work out. We dressed up, headed there, and along the way it started to rain. Then rain turned to pouring rain. We paid for our tour and then promptly requested a refund. Crazy Americans, always changing their minds. We headed instead to a little Italian restaurant for dinner--yes, we're headed to Italy next. Our waitress was a sweet Texan who had great patience with us.

We headed to the Eiffel Tower for a view of the City of Lights at night. On the way, we ran into Casey and Adam on the Rue du Rivoli. Even with more than 2 million people living in the city center and gobs of tourists, we find our friends. We've taken an insane number of pictures of and in front of the Eiffel Tower. Examples:

La Tour at night

View from the top

Champion

Mom and Dad were once again a half hour late to meet us downstairs, sauntering in at 9:30 a.m. My dad had a long look on his face when he came downstairs. We'd missed our train. We thought it left at 2:15 p.m. That was our connecting train from Milan to Venice. The train to Milan left at 8 a.m. As Mike would say, "Sorry bout ya luck."

So we had some time to kill. We went to Notre Dame. Really no trip to Paris would be complete without a trip to the beautiful Gothic cathedral.

Notre Dame

Notre Dame, interior

On the way to see another cathedral, Mom busted. She didn't notice the uneven pavement and ended up sprawled out on the ground. She twisted her ankle a little bit, but was otherwise okay. Hopefully with ice and Ibuprofen, she'll be alright. Mike, Amy and I went for a little dessert this afternoon while the invalid elevated her ankle.

Yummy ice cream and the fat boy

Here's a little visual of the Taylors in Paris so far: Walking down the sidewalk, the troupe looks like this--Amy and Mike walking fast up ahead. Amy leads confidently, but often doesn't know where she's going. Sometimes they do little jumps or walk like chickens, just because they enjoy each other. I'm in the middle, the only one who tries to know where we're going. As the tour guide, I usually get us there but I'm the one we blame when we miss the street. Mom and Dad bring up the rear, usually hand in hand. Mom trips along, enjoying gay Paris (Par-ee) and basically feeling very French. Dad steadies her, making fewer American jokes each day.

Hope you're all doing well. Thanks for the comments thus far, we're enjoying hearing from you. We'll see you in Italy, if we make it. Ciao.

Bonjour Paris!

2007-06-13T07:15:00.000-05:00

Bon voyage!

This is going to be a long entry to catch you all up. We arrived in Paris Monday morning about an hour late. We were jet-lagged and a little weird after taking our Ambien. Amy had acted a little crazy and I tried to take out my contacts four times on the pill. They were already out when I tried the first time. Our driver, Bernard, met us at the airport. We of course felt extremely famous and important when he greeted us with a sign: "David Taylor." Oui.
He whisked us through the city to our first hotel. We were duped by the AC in the lobby. Amy, Mike and I went up to our strange little room where I looked forward to sleeping on a pull-out loveseat. Mom and Dad got their room a few minutes later. Unfortunately for them, their room had a view of construction through thick plastic. At least they could hear the construction; they could see nothing and had zero breeze. We looked for other accommodations pretty quickly.

La Tour Eiffel

We headed off in the direction of the city's most famous landmark: La Tour Eiffel. Our first look was just out of the metro. We walked toward the monstrous tower and got in line for the trip to the top. When we got to the front, I said, "Are we sure this is the right line?" Dad said, "This is right--see, "Escalier'" and pointed to the escalator picture. "Right, but that's French for stairs."
Mom was a champ. Mike thought he was going to swallow his tongue, but we made it up. Afterwords we took a little bus ride and then walked the long way home. I thought we were a little closer to our hotel, but I was wrong wrong. We finally made it back, and some of us felt the weariness of traveling. We met Adam and Casey Hammond at our hotel and went out for dinner at about 8:30pm--very Parisian. Even more Parisian, dinner took about 2 1/2 hours.

French Onion Soup--Paris' only original dish

Yesterday we headed out to Versailles. The day started a little grumpy, but attitudes took a hike as soon as we walked into the Royal Chapel at Versailles. The ceilings were beautiful, the organ overlaid with gold. My dad, who kept making American jokes all day (e.g. "Where we eating? Wendy's?") finally looked impressed. My mom left with a sore neck from looking up amazed. The rest of the chateau was like that, including the famous Hall of Mirrors and the unparalleled gardens. We saw the magnificence from a little golf cart, till we got kicked off for breaking the four person limit. Mike, Amy and I had to hoof it back from the Domaine Marie-Antoinette to the Grand Canal and up the steps past the Apollo Basin. I know, you feel really sorry for us. I'll include the Versailles pictures another time; they're all on Amy's camera.
Last night we walked along the Champs Elysses from the Arc du Triomph to the Place du Concorde, where the French people beheaded most of the monarchy. We ate a nice dinner and turned in. This morning we met Adam and Casey again and headed to the Louvre. I have never been man-handled by so many Asians before. They know how to get where they're going. Oh wow, umph, there's, ow, the, hey!, Venus de Milo.

La Louvre

Tonight we're dinner cruising on the Seine.
Au revoir, the Taylors

Last Minute Things

2007-06-10T01:54:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting up here tonight REALLY late, just taking care of a few things before we leave tomorrow. What things, I'm not exactly sure. I'm basically packed. Amy and Mike will be over in the morning, Mom and Dad are downstairs asleep. It's funny, with Dad's breathing machine, it's Mom's snoring that fills the room.

Thinking back, we didn't take too many "family vacations" growing up. We mostly went to visit grandparents. We took a trip to Washington, DC for one of my birthdays. We took a long weekend to the beach for the Fourth of July. On that trip we rented a convertible for fun and returned to find that our car had been stolen from the lot, driven to Daytona Beach, and then set on fire. Nice homecoming.

Growing up my dad's family took all their vacations by car--long trips, with the three kids in the backseat, all the way out to Montana and back. For some reason I envision Wal-Mart when my dad talks about his childhood trips. Both my parents and maybe most families from Savannah spent time each summer at the lake, camping at Clark Hill. Clark's Hill? I'm not sure which one. We continued that tradition for the first time last summer, and are scheduled to go again this year.

Our last big trip was to Hawaii. This was huge for us, because it was one of the first trips we took that required a lot of advance planning. We've always hit cruise liners before because you basically just sign up. The Hawaii trip was the first huge trip where it really paid to date a Taylor girl. This year Dad asked me, "So do you think you're going to have anyone on the trip with you?" Very polite. Anyway, here are a few pictures to get us all ready to go: memories of the last go round.

Eastbound and down.

Traveling Mercies

2007-06-08T10:46:00.000-05:00

"Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound."

- Anne Lamott

The blog title is a reference to Anne Lamott's book Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith. I've been reading it this summer. I'd been trying to think of what to title our little Taylor travel blog, and when I read the quote above it seemed perfect. Anne Lamott is a fantastic storyteller, irreverent at times but humbly awed by God.

We'll soon be off to Europe. The countdown is now somewhere less than two days.