Taking Europe by Storm(er)

2 Stormers and a Croes

We had our fourth round of visitors these past few weeks, and I must say, I'm starting to feel rather popular. When we moved here, I wondered if anyone was going to take the seven-hour flight just to see us. But we've been very fortunate that so many friends and family are willing to spend their vacation time shacking up in Casa de Croes. This May, we hosted my in-laws Judi and Joe, who embarked on a true European Vacation. I thought Josh and I were tourist extraordinaires, but the Stormers took us by surprise. Everyday they were off to see some new part of England. Stonehenge, Bath, Greenwich, The Abbey, Borough Market, Tower of London and so on…  no artifact, museum or sight was left unseen. They even ventured over to France for five days and stopped in Belgium for a long weekend. With all they had on the agenda we instituted a verbal "check" after each part of their list was covered.

Since our weeks were spent working, Josh and I decided meet Judi and Joe for a weekend rendezvous in Belgium. It's a mere two-hour EuroStar trip and what I'd call a "local country" we had yet to see. I personally hadn't done any research on which buildings and cathedrals I needed pictures in front of, but I did have a list of what I wanted to eat and drink: chocolate, waffles, mussels, fries and beer. Let's just say we tackled that list promptly and efficiently. CHECK!

La Grande Place

Although I'd gone for the food, there were some very interesting sights to see in Brussels, such as La Grande Place and Le Manneken Pis, translation: The Peeing Boy Statue. We also happened to be in town for the Pride Parade, which turned the city into a lively festival of music, color and drag queens! It doesn't get more fun than that.

The following morning we went to Bruges, also known as the "Venice of the North" due to it's scenic canals. Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate so we avoided the boat ride and opted for the bus tour. It was the perfect way to view the medieval city and learn all the Jeopardy facts and buzz words while staying warm. Our tour returned in precisely one hour, and of course, it was time to eat again. On the menu: omelets, beef stew, chicory root gratin (not really sure what Josh was thinking with that one) and of course, waffles! Lest we forget pale lagers and brown ales. By the time we made it back to the hotel, we were ready for salads, bananas and bottles of water! 

Before we knew it we were back in London, another great mini-break under our belts. A week has past and as I write this, my in-laws are en route to Delaware after three weeks in Europe. I can't help but feel a pang of homesickness, as I always do when any of our guests leave London. But, happily, I can look back on the fun times and say that we had yet another fun-filled family visit and we knocked two more European cities off the list. CHECK and CHECK!

The Royal Wedding

Everyone has been asking me about the Royal Wedding, and I can't blame them. Since the engagement was announced in October I have been 100% obsessed. I spent the past 7 months of my life thinking about ways I could befriend some member of the Royal entourage and get my invite to the event of the century. Of course my efforts were in vein, as I am nothing more than a "commoner". No famous relatives or bank accounts in Switzerland. I didn't go to a Scottish boarding school. I like to eat dinner in front of the TV watching Jersey Shore. And all my "jewels" were stolen in the robbery. So it goes without saying that the likes of me do not get invited to occasions such as this. But at the end of the day, I'm actually okay with that and here's why...

By the time April rolled around I knew more about Will and Kate's respective families than my own. Did you know that the Middletons eat Sunday dinners at the Bucklebury Village Pub sometimes? Did you know that Princess Beatrice is the first woman in line for the throne (you remember the one with the pink satellite dish on her head, don't you)? Oh, and did you know that the Queen eats cereal everyday for breakfast - from a Tupperware container?! The rascal! 

In every which way, shape and form, "the firm" (the King's name for his clan) had become a part of all of our lives. Day after day we were exposed to up-to-the-minute news feeds, how-they-met documentaries and tell-all interviews. And for some reason I was enamored by it all… the love story, the wedding arrangements, the making of a Queen. I found myself in a frenzy trying to "keep up with the Windsors". 

The day of the Royal Wedding, I woke up feeling like it was my birthday. I made buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup, fixed a cup of tea and sat myself in front of the TV for 5 hours of matrimonial history. From moment one I was sucked into the vortex, anticipating every arrival and, to be honest, every outfit. 

But as I watched the guests arrive in their designated order - the D-listers, the celebs, the diplomats - no one in particular wowed me. Egg-dye was palatte of choice and space-aged fascinators took center stage. I felt like I was watching a Fashion Police Wedding Special of What Not To Wear. In my opinion there were two saving graces: Will, I must admit, look rather dapper in his scarlet Irish Guard colonel's uniform. Regardless of whether or not he earned his stripes, the vibrancy and regalness of his ensemble was a refreshing reprieve from the traditional black tux. My second favorite was Karen Gordon. I had to conduct an extensive google search to get the name of the woman on Earl Spencer's arm, but it was worth the shout out. In my opinion, she was one of the few who truly looked elegant and actually pulled off her over-sized hat. 

By the time it was Kate's turn to arrive, I was full of anticipation. No matter what everyone else wore, surely her dress would have us all squealing with joy. With all the mystery and allure surrounding the designer and the style, I couldn't fathom what she'd turn up in. A gown made of diamonds, dove feathers, angel wings? I was bursting with excitement as she rode from the The Goring Hotel to the Abbey. 

When the moment arrived and she stepped out of her Rolls-Royce, I was completely and utterly… disappointed! Don't get me wrong, her dress was very nice, but I never expected Kate to show up in a dress that was nothing more than "nice".  I mean, after all the hype I half expected her dress to launch into a fireworks to display and sing God Save the Queen in D-minor. And I know Kate's hair is her thing, but would it have killed her to try an updo? 

That's when it hit me. I was spending an exorbitant amount of time immortalizing people who are simply people. The truth is they looked like any other couple, because yes, they are just a couple. Just because they are future kings and queens doesn't mean they actually bleed blue. It's so easy to forget that they are just like you and me, despite a castle of Crown Jewels and a palace to call home. I know you may disagree, but think about it: They have embarrassing family members (Kate's cocaine-snorting Uncle Gary), make regrettable decisions (Prince Harry's Halloween as Hitler) and get upstaged by their siblings (Pippa Middleton and the appreciate day being organized in honor of her royal hiney). Needless to say, once I came to terms with the fact that they aren't characters in a Disney movie and they aren't going to fly off to Neverland for their honeymoon, I was no longer interested. 

British Fever

In the end, revelations aside, I still had an amazing time. After the wedding, Josh and I took the tube to Piccadilly Circus, met with friends and toasted our "commonness" with half-price drinks. And for that I can say, it was a very special day for this Londoner!

I Got My Invite... or maybe it's just a Happy Hour ad!

Highway Robbery

Hello Loyal Blog Readers! I'm sorry it's been so long since my last entry. You might be wondering where we've been. Questioning what sorts of English shenanigans we've been up to. I'd like to say Josh and I have been involved with London life, ya know, striking against the budget cuts, protesting the Libyan government, sitting outside Buckingham Palace hoping an invite might drop out of the window. Alas, I have no idea about that stuff. I don't even know who's designed Kate's wedding dress! I'm shamefully out of the loop (and haven't watched Super Nanny USA in weeks), and it's basically because I got a J-O-B. No exotic, adventurous explanation here. I got a job, got busy, and my Life as a Londoner became just Life. 

The good news is that we've acclimated enough to say that life in London feels fairly routine. We get up, go to work, run at the gym (sometimes), make dinner, leave the dishes in the sink and catch an hour of Two and a Half Men before falling into the deepest realm of REM sleep humanly possible. Not exactly the most exciting schedule, but I guess it means that we've made it. On March 25th we hit our 6-month mark here and it officially punctuated the day we went from being "foreigners" to "locals". We no longer need a map to get to the grocery store; we accept the likelihood that a transit strike, signal failure or planned engineering work will screw up our commute; and we know that when a menu boosts pancakes we're likely to get a short stack of crepes. I even find us saying things like "let's take the lift" and "cheers" in place of thank you... 

Then came the robbery! And with that horrific act of injustice, I instantly felt like I had been transported back in time. Back to those first few months of chaos and calamity. To the days when Starbucks was the only place with a functioning Internet and IKEA was truly a 4-letter word. While Josh thinks the robbery was our final rite of passage (get robbed, get respect), I've come to think there's some sort of English Poltergeist trying to scare us into going back home. 

But after the instantaneously feeling of dread and despair, I actually felt rather calm in a rather short period of time. Maybe it was the Gemini in me or maybe it was as if all the crazy experiences we had in the first 6 months trained us to deal with just about anything. Perhaps everything we'd been through was just practice for the big game. I've come to expect the unexpected and accept the unacceptable. As they say, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Not to dwell on the details, but for the sake of the blog, here's how it went down: I was at work. It was 6:10pm. The sun was still casting a strong stream of light through the city - the best part about a "spring ahead" time change. I'd forgotten to put my phone on silent, so when my ringer went off I immediately dropped what I was doing to mute it. Of course I had to rummage through my purse first, spilling out lipsticks and receipts and mixed currency until I found it buried underneath my arsenal of supplies. In the process of paralyzing the volume I also managed to hang up on Josh, who I noticed had called and texted me several times in a fifteen-minute period of time. I took a moment to ponder why he was so desperate to speak with me (I guess I really am that cool)… then my phone rang again and I answered it before anyone in the office located the source of the disturbance. 

"Josh?" I whispered in a low raspy voice. To be clear, it wasn't a sexy, phone-operator rasp, but the kind of hushed tone you use when you have your head under your desk so no one knows you're on your cell phone taking a personal call. "I'm still at work. What's up?" I expected him to ask what we were doing for dinner or tell me that he missed me so bad it hurt (well, maybe not in those exact words). Instead he said, "Did you hide the computer?" Of course I didn't hide the computer! I left the computer exactly where I always do: in the living room on the couch near the radiator - right where one would expect to find an expensive piece of modern machinery. To that he replied, "Oh, well, don't panic... It seems like the laptop is the only thing missing and nothing's messed up, but I think we've robbed." Though it wasn't so much as a "thought" as a reality. The busted door frame and crowbar dent were evidence that I wasn't playing hide-n-seek with our Mac Book Pro and we had officially been burglarized.  

When I walked in I hugged Josh and then went about accessing the damage. Looking through as much of my things as I could without actually touching anything. The police had informed us to sort of float about and use our magical powers to open draws and such until they were able to dust for fingerprints. 

The assessment yielded the following positive results: The TV was still in place (thank God), the PC was hooked up and our new plants were shaken but unharmed. The place was indeed a mess, but that was our fault. I was actually kind of worried the police would walk in and think the bulgars threw our clothes around and left toast crumbs in the hallway so they could easily find their way out. But they didn't seem concerned by the mess and, unless I'm being paranoid, I really don't think they were concerned about any of it. They didn't so much as shake our hands, give us their names or extend an apology. It even occurred to me that they might be the robbers! I've seen Home Alone. A fake badge, a couple of walkie talkies and you're a cop. 

The next day the SOCO man arrived, aka is the Scene of Crime Officer. On a side note, I think SOCO sounds like the name of puppeteering school that teaches people how to entertain with hosiery. "CSI" is way cooler. Anyway, he came and dusted for prints and found none. This surprised me because he never took our prints nor did he take anyone else's who had been in our flat. How did he know that the prints he found didn't belong to the robber? It was all smoke and mirrors as far as I was concerned. I knew, as well as the police, that the odds of cracking the case was as great as our odds of getting a FedEx package. 

And that was that. Within 48 hours life went back to normal. I didn't (and don't) feel scared. I'm not mourning over my things. And I'm genuinely happy that no one got hurt. In fact, I find it rather ironic that when we first moved in I complained via blog that we had way too much stuff - and one too many hats - anyway. So maybe on some level this was the universe's way of sorting out the clutter and letting me know it reads my blog... and if the universe is reading your blog, you'd better write something. 

An Evening at the Theater (or is it Theatre?)

Josh and I have officially proclaimed the London movie experience “The Best in the World”—a very coveted and sought-after honor. We came to this conclusion last Wednesday when we decided that the incessant rain and darkness was becoming far too depressing and we needed to get out. Among the movies playing, we chose to see 127 Hours (no spoilers here) at the Rich Mix Cinema. It was between that or The King’s Speech, which is based on the true story of King George VI of Britain who struggled to overcome his public speaking problem/speech impediment during World War II. While intrigued, I think we’ll wait for that to come out on DVD.

Now get this, when purchasing your tickets, online or at the theater, you get to pick your seats in advance! That means you can show up right before the movie starts and still avoid the front row. And when you meet up with friends, you don’t have to throw your coat over four chairs and yell, “seat’s taken!” like Elaine Benes every time someone comes near your territory. Why is this not a universal amenity?

Upon arrival (about 15 minutes before the show) we checked in at the ticket counter. Directly behind us was a cute little café that served fancy coffees and gelato, and in front of us were a set of doors, which lead to the theater. We walked to these magical doors, opened them and surprisingly found ourselves in the middle of a music venue complete with a full bar and jazz band. And this wasn’t your daddy’s jazz band. The music was an upbeat medley of top-40 pop tunes played on trumpets, trombones and saxophones. The crowd ranged from college students to thirty-somethings and beyond, who all sang, danced, lounged and laughed. Forget those over-priced arcade games and Slushies; this lobby was bursting with liveliness and the type of post-work freedom one longs for on a weeknight.

The best part is that even if you’re there to see a movie and not listen to the band, you can still partake in the bar festivities. Forgive me, but this bears repeating. You can actually take your drinks (beer, wine, Grasshopper) into the theater with you! Now is it me, or is that unheard of (at least in the States)? Maybe I just happened to miss all of these incredible bar-jazz band-theaters in my lifetime, but I’ve personally never been to one that was this cool before. I know it sounds very sixteen-year-old of me to be excited because I can throw a few back during a movie, but the whole evening was actually rather sophisticated. I felt so civilized listening to jazz tunes, and then taking a glass of wine to my reserved seats. Sure beats a bladder full of soda and neck strain!  

Call it a fluke, but people were actually quiet during the entire film to boot. Not once did I have to mentally shout at someone for talking or roll my eyes because the person next to me chewed popcorn like a cow. (Okay, so I’m a bit noise sensitive, but it’s easy for me to lose focus.) Anyway, that didn’t happen this time. At first I wasn’t exactly sure why I left feeling like I’d been to the spa, glowing with the contented pleasure of having just thoroughly enjoyed myself. Then it occurred to me that the movie experience was simply flawless. Comfortable, quiet, exciting with surprises at every turn—it was a cinematic adventure of for the avid or novice moviegoer!

So here’s my Londoner’s note: I highly recommend that after you take a spin through the Abbey, breeze around the Eye and sneak a peek at Parliament, you go to the movies! It may sound very blasé, but believe me it’s not.

A few more topics of note:

      1.)  The dueling Gemini twins in me were very busy this week. One working feverishly on the new Life As A Londoner Facebook page (please Like me!), while the other signed up for advanced nutrition training at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition. I only noticed that both sides of my brain were working on different projects when I posted a FB message about school, and then an hour later posted another about my travel/blog page. Maybe one day, all sides of my psyche will learn to work together.

      

      2.)  Josh and I embarked on another European excursion this weekend. We visited our friend Risa, who was in Madrid on business. While we didn’t accompany her to any seminars on buying high and selling low (or is it the other way around?) we did have an indulgent afternoon in one of the greatest food markets in Europe, Mercado de San Miguel. And while our favorite Spanish restaurant, Casa Lucio, was booked for the entire day, we found another restaurant for dinner and plenty of fun things to do! More details and pictures on that trip to come…

Field Trip

I’ve never been much of a history buff, but regardless of your interests you can’t help but be enamored by Europe’s ancient sites and stories. As Londoners, we felt it was our civic duty to explore England and a few of its most prized landmarks: Windsor Castle, Stonehenge and the Roman Baths.

We signed up for an 11-hour bus excursion back when it was a brisk 40-50 degrees and the idea of spending a day outdoors seemed like a good time. But in the week leading up to the trip, the temperature plummeted and snow began to fall. It was the type of weekend you longed to spend indoors with mugs of hot chocolate and funny movies. Instead, Josh and I pulled out all our winter gear in preparation for the adventure de jour. Part of me was incredibly excited about the trip and the other part hoped it would be cancelled and we could reschedule for a more appropriate time… like June.

Despite transit delays and slowdowns, the tour was still up and running, and Josh and I took our seats on the bus at 8:45am on Saturday morning. Within minutes our talkative tour guide Richard, a proper Englishman with a plaid cap and khaki blazer, made sure the bus left promptly at 9am. He made a point of telling us that tardiness was not tolerated and that any stragglers would be left behind. He then went on to give us all the extended fun we could have if we did happen to miss the bus at Windsor Castle or Bath. If we were stuck in Stonehenge we were basically SOL. After this was well explained, Richard spent an additional twenty to thirty minutes going through the rules and regulations of eating on the bus. Hot foods and hot beverages were strictly forbidden, while sandwiches were encouraged as they are A) easy to eat B) don’t make a mess C) have a neutral odor D) are really tasty E) are simply the perfect food. I do not exaggerate the effort that Richard went through to detail the unparalleled divinity of the sandwich.

The introduction and rule review took up a good portion of the ride and before we knew it we arrived at Windsor Castle, the oldest and largest occupied castle and official residence of the Queen. As we neared the entrance, it became clear that “residence” is a rather modest term for the 13-acre estate. I wholeheartedly believe they should consider turning part of it into luxe condominiums. I would think there’s plenty of unused space and big money to be had in a self-contained castle community.

Anyway, the castle and its grounds were at the same time massive, imposing and stunning. Inside the castle one could tour many attractions from the Portrait Gallery, full of drawings by Leonardo Da Vinci and photos of the royal family, to Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House, a miniature world of dolls and functioning fixtures that looked like the perfect setting for a horror film. We also toured St. George’s Chapel where the infamous Henry the VIII, among other sovereigns, is buried. While grim and sad, it was surreal to stand in the same spot that many of the characters I learned about in school had once stood and are now laid to rest.

Following another forty-five minutes aboard the SS Sandwich, we arrived at Stonehenge. It had just reopened as we pulled in, after being closed due to icy conditions. Some areas were still blocked off, but it’s impossible to miss this towering site.

What makes Stonehenge special (it’s not just a bunch of rocks, ya know) is that it was built nearly 5,000 years ago (sometime between 3,000 BC and 1,600 BC) and its purpose still remains a mystery. It’s alignment with the midsummer sunrise and midwinter sunset has lead to well-accepted theories that the structure once served as a calendar or perhaps Pagan place of worship and celebration.

Lastly we entered the city of Bath, which reminded me of Prague (yes, folks, I’ve been to Praaague – I told you that would come in handy one day). Our bus left us off in the heart of the Christmas Market, containing stalls of food, treats and crafts. There were kielbasa sandwiches, homemade soups, mulled cider, candied nuts and gourmet chocolates. It was a festive spot to relax and enjoy a bite to eat after a long day in the cold. But before we got to kick our feet up and sample the food, we took a tour of the Roman Baths—an ancient bathing complex built in 60-70 AD.

The Baths, also known by its Roman name, Aquae Sulis, is comprised of three naturally hot springs. These springs are full of minerals and maintain a consistent 46 degree Celsius temperature (115 degrees F). As the story goes, the Romans constructed a barrier around the hot springs and created a public bathhouse. Remarkably, this area is well preserved and many of the original stones, structures and steps are intact today. It’s a sight to see and revere for its longevity and majesty. 

By 5pm it was time to head home. Richard managed to keep to himself and the excursion wrapped up with a lulling two-and-a-half hour ride back to London. The rest, as they say, is history.