France: Famous Friend

We met the most popular lady in Europe (besides Kate Middleton)...

France: Paris

The Eiffel Tower by day...

The Eiffel Tower by dusk...

 The Eiffel Tower by night...

France: Paris

I apologize for the absence of new posts. My computer slowed and became impossible to use after I uploaded too many pictures. Sixteen thousand two hundred and thirty seven (16, 237) pictures to be exact. I had to wait for Ben, my Mac Wizard Extraordinaire, to remedy the problem.

Below are two pictures of our flat in Paris that we shared with our two friends. The four of us fit comfortably in the one bedroom apartment, something Ben and I know well.  Brian and Amanda slept on a pull out bed located behind me.  Ben and I shared the one bedroom to the right of me.

I don't see any leftover baguettes or cheese on the kitchen table... Ben must snuck the last bits before taking this picture.

I snapped the picture of Ben below in the two-person elevator that took us up to our flat on the sixth floor. The elevator moved as slowly as my computer pre-picture removal and contained just enough oxygen for the two of us to make it to the sixth floor.  We often held our breath and limited our movements in case a power outage occurred and stranded us in the steel shoebox.

France: Versailles

No, it is not Versailles, Kentucky, nor is it pronounced that way. The French say "Ver-sigh." A mistake I made only ONCE.

Versailles is a short, one hour train ride outside of Paris. Our foursome joined a bike tour of about 20 people to see the grounds of Versailles for an all day excursion led by an animated young lady. Thankfully, we experienced good weather because the tour happens "rain or shine." I would have made for one unhappy and soggy biker in the rain.

I recommend the bike tour if physically possible only because Versailles is spread out with lots of castles and mini-castles to see.  It would be impossible to walk to everything in one day, unless, of course, you're a speed demon or a marathon walker. The bike tours are leisurely and relaxing, although go-carts would jazz it up a bit. I doubt, though, that the French would approve of such a thing.

Our tour guide shared interesting stories about the history of Versailles and the man that truly enjoyed it as only a monarch could, King Louis XIV. My favorite story involved King Louis XIV and his obsession with large calves (on his legs, not in the field). He believed that large calves equated to wealth and a diet rich in protein. Good thing I wasn't alive then because I would have laughed out loud upon hearing such a preposterous idea.  And, therefore, would have subsequently been beheaded.

After King Louis XIV's story, I made Ben take a picture with me that highlighted our massive and Amazonian calf muscles. Mostly, I wanted to prove to myself that we would have been a part of the elite class and not mere commoners.  Brian and Amanda then did the same. We definitely eked into the upper crust of society.

France: Let Them Sleep (a rip off of "Let Them Eat Cake")

As much as I love to travel and hit every sight, I sometimes need a little downtime.  Luckily, I have perfected the art of being able to sleep just about anywhere.  Distractions, like sunlight or throngs of people or loud noises, don't inhibit my ability to completely conk out. Apparently, our friend, Brian, falls into the same category.

Ben took these pictures outside a "small" castle in Paris where some members of the royal family used to summer.  A cottage if you will. A weekend getaway.

I'm pretty sure after we awoke we sniffed around for the nearest crepe stand and ate a few before continuing on our journey.

France: Food Coma

Perhaps, what I loved even more about Paris than the Féte de la Musique was the diet.  We adapted to the French cuisine immediately upon arrival. For four days, we subsisted solely on baguettes, cheese, wine, prosciutto, and Nutella crepes.

Yum, yum.

Every day we smothered our faces with Nutella and stuffed ourselves with homemade cheeses. We coated most foods with thin layers of prosciutto. I couldn't eat enough and now my waistline shows it. My arteries thank me.

Below are a few food pics.

A Nutella crepe master at work...

A carb and dairy feast in the flat we rented...

An ice cream break...

A posed picture that Ben and Brian worked so hard to perfect...

France: Dancing in the Streets

Paris was the second stop on our 2011 European Tour.  Once again, it topped my list of "favorite big cities."  Paris impressed me with it's perfectly manicured parks, swept streets, and clean buildings. People actually used trash cans and the city provided a plethora of public restrooms, though at a small cost.

While there, I noticed Parisians continually exuded a reserved and calm nature. They never yelled or cussed at each other in public.  Can you imagine?  Strangers not yelling at each other?  Inconceivable... at least in New York. Jersey Shore wannabes and tightly wound urbanites just didn't exist there.  Although, as Ben pointed out, I probably "misunderstood" a few French comments that I assumed to be nice.

We arrived in Paris the same night as the famed Fète de la Musique, which only happens once a year.  Basically, any band of any size played anywhere in the city any time of the day and night.  Paris turned into one humongous dance party until the wee hours of the morning.

People of all ages danced in the streets to jazz, funk, reggae, rock, soul, and techno bands.  Kids threw bottles against medieval churches.  Teenagers urinated on cobblestone streets. Adults toasted with glasses of wine. Tourists flocked from band to band. Our group reveled in the once-a-year romp, or debauchery (depending on a person's perspective), and constantly wondered how any of it was legal.  The NYPD would have been all over that.

The pictures below aren't the best, but they give an idea of how many people wandered around the city.

Scotland: The Jig Is Up

The coolest thing about the wedding in Scotland was the dancing at the reception.  The bride and groom chose The Jiggers Ceilidh Band, a local Scottish band that played traditional music and taught the guests traditional Scottish dancing.  Think of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet dancing in the bottom of the boat in the movie "Titantic," but then picture approximately 30 Americans doing that without any previous jig experience and after drinking cocktails. Quite a sight.

We jigged so much and so hard that I literally burnt the rubber taps off of my heels.  It was that INTENSE.  Throughout the reception, Ben touted the efficient ventilation of the kilt and debated on carrying the kilt tradition back to the States.  I absolutely encouraged it.

During certain jigs, bodies literally flew in all directions.  Think dodgeball with adult extremities.  At one point, during a vigorous dance that lasted quite awhile, I feared that I was going to either 1) faint, or 2) throw up.  That's how hard we danced.  That's how into it we were.   

The first picture is of a (semi) coordinated group dance, and the second picture is of Ben swinging me around during another dance. And, don't worry, Ben held tightly onto me so that I did not twirl right off the dance floor and into a marble column.

Scotland: Unchartered Territory

The first stop on our European tour was Glasgow, Scotland.  My sister-in-law, Ben’s younger sister, got married to a true, born-and-bred Scotsman. They held the wedding in a beautiful church and reception hall, or “cathedral” and “mini castle” depending on your perspective, in downtown Glasgow.

The wedding was beautiful.  The bride was beautiful.  And, as a bridesmaid, the view from the front of the church was… perhaps “beautiful” isn’t the right word.

Most of the men in attendance wore kilts.  The Scots owned their kilts, and the Americans rented their kilts.  The Scots grew up wearing kilts to formal occasions.  They were accustomed to wearing an open-bottomed piece of clothing.  The Americans had undoubtedly crossed into unfamiliar territory.

The American men sat with their legs together for the first part of the ceremony.  But, as time went on, they got a little more comfortable in the their kilts.  They relaxed a bit.  Perhaps forgot they donned a kilt.

Slowly, the Americans' legs drifted apart, inch-by-inch.  By the time the vows rolled along, a large portion of the right side of the church showed off much more than the colors of their tartan!  Fortunately, for some of them, their sporran weighted their kilt down just enough to leave the bridesmaids guessing.

Below, Ben looked dapper in his kilt alongside his two sisters, a stunning bride and lovely bridesmaid.

Back in NYC

We are back!

Ben and I returned to NYC late Sunday night from a 26-day European vacation where we looped through five countries (Scotland, France, Italy, Spain, and Ireland) and toured 14 cities (Glasgow, Edinburgh, Paris, Versailles, Venice, Murano, Cortona, Rome, Sorrento, Naples, Pompeii, Capri, Barcelona, and Dublin).  We slept in 10 different beds and took at least 11 modes of transportation (cruise ship, airplane, train, subway, boat, city bus, coach bus, car, taxi, bicycle, and foot) through Europe.  We attempted to speak three foreign languages and almost understood one, using extreme and over exaggerated gestures (or a simple “did you get that” smile and shrug with upturned palms) to communicate nonverbally much of the time.

 

Everything was as amazing as it sounds… and we plan to purchase a pied-a-terre in each of our top ten favorite cities as soon as we win the lottery.

We brought back plenty of magnets, the best souvenir when living in a small and space restricted apartment, as well as a few extra pounds around the midsection.  Weight gained on our vacation further proved that we really let go and enjoyed ourselves.  I only said “no” once to a chocolate filled croissant, but regretted it immediately and quickly recanted my initial answer only to again dive into my 50^th calorie enriched pastry of the trip.  I feared that one more Nutella filled crepe would lead to a chocolate overdose.  Europeans stay so skinny.  How do they do it?

The next couple of posts will be dedicated to small or memorable moments from our trip.  It’s impossible to encapsulate the awesomeness of the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of everything we experienced, but little vignettes and photos will have to suffice.  Until then… 

Glimpses

Two great photos of two great friends.

A New X-Men

A couple of Saturdays ago, around 9:00am, I sat on the couch in the living room and typed reports for work.  I randomly began to hear whistles, followed by a soft banging, coming from the opposite end of our long hallway.  Every few minutes, a bell rang.  The noises continued for about 25 minutes.  I assumed children were playing in the hallway and their dad was attempting to control them by whistling (seemed plausible).

After almost 30 minutes of noise, I became highly annoyed.  I threw on a pair of shoes and walked down the hallway.  When I reached the elevator, I heard my name.  I turned and saw that my superintendent was stuck in the elevator and had been for the past two hours!

Again, that darn elevator.

The door was ajar about six inches and my super and I looked at each other in disbelief.  What do we do? I asked.  Push it open, he said.

Push open the steel door of an elevator?  Yeah, right.

But, somehow, I mustered a superhuman sort of strength (that or the door is more aluminum than steel) and slid my arm through the crack.  Carlos and I pushed with all of our strength and...

Surprise! Who knew I had it in me?  I knew I was tough, but destroying an elevator door is a completely new level of strength.  Carlos enthusiastically thanked me.  I dusted off my hands.  No big deal.  Just being a good tenant.

Up in the Air

Love on the Highline.

It's All Relative

Yesterday, I took my camera to school to get some end-of-the-year pictures.  I snapped pictures of two little boys that I work with each week.  They were dressed so snappily and were in such a silly mood that I couldn’t help but capture the moment.

They eagerly requested to see their pictures.  I showed them, and as I scrolled through their photo shoot I happened to scroll back too far and stopped on a picture of Ben and I. 

“Wait!” they cried.

“What?” I said.

“Who’s that?” they asked, pointing to Ben.

“Who do you think that is?” I responded.

In unison and without hesitation, they declared… “Your DAD!”

Ha, ha… ha, ha, ha, ha… ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

I won’t tell Ben that one.

Miracle on the Upper West Side

The unusually hot weather of the past two weeks surprised Ben and I.  We assumed we had a few more weeks of cool temperatures before needing an air conditioner in the bedroom.  Oops, we were wrong.

Apparently, the gods doomed us to live summer 2010 all over again.

Last year, we slept on an air mattress in the living room for months because that was the only room with an air conditioner.  We vowed to never do that again.  Except, somehow, we were doing it again.

I frantically searched Craigslist for used AC units that fit through the wall because a new unit costs around $500.  Five hundred dollars!  Insanity.  I mean, I’ll pay that for a good handbag, but an electrical thingy, no way. Joking, joking.

I found a cheap (cheap being the operative word) one on Craigslist, but the measurements made Ben and I a wee bit nervous.  If we bought it, carried it home on a borrowed dolly, managed it in the hole in the wall, plugged it in, and it didn’t work… the results would be disastrous.  I can’t even IMAGINE the scene, nor do I want to.  Our marriage would probably be in shambles and our building burned to the ground.

Then, Ben did something really smart.  He talked to the superintendent of our building.  And, the very, very, VERY nice man said, “I think I have an extra unit.  I will install it for you tomorrow.” Ben and I immediately renewed our vows upon hearing such joyous news.  But, we still crossed our fingers and nervously waited.  What if it didn’t happen?

The next evening, I ran home from work.  I threw open the door to our bedroom and heard a familiar humming.  I felt a cold air rush against my face as I ran around the bed to peek at the hole in the wall and I found… our NEW AC! 

A miracle.  A real New York miracle.