Kiss My Thistle

Our final layover at the Hotel Thistle by London/Heathrow airport really didn't live up to the splendor of the rest of the trip, but made up for it in laughs. Been growing weary of buddy's apparent night terrors, we observe our twin beds getting closer and closer at every accommodation.

Nearly falling through the grand canyon of a toilet, I did manage to scrub in the shower, knee-deep in cold water as the smell of burning plastic radiated throughout our room. Starving after our flight, we ate a shitty dinner of nachos, chicken liver, wine (surprised? How else do you think we ate liver?) and salty soup for the us equivalent of $100 at the hotel restaurant, we curled up in the cold of the room and watched a special about obscene tourettes syndrome.

The flight home was delayed a bit, but all in all, went smoothly.

Neither of us came home in a bodybag. The trip was great and I look forward to the next adventure. Maybe a vacation from vacation is in order...something involving a hammock, fruit laden beverage and warm waters.
A couple more random pics (Ahh-yes, the Museum of Chocolate-this little rinky-dink museum was a must!)

Barcelona...It's the Men!

Geeze the men are hot here. Drool...

Sitting in the business center of our hotel in Barcelona, which looks similar to a Miami Vice reject. Our transportation has been flawless with the exception of a pre-meditated, 15 minute strike delay in Paris. Gimped along the Ramblas today after a quick hello-goodbye to Gentle and her mom. Barcelona looks a lot like the downtown district of any major US metropolitan city. The Barri Gotic is interesting with its combination of medieval buildings and modern constructs. There are sooooo many restaurants, it´s hard to know which to go to. Also, Catalonian is NOT like standard Spanish, so our mangled attempts to order even the simplest things is time consuming and shameful in our ignorance. The streets are a bit confusing, but this place is growing on me, especially as I ogle the hot hotel concierges.

Keeping with the Parisian tradition of being drunk by lunchtime, my favorite moment so far this trip was sitting in the Placa de Orwell as we listened to live music and enjoying a jug (yes a jug) of sangria. So bohemian! I'm feeling the socialist love. The food has been fantastic. Everything is coated in olive oil and I've grown a fondness for Spanish wine and exotic tapas.

There is the most AMAZING, beautiful market along the Ramblas with every kind of fresh fruit, spices, fish, meats, etc you could imagine.

Went to the Gaudi's cathedral, which housed a pretty impressive little museum, located about 5 blocks from the hotel. My feet are dying, but it has been worth all the pain.


Gaudi's house was interesting as well.

Paris: It's the Cheese!

And the wine, and the coffee, and the macaroons, and the chocolate....

Paris is fantastic as always-I ate my weight in cheese, wine, chocolate and macaroons, or didn't you gather from the above? All the walking is doing quite a number on the feet, but I gimp along with pleasure to experience the culture and sites.

The Eurostar was a bit of an adventure. We didn't realize that you are assigned exact seats and car numbers, despite that it was printed on the ticket. So, among the bumrush to board, we aimed for the last car and parked our bags in one of the few slots available and our asses in a couple of seats. As we made our stops, we realized that those boarding would require their assigned seats, so we made our way to our designated car, which was, oh yes..at the front-about 20 cars ahead. Tripping over bags and drunken Frenchmen, we ping-ponged our way to the seats, hauling ass back to our baggage storage once arriving in lovely Paris.

Parisian Metro is also quite the adventure. Not the polite, adequate open-door timing of the spotless London tube. Buddy managed to get caught twice in the doors, while I repeatedly hurled my bag and body through the turnstyle before the barricade locked. Bruised legs and bruised ego. And no matter where I stood, I was in the way-along with any and everybody else.

Buddy and I are getting on eachothers nerves a bit, but I suppose that´s to be expected when in constant close quarters with someone for 13 days straight. Our 10+ year friendship has weathered greater challenges, and in the end, we laugh more than anything else.

Haven't really thought at all about work much, which is great. The days before my departure were pretty hellish, aside from the birthday fun. Except now I want a job that enables travel. Everytime, I am inspired by all that is out there to see and get claustrophobic thinking about confining myself to 7x7 SF.

Ladytron was fantastic up in Pigalle, although I think we have permanent lung damage from the amount of smoke inhaled during the show. Not once, but twice did we have the pleasure of witnessing a dude climb onto the shoulders of another, sweaty and barechested as he whipped his shirt above his head like he was riding a bull.

We got drunk on wine and cheese eveyday. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous, with the exception of one day.

Off to Barcelona on Wednesday.

Mind the Gap

Please excuse the time between posts. Blogger.com is fucking with my account and making it difficult to post with ease.

We arrived in London Wednesday as scheduled after a rather pleasant plane ride. Cheers to Ambien! I felt bad for buddy's long shanks cramped in his seat-one of the few times I appreciate my "petite" stature. We did our best to acclimate to the cold and time change right away, forcing ourselves to go out for a pint and stay up until 10pm, setting the clock to rise on time the next morning. Alas, my alarm didn't go off, and we wound up sleeping until 12:30pm, which pretty much screwed up our internal clocks.

We walked all over Covent Gardens, saw Big Ben and walked back to our hotel in Kensington-making random retail walk-through/pitstops along the way to warm up. IT IS FUCKING COLD. Now I realize why people drink so much out here-to numb the pain of the cold. It only took a good 20 minutes of badgering to convince buddy to wear the warm coat.

Off to a torture museum today and eat Ale Pie at one of the apparently chain-based pubs on every corner. Be it the Pig and Whistle, Museum Tavern, The Pillsbury or Red Lion, they all share the exact same menu. The sterling is double the US dollar, putting a slight cramp in my shopping agenda. The power went out in the room for about 4 hours this evening, silencing the endless CNN TV drama about the soldiers in Iran and shitty US music selection. Did I mention that Rick Springfield is no longer top ten? Oh, and it's nice to know that the US isn't the only place with stupid, jackass radio dj's. Being obnoxious comes with the job description.

Off to Paris on Sunday via Eurostar.