The Dog Days Are Over

We stayed in Paris one day longer than planned out of sheer necessity for relaxation, after which we picked up our little, tiny, race car of a Peugeot 207 and fumbled our way through the first day as novice stick shift drivers. Michael did an amazing job maneuvering the stressful Paris traffic, and after driving down prostitute lane* we could finally be on our way. 

Our first day of driving was a little shaky. We made our way from Paris to Bordeaux without much ease, but we made it anyway. My guy is a rockstar. We took a roundabout way, heeding the advice of Helene's boyfriend Alex, to take in some small towns and chateaus along the road. We stopped through Tours and Saumur, two incredibly beautiful cities, and passed plenty of french countryside towns as we drove. And if you're wondering why the car looks to be smaller than Michael, it's because it is. 

 Unfortunately, once we got to Bordeaux we had a lot of organizational and monetary issues to sort out (aren't we on vacation??) and we were outside the city, so we stayed in for the night. Before getting to sleep, we had realized that spending much time in Bordeaux wasn't an option for us this time around, and we settled on a plan to leave for Spain in the morning. Needless to say, this post is all about the drive...

*Prostitute lane, as I've named it, is actually a road through the beautiful Bois de Boulogne park outside Paris. It is a peaceful place with gorgeous flowers and trees everywhere. While driving through, we started to notice a very conspicuous prostitute standing just about exactly every 100 feet (this was 5 o'clock in the afternoon mind you, and it doesn't get dark in Paris til around 11:00), dressed in tight skirts, hot pink bras, barely there tops, fishnets, go-go boots, you name it. They had vans every so often marked with pink boas hanging out the windows where they would take their clients. It was one of the more amazing things I've ever seen in broad daylight, and I will probably never forget it. 

Tout Doucemont

Arriving in Paris was a feeling beyond relief. Except that we had been unable to find internet that we could use or a workable payphone (the payphones in Paris are officially ridiculous) anywhere between getting on the train and arriving in the city. This was a problem because we were staying with a friend and had no way of getting in touch with her without looking at one simple email. We ended up having a London-reminiscent first day... wandering around, burdened by our two backpacks each, dreading a certain rainstorm, exhausted, searching, and ready to give up. Finally in a last ditch effort, we just rang the bell (and felt terrible about it), and she happened to be home. 

The next 4 days were the opposite of our first two. Helene and her family were so beyond accommodating and welcoming. She made us coffee and put out pastries every single morning, and cooked dinner for us two of the nights. Every meal was several courses - more cheese and dessert than I've ever needed in my life. We wandered Paris during the day, seeing the sights and drinking a lot more coffee. We went to the Louvre, Notre Dame, and the Eiffel Tower, and ate the most amazing ice cream ever at Berthillon. We had a cliche picnic in the park and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle a total of 3 times. It was, for lack of a better word, Paris. 

Paint It Black

I see London and I want to paint it black. Seriously, we are not fans of London right now.

So we tried to avoid London entirely because Monopoly money has more value than the American dollar. Maybe I should've brought a bag full of hemp, we could've sold it to offset some of our losses. However, it was (supposedly) unavoidable (when we booked it), so we saw it as a necessary evil. There is no such necessary evil in the world. A tube (subway) ride for two -- American -- over $13. Yeah, turn to black, London, see what I care.

We arrived, having just left the land of perpetual daylight and six dollar vodka (Iceland) to $9/hr. WiFi, an $18 lunch of coffee and pre-packaged sandwiches and a need for transportation. Taking a train from Gatwick to London Central, we arrived to a standard London summer (from what I understand) -- rain and cold. Schlepped our luggage around only to learn that Monday was a French National Holiday and therefore the soonest we could arrive by bus was Wednesday morning (it was Sunday afternoon), and the Eurostar was roughly 600 American.

At the Eurostar office, little more seemed possible. That was until a very kind Richard and David worked their magic on the system and got us just outside Paris via Lille. "It was a bit longer", they'd tell us, but at half-price and an hour difference, we'd manage. The only problem, the train left at 10:30am.

So off to nightly quarters we saunter, into a colder, wetter, London night. Thirty minutes and a bar of $3 chocolate later, we finally found ourselves at the central Florence Hotel. The dirtiest, dingiest, light-literally-hanging-by-a-cord-in-the-middle-of-the-ceiling shithole akin to the Griswold dwellings in European Vacation that London had to offer. Nearly $80. Look at the pictures. Let's just say I woke up to a pigeon staring me in the face. I didn't like him much.

We checked-out early, pretty much just to be out of that void in civility, and boarded the train for outside Paris. We were unaware, but pleasantly so, that our train was the London express to Euro Disney! Which meant... kids! We love kids (so long as we can give them back), so we spent the whole journey to outside Paris in the wild imagination of an eight-year-old Abigail and her seasoned mother, surrounded by wild-eyed, excitable youths never cracking the double digit age range. 

We arrived, a few beers and a memory of French countryside destroying the hell of London to promises of better times ahead. Surely this had been our low point. Surely...

The Past and Pending

We landed in New York on a rainy Wednesday night and trekked with our 40 pounds to the Financial District apartment of our amazing friends Lindsey and John. It was a quick 3-day stop but we had an amazing time. There was quite a heat wave our first day there, and we spent the day walking in 95 degrees, and occasionally ducking into coffee shops, etc, to escape the heat.

The highlight of the trip was hands down our trip to the new High Line Park, built on the old elevated train tracks on the west side. We took a walk up the length of it to 30th, and discovered that they had opened a beer garden complete with alternating food trucks underneath the tracks for the summer just 2 days before we arrived. I have to say, it was one of the more genius ideas I've witnessed. 

We saw old friends, relaxed in the parks, and had our first real live Brooklyn nightlife experience. I also visited Parsons to get a feel for the school, on the same day I had to make my decision about attending. I decided against it, after an hour of stressed contemplation. So I guess this is my "announcement" (it's hard to say that without sounding like I assume you all care so much about this) that I won't be heading to New York quite yet. But I'll certainly be back - New York is the greatest. 

Whole Lotta Love

North Carolina was recovery time for us. It's hard not to relax there, even with all the rascally children running amok. It was hot and sunny every day we were there, so we took some time to sit on the front porch drinking coffee and enjoy the pool in the back. We played with the kids non-stop and ate way too much and had lots of mellow family time. I think it was just what we needed before heading out to the more chaotic locales on the itinerary. Off to New York next!