Home again, home again

I have been home long enough to sleep in my own bed, shower in my own bathroom, eat a bacon cheeseburger and have a margarita.  We’re back to having home field advantage for the rest of the summer.  I know how to get around, what foods I like, where to go and how the local currency works.  We came in for a relatively smooth landing at DFW, and Jeanne and Dave were there to greet us.  I am so glad all seven of us were together for the first part of the trip, just as I am glad Cas and I split off and did our own thing for the second part.  Both things were pretty great, but it is  just generally easier to find a restaurant with a table for two available.  

I’ve picked up the mail from my dad, checked in on my brothers and hugged on any and all available folks named Hinds in the Dallas area.  It’s good to be home.  But we’re already starting to plan and scheme.  Next summer will mark the ten-year point for this travel blog, which means it will be ten years from the day I sat down and blogged about my wedding in Fiji.  So a tenth wedding anniversary is about a year and a month away, give or take a few days.  Something for a tenth anniversary is in order.  Who knows.  We’re open to suggestion…  I have never been to Germany.  We were thinking of something in Eastern Europe.  Maybe we head to Quebec?  I hear there’s some really cool stuff to see in Japan.  South America was neat.  

But for the meantime, we have a ninth anniversary to celebrate, a Fourth of July to enjoy, and the remainder of our summer break to play with.  

So, until Heather and Cas ride again, I bid you adieu.  

Also, mind the gap.

Here are our photos: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

What’s a Bard?

When you pack up some fruit and cheese and a bottle of wine and head to the Samuel-Grand park in Dallas during the summer, it’s invariably to go see Shakespeare in the Park.  We’ll most certainly do that when we get back to our regularly scheduled Texas summer.  But before they begin the show, someone from the Shakespeare Dallas organization gets up and explains how a bard is a storyteller.  There’s a consistent call-and-response thing that has happened in every show I have attended.  He says something to the general effect of, “And Shakespeare is often called the Bard…”  The audience out on the lawn shouts back, “What’s a bard?”  So let me tell you what he would say next.  

A bard is a storyteller.  

Yesterday, we went to the hometown of the bard of all bards.  The grand-bard of them all.  The third child of a glove maker and a farmer’s daughter, William Shakespeare.  We went on the second of our scheduled day trips from London, this time, to Stratford-upon-Avon, the Cotswolds and Oxford.  Wow.  Stratford was very cool.  We only had enough time to tour the house where Shakespeare was born and raised, then we had to head to the next destination.  We actually grabbed a sandwich after the self-guided tour and ate it on the bus, as we didn’t want to kill time in a restaurant.  The next two stops were the ones that, if I were in charge of the tour company, I would cut out of the tour.  I would have the guide drive by, make a little commentary, and preserve the time for one of the other two locations.  We went through the Cotswolds.  What’s a Cotswolds?  Well, it’s not a bard.  I kid- it’s just a really pretty, picturesque part of England.  The houses are all made of the locally available materials, which means they’re all in a blonde-ish stone.  Frankly, I could have used more time either in Stratford or in Oxford.  

Ooh, and Oxford- we got there at 4:30 and everything closes at 5.  That’s one of the reasons I would have chopped out the Cotswolds from this tour.  There’s a great science museum that was closed, but if it were open, they somehow had Albert Einstein’s chalkboard where he used to do complicated equations.  There were innumerable libraries for the multitudes of universities, all of which looked cool from the outside, and none of which let us in after 4:45.  Behold, Cas trying to get into a door labeled Geometry and Arithmetic: 

Yeah- 30 more minutes in Stratford and another 45 or more in Oxford.  Regardless, we did hit up some really great spots.  There are lots of places that claim to be the oldest pub in England, and we went to one that, of those claimants, is still the third from the oldest. Nobody holds the official title, because no one can prove it.  Regardless, The Porch House was established in 947 AD.  It’s in a spot called Stow-on-the-Wold in the Cotswolds.  I got a pint of the trademark “warm” British beer, meaning it’s a cask beer where the draft is pulled from underground wine-cellar-temperature casks.  Had to try it.  Honestly, that was not my favorite, but it was pretty authentic.  

For a stop I would remove if I were the tour organizer, it was a nice perk.  Beyond that, we really enjoyed Oxford, and the trip back to London was pretty swift from there.  We had a dinner at a Thai restaurant.  In fact, when we mentioned where we planned to eat, the tour guide changed his drop-off plans.  Our dinner pick was right around the corner from the spot where his company parks their buses overnight.  We basically went back to the tour company’s mothership.  

All in all, the day was wonderful.  We did feel rushed in parts, but the things we did see were pretty great.  We stopped at a gift shop on our way back to the hotel and picked up our souvenir refrigerator magnet.  This one is a red, double-decker bus.  It’s a little token that could start either of us telling stories…. You know, like a bard.

Here are our photos: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

The modern and the not-so-modern

We’re on the road again.  Cas and I are back with our pals on The English Bus, having boarded back at our hotel after our French-seeming breakfast of quiche and a chocolate croissant.  Maybe its proximity to France that lets English bakeries do such a good job with French pastries.  

But as our journey to the Cotswolds, Oxford and Stratford upon Avon starts, I can get into the day we had yesterday.  It began with a few items left to check off of our London bucket list. First, we headed to the Globe Theatre.  The current Globe Theatre is apparently the third one of its kind, having been lovingly reconstructed by bard superfan Sam Wanamaker.  They still do plays at this theatre, and they still offer the standing-room seats that, in Shakespeare’s time, went to folks affectionately called the “groundlings.” 

It was a very cool tour, and our guide for that one was as charming as she was pleasant.  Just in case we were feeling a little too historic, though, the next stop on our journey was the Tate Modern, London’s own modern art museum. Man, there’s some really weird stuff in there.  No- for real.  An employee of the museum even said so, as did our tour guide just this morning.  Apparently, any Londoner you ask can assure you that the collection at the Tate Modern is “weird,”  I absolutely agree.  

We spent a little bit of time exploring the art that was free to view, opting not to engage in the ticketed attractions.  We didn’t intend to stay long enough to make tickets worthwhile- there was plenty of weird art to see for free.  We saw some work by Salvador Dali, a bit of Andy Warhol’s handiwork, and some decidedly stranger things. There was the inexplicable canvas with little beads glued on in piles, with each bead-pile crowned by a plastic eyeball from a toy doll.  That was properly strange.  We saw the enormous sculpture of the spider that had to be placed in a central space with a tall ceiling.  Of course, there were things that were slightly more traditional- paintings and such, but certainly, everything was modern. 

When we left there, it was time to find some really good Indian food.  Cas had a restaurant all picked out and a backup plan in case the place didn’t look good when we got there.  Everything was wonderful. We had samosas, a chicken dish and some very yummy garlic naan bread.  There were four people near us, one of whom was filming every single thing that happened.  He filmed as the waitress poured beer in a glass.  He filmed as a woman seated at the table scrolled on her phone.  He filmed as the food arrived.  Not knowing why, I decided they must be the stars of a reality show I was inventing in my head called “Three boring Brits go to restaurants.”   I’m sure my imaginary show will be cancelled after half a season and replaced with a baking show.  The waitress told us what the filming was all about after the table was cleared and the four people were filming their way down the street- I feel like it was maybe a beer commercial?   I honestly didn’t care enough to follow up.  We were just glad  they left and took their camera with them. 

Our final destination to check the last item off our London bucket list was Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.  While there is great debate about which pub is the oldest, and I’m sure it will rage on long after we’re tucked into our bed in Dallas, the pub we visited was on a site that has housed a pub since 1538. We were in a building that went up in 1667, though if you walk down underground a but, you’ll find a bar inside a 13th century Carmelite Monastery.  I asked the manager, and he said there are something like 20 rooms in the pub, and though it wasn’t open for seating right then, he invited us to visit the room that Charles Dickens most liked to sit in- we even spotted his favorite seat.  We probably spent as much time at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese as we did at the Tate Modern- and each spot was a museum of sorts, but unsurprisingly, the hospitality was better at the pub.  

After that, we were kid of over being in crowded spaces and jockeying for position on sidewalks, so we hopped into a tube station and made our way back to the hotel, by way of a grocery store where we could grab some snacks for today’s bus adventure. 

It’s our last full day in England today.  We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon, and through the miracle of time zones, we’ll arrive home the same day.  We’re about half an hour away from Stratford upon Avon right now, so we’ll get into that later.  

For now, here is a photo of me and Cas drinking pints of cider in a bar tucked into a 13th century Carmelite Monastery.  Because of course we did…

And here’s the photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Float on

It was Monday yesterday, and that must have been the reason our dinner cruise on the Thames wasn’t absolutely bursting at the seams with people.  There was a row of empty tables for two next to the row of tables where Cas and I were seated.  Don’t worry, though, the assembled clientele was still very, very loud.  There was one Frenchman in particular who could have communicated with the whole room without a microphone.  We got on and started with a glass of champagne, followed by a smoked salmon appetizer.  There was a tomato basil soup, then a nice roasted chicken in red wine sauce with potatoes and vegetables.  Tatties, but no neeps.  Whew.  

Desert was a tiramisu, then we were off.  We grabbed our wine glasses and headed up top to enjoy the open air, let the wind blow our hair back and take a few really great photos of the Tower Bridge, illuminated at night.  It was kind of cool, knowing where we had walked earlier in the day and sailing under it.  

The crew was pleasant and accommodating, the on-board entertainment was pretty good and the meal was very nice.  Unfortunately for me and Cas, we’ve got unrealistically high expectations about dining while floating on famous rivers, but that can’t be helped.  The dinner cruise on the Seine was certainly not something you can just book through Viator or Trip Advisor.  On the Thames, there was no Dom Perignon, no amuse bouche and no Michelin-starred chef preparing the chicken.  In spite of that, we did manage to have a good time.  

We’re off today for a trip to Shakespeare’s Globe, the Tate Modern and some Indian food, fingers crossed.  It’s another self-styled, choose your own adventure day, and we’re off in a big city to see what we can see.  I’ll fill you in on the details later.

Here’s our photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

We came, we saw, we hopped back on

The thing about a hop-on-hop-off bus is that you usually know exactly what you’re signing up for.  You’ll typically get a pair of really crummy earbuds that won’t stay in your ears.  You’ll have to plug those into a thingamajig right in front of your seat, and it is almost always set to the English language.  It certainly was today.  We bought tickets and hopped on, getting a little background information while we traveled from the London Eye to the Tower Bridge.  That’s where we hopped off for a look at a very fancy bridge.  We got tickets for our self-guided bridge tour, walking up one tower, across a pedestrian part at the top and into the other tower.  It was a very cool bridge, and there was certainly a lot to learn about how it was constructed.  They had displays about the men who had to dive down in the river wearing elaborate gear to build the foundational parts of the bridge before the actual towers went up.  There were pieces that explained the functionality of the original steam engine that operated the drawbridge function.  It was all very interesting.  Of course, I lost Cas for a moment at an old map of London.  He had to stop and ask the employee about the map, and as it turns out, his instinct was spot on.  The map was apparently one of the first ones made to represent London as a version of its modern self.  

After we left the Tower Bridge, we made our way past the Tower of London to the dock where the included 30 minute trip on the Thames took off.  It was also quite informative, though this time, the information came courtesy of an actual human who talked about the various buildings, the many bridges we went under and the very river we were traveling on.  That was an interesting little mini-cruise, and for added fun, there was a waiter who brought out drinks.  Don’t mind if we do. It was actually a sunny day, and it was just a little warm with no shade trees around.  

When we got off the boat, we stopped for lunch.  It was a kind of self-styled tapas lunch, as we just selected three appetizers and made a nice meal of them.  We were a bit hungry, but we didn’t want to over-eat.  We have our dinner cruise on the Thames this evening.  

After our light lunch, we hopped back on a bus and took it all the way to Buckingham Palace, learning about Fleet Street, Cleopatra’s Needle, MI-5, The Shard- you name it, if it was part of the pre-recorded audio, we learned it.  And we’ll probably forget about 90% of it.  But hey, some retention is better than none.  We were on a mission, though, to see the unflappable palace guards in their red jackets and fuzzy hats.  Check and check.  They were pretty far away from us, but there they were, immobilized by duty and tradition, as any good palace guard should be.  At that point, we really lacked the time for the full tourist experience, mostly, because we were kind of sweaty, and we want to be clean and presentable for our fancy-ish dinner.  We hopped into an underground station, took one train to another and came back to our room.  It’s nice to cool down a little after the day we had.  It was wonderful, sure, but it was a little warm.  What am I taking about- a week from now, we’ll be back in Dallas and today’s London temps will seem like a dream.  I mean, the high was 80 today.  We were just moving around a lot in the sunshine.  Regardless, 80 or higher, you want to get a little dolled up for a fancy dinner, right?  I know I do.  I have the best date a girl could get on this or any body of water, so I had better get to it and comb my hair.  I’ll tell you all about the dinner cruise in the morning.  For now, here’s a really fun photo of us on the glass part of the walkway between the two towers of Tower Bridge.  The employee there assured us that each panel of glass could hold five tons, though he didn’t specify if that was metric or standard.  I think Cas and I would have been in the clear, either way.

Here, again, are our photos: tinyrul.com/dunlap-pl

Smashing! Brilliant! British as heck!

There were about a dozen times yesterday where Cas and I did something, and I thought, “This is so British!”  

Let’s pop ‘round to the pub for a pint and have a chat about it, shall we?  

Cas and I got up in the morning and headed to a spot that promised good brunch.  He ordered something called Red Eggs, which were basically scrambled eggs, spiced with a sauce that was red in color, and I ordered bubble and squeak.  It’s called that because of the sounds it makes while cooking.  There are sausages that fry up, causing the bubbling and/or squeaking of cabbage, potatoes or whatever vegetable you add.  This one was a brunch dish, so there was a fried egg crowning the whole affair.  It was a good way to start the day.  Full disclosure: We got a later than usual start because we had no commitment until the afternoon.  It was actually great to start with brunch rather than a rapid pastry and coffee in a paper cup while racing to the first bit of adventure.  Now, I don’t mind hustling, but yesterday was a nice change of pace.  

With the bubble and squeak out of the way, we made our way to Waterloo bridge.  That’s where we caught the red, double-decker bus.  Cas mapped out which local route would take us where we wanted to head next, so with that information, we hopped on a tall, red bus, climbed to the top and sat as it rolled over the Thames on a bridge named after a British military victory over the French.  

I know, right?  

When it was time to get off the bus, we were in the West End district.  We had tickets to a play at the Noel Coward Theatre.  We walked in and pre-ordered our intermission drinks- a very smart accommodation the theatre makes- then headed to our seats.  The play we saw was called The Comedy About Spies, and it was one of the funniest things either Cas or I had seen in ages.  I won’t give the plot away, but there are Americans, Brits, Russians and one self-important actor, all at a hotel at the height of the Cold War, and tremendous intrigue ensues.  When intermission came, we followed a column of people to the bar area, where our pre-ordered and pre-paid drinks were waiting.  I showed a receipt and said my name, and Bob’s your uncle, the nice attendant handed me two glasses of prosecco.  Lovely jubbly.  

The play was a matinee, and we did, in fact, get out in time to see some of the performance by the London Symphony Orchestra.  We were near the back because we walked in just as the performance was beginning.  Had we shown up hours earlier, we may have scored a seat, but we wandered in to standing room only.  It was fine, but I am not a tall woman.  Every time someone in front of me shifted or moved, though, I saw something different.  I scooched past the really tall guy to see the violin section.  I shifted over to one side of the lady with the rather large bun in her hair and saw a drummers banging away.  Someone decided to leave, and that’s when I saw cellos and basses.  I watched as all their arms moved in unison.  All those bows gliding across all those strings at the same moment.  The song took a turn for the more energetic.  The music became more rapid.  Just when that happened, I literally saw a bumblebee in front of me.  It was flitting around from one person’s head to the next, and none of the people seemed aware of its presence.  The erratic flight path and the frenetic music kind of belonged together.  We walked away after just one song, because standing at the way-back wasn’t great, but I was chuffed to bits that we wandered into the once-a-year free outdoor LSO performance.  

The next thing on our list was a bit of food.  We decided to pop ‘round to a pub for a pint or two, have a look at the menu and see if any of them might serve fish and chips.  Cas had a cider and I had a beer.  

We shared a fish and chips, and I even tried the mushy peas they seem to consistently place on these plates.  They did have the decency to put it in a little cup on the side, so as not to upset Cas.  That was kind.  The pub just looked right.  It was full of dark furniture and there was wood flooring.  There were taxidermied animals on the walls, and we sat next to a non-working fireplace where the mantle was dotted with old books, tchotchkes and a broken clock.  Fancy a pint?  I thought so.  

Cas had located an art display he wanted to check out after our pub adventure.  It was a very, very large room, open on a few sides for people to just walk in off the street, and the walls were covered in moving images.  Different artists designed different experiences for the visitors.  We walked in to a mountain scene on all sides, and it turned into several other scenes.  There was a massive Tetris game that allowed seven viewers at a time to participate.  There was a “shower of emojis” There were cartoonish things, things that looked like moving paintings- a few photorealistic items.  It was in constant flux.  We stood a while, sat a while, took it in a while, then decided to head back to our hotel via the tube.  

The public transportation in London has gotten easier, too, as you no longer need to purchase a ticket or anything like that.  You can use the Apple Pay or Google Pay or Samsung Pay feature on your phone.  If you have a credit card attached to your phone, you can just aim the phone at the payment card reader and you’re on.  You just paid the fare by waving a phone at it.  Makes you feel like a character in a sci-fi story.  

We picked up some Jaffa Cakes, which are basically little, flat rectangles of sponge cake topped with jam and dark chocolate, and we had a few of those when we returned to our room and called our dads.  And by a few, I mean the whole package.  Yeah, we can’t have Jaffa Cakes around- they disappear too fast.  

So it was the most British day we could conjure up.  Today, we plan to take a tourist bus around the city and see what there is to learn that way, then we’ll cap off the day with a dinner cruise on the Thames, which we booked back in Dallas.  Should be smashing!  

More to come…

And here are our photos: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Perspective about age…

Seriously, don’t mess with a good thing. Yesterday morning, I stepped out to grab breakfast while Cas was wrapping up in the shower.  We have a pattern of behavior for trips that typically involves me showering first.  I got ready in the flashiest of flashes so I ran out to that amazing coffee shop and stepped back into our hotel room with two pastries and two coffees, returning to one appreciative husband.  When you find something that works, be it an order of morning operations or a good bakery that makes excellent coffee, stick with it.  

Yesterday was our trip out to Stonehenge, Bath and a *secret location* to be revealed later.  We stepped out onto the street in front of our hotel right at our scheduled pickup time, then we were off.  Cara was our guide today, and in addition to being born and raised in Bath, she is currently a Londoner with a bundle of energy and a lot of information.  Cas selected this tour and our upcoming one on Wednesday, and for them, he used a company called “The English Bus,” which appears to be a small company with very nice, well appointed vans, capable of transporting 16 passengers to different places while remaining relatively nimble in traffic.  We hopped in and found a pair of seats together, listened to Cara’s enthusiastic introduction (including her peppering of facts and information about things in London as we passed them) and headed to Stonehenge.  It’s a nearly two hour drive there, but something about the van trip let me and Cas nod off a while.  We had brought along iPads for doing crossword puzzles and reading ebooks, but falling asleep easily on different modes of transportation may be my best superpower.  I do believe Cas got a few chapters in, but I think he nodded off a bit, too.  We got to Stonehenge and were directed on how to board a shuttle from their visitors’ center to the stones themselves, then we were off.  We walked up, stood in front of the ancient arrangement of stones and took it in.  I don’t get it, and that doesn’t exactly put me in the minority.  Is it a tribute?  A relic left by prehistoric aliens?  A religious monument?  Or, as Cas surmised, a set of toy blocks left in mid-play by a giant, prehistoric, Druid toddler?  It was as majestic as it was inexplicable.  How?  And why?  The stones are enormous.  They are not native to the region, so someone deliberately chose those stones elsewhere and transported them to the English countryside, cut them to the shapes they are, and stacked them.  What in heaven’s name for?  Nobody will ever really know.  But they’re weird, and so, we make pilgrimages to stare and scratch our heads and puzzle over them.  We look at them because they are there.  Apparently, too, Cas and I look at them because they are big rocks.  We looked at Uluru days before our wedding.  The next year, we gazed up at the stones of Meteora.  We hiked to the top of Barn Bluff in Red Wing, Minnesota and peered to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  We walked among the stone walls and doors of Machu Picchu.  We’ll go look at rocks.  Naturally occurring or arranged by man, logical or inexplicable, we’ll stand in the presence of unusual rocks and look on in wonder.  

When our Stonehenge visit wrapped up, we were off to see Bath.  There’s an Abbey there we needed to see, and it certainly lived up to our Abbey expectations.  Cas was trying to find out where the choir would be seated during a performance or a service, as a friend of his from work had sung there as a member of a visiting choir.  I spent a little time reading the walls and floors.  Nearly every surface that wasn’t stained glass or ceiling was covered in plaques noting the death of a loved one, placed as a remembrance.  The thing about these plaques was that the majority of them listed the age of the person at the time of his or her death.  I stood there, a reasonably healthy 50-year-old woman, realizing my evidently advanced age, according to the average lifespan that church was starting to help me calculate.  There were far too many stones placed for folks who didn’t make it as far as I have.  It gives you a little perspective.  

We went from the Bath Abbey to a local pub that was recommended as a spot that had great cider.  The English make lots and lots of hard cider.  I enjoy it, though I try not to regularly consume the amount of sugar that cider holds.  Fun fact- Cas and I met at a party held at the home of a mutual friend.  It was a BYOB situation, if I remember correctly.  If it wasn’t, I brought my own beverage anyway.  Seems like good manners to a teacher house party.  I brought cider.  I think it was Hornsby’s Cider.  No matter the brand.  When we had an hour to spend in Bath and sampling their local cider was an option, I couldn’t see why we would do any other thing.  

The secret location was Lacock.  It’s a tiny village.  Our guide told us that, in order for someplace to be considered a village, it had to have a church and a pub.  This spot fulfilled those requirements, for sure.  But it was a spot so full of historically perfect little buildings that there are actual rules from the British government dictating what modifications are allowed.  Spoiler alert- not many.  The outsides of the homes must be kept in the original style.  In fact, the buildings are so old and authentic looking, and the streets so narrow and ancient seeming that this village gets used in period movies.  Lots of Jane Austen stuff filmed in Lacock.  A few Harry Potter scenes show up there.  It is really beautiful, and while not as ancient as Stonehenge, it makes my American home feel like the bricks were mortared together yesterday.  

After our third and final port of call, we were headed back to London.  There was a slight hiccup as traffic slowed for an apparent situation where a bus rear-ended a car, which rear-ended another car, but police and an ambulance were there, and nobody seemed terribly hurt.  It did push our return to the hotel to about 8:30, which shoved our dinner plans to even later, and that made for some challenge.  Apparently, after 9 pm, the entire riverside of the Thames is a dance club.  I’m talking an uhn-tiss-uhn-tiss, neon-and-strobe, girls bouncing in spandex dance club.  In Bath Abbey, I felt like a miracle of modern medicine, living to the advanced age of 50.  In the environment of the riverfront after 9 pm, I felt like a relic from a bygone era.  It gave me some perspective about my age…. 

It had been a long day.  Cas and I decided- after several spots were louder and much livelier than we were at that point, that we’d do well to hit a grocery store and head back to the hotel.  Neither of us was terribly starved, as we’re good at packing snacks for day-long bus journeys, so that was sufficient.  Sometimes, it’s best to sit in a quiet place with your person and reflect on the amazing day you just had.  As we dined on what can best be described as self-styled, upscale lunchables, we enjoyed the relative peace and quiet that being on the fifth floor was affording us.  I am sure those twenty-somethings were having a great time, and I am sure I wanted nothing to do with it.  Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep after that day.

Today, we have theater tickets.  Sorry- when in Rome- it’s theatre not theater.  At home, I eschew the “re” spelling and opt for the American “er.”  Splitting hairs, I know.  But we had been to a performance in Addison, Texas of The Play That Goes Wrong for Zoey’s birthday.  There is a production in town right now by the same writers called The Comedy About Spies.  We’re off to see a matinee today, and if we make it out in time, there’s a free London Symphony Orchestra free outdoor concert in Traflagar Square.  We’ll feel so darn cultured by the end of the day today!  

But let me make sure to add my special note before Sunday gets rolling in earnest:  Happy Fathers’ Day!  It’s Dia De Los Dads.  I’m shouting out my dad, the one and only Mark Hinds.  He’s the steadiest person I know.  A North Star for the family whose reliable consistency is something we all count on when the world goes sideways.  And though he is currently sleeping as I type, I know Cas intends to call his dad, also named Cas, later today when the time zones are friendlier to such an activity.  It’s always nice to hear my top two favorite Cas Dunlaps checking in and catching up.  Shouts out, as well to Chad, who I am sure you remember from our Paris entries and my big brother Jeff, the dads who made us into Aunt Heather and Uncle Cas.  And with that, we have to get this day started.  I will let Cas sleep just a little more, but we’ve got culture to go and enjoy.  To the theatre!  

Photos: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

From Abbey to Alley

There is a cute bakery just around the corner from our hotel, and something we saw today was that, at 8:15, it’s a breezy-breeze to get breakfast.  At 8:30, however, half of the tourists in London are there.  We got there at 8:15 and felt pretty clever about our timing.  We had them put our ham and cheese croissant and our chocolate and cherry scone on a regular plate and our coffee in to-go cups.  We had to be next to a statue of Winston Churchill at 8:45 to meet with Lucy.  She was our guide today, and she seems like someone who may have been born at Westminster Abbey, because she knew it all so well.  She was so happy that we were a group who did as the instructions said and arrived early, because that made us the first bunch in line to get into the abbey, and that meant two things: first, it made her job easier, and second, it meant we could photograph the abbey before any other humans were there- a rare treat.  Behold: 

You know who gets this uninterrupted view?  Religious figures and custodial staff.  Not tourists.  Score one for Lucy’s tour group!  She took us all around the Abbey to the scientists’ corner, the poets’ corner and the myriad tombs of different monarchs and dignitaries.  She marched us with precision past the altars to be present just in time to see a prayer being delivered by a minister.  We were all invited to pray with the minister.  I felt like a member of the congregation.  The minister offered up a simple prayer, asking for blessings or peace or something.  I was just so taken with the moment, and I definitely agreed with whatever the sentiment was, so I amen-ed with everyone else.  I remember thinking it was a good, non-denominational prayer, but I can’t for the life of me remember the contents.  

From there, we went to St. James’s Park.  I had a question about the apostrophe after one s and before the other, and before I could draw breath to ask it, our guide mentioned a venerable British organization called The Apostrophe Preservation Society.  Aah, a group I could really get behind.  They’re very specific punctuation marks, folks, and you must employ them correctly.  

From that park, we went to the front of Buckingham Palace and saw the changing of the guard.  It was what looked like a Scottish group handing off the task of guarding to another bunch.  The departing guardsmen were in kilts, playing bagpipes while wearing thistle emblems on their uniforms.  The new guard arrived on horseback with shiny, metal armor around their torsos.  Apparently, what we think of as the “changing of the guard” is not what it actually is.  Perhaps later in this trip, we can see the red jacketed guardsmen in fluffy black hats, unflappable and standing out in front of the palace.  More on that later.  

After the tour ended, Cas and I headed toward Trafalgar Square by way of Piccadilly Circus.  We stopped at a very tall bookstore that promised to have a restaurant with a view on the fifth floor.  That meant floors -1, 0 and 1-4 were entirely populated with books.  Shiny, new books.  All in enticing displays.  I have seen more bookstores on this trip than I see in a year in Dallas, and maybe that says something about America that I don’t want to hear.  I hope Americans get better at books.  It would be nice.  Maybe I’m just being a librarian…. 

But seriously, we left there and headed back to the hotel.  It was nap time.  Cas and I kind of zonked out.  We had gone to bed late and we woke up pretty early for the tour, so it was a perfect time to have our heads hit the pillows.  We woke an embarrassing two hours later (long nap), and headed out to Leake Street, which is London’s own Graffiti Tunnel.  It’s a space in constant flux.  We walked through this amazing underground space, watching several artists in the process of transforming the wall art, on the way to dinner in a funky neighborhood on the other side.  We settled in at a pizza place, and the food was good.  Again.  Our expectations of bad food in the UK are not exactly being met, here, folks.  We hung out  in the Lower Marsh neighborhood for dinner and a post-meal glass of wine, then headed back through the tunnel.  Art we’d seen starting out while heading one way was completed as we returned.  An image of a girl we saw a few hours before had new, cartoonish lips when we walked back.  It’s a space in constant flux, and that’s pretty cool.  I don’t have an immediate equivalent I have seen anywhere.  We went to Toronto’s Graffiti Alley, but we didn't seen anyone in the act of creating, there.  Here in London, we saw several people actively changing the space we were walking through.  It smelled of aerosol paint, and I secretly worried I may get permanent stains on my clothes.  What I’m saying is- it’s cool.  So very cool.  

But, we’re back at the hotel, now.  We’re getting everything packed into a backpack so we can enjoy our day-long tour tomorrow, when we head to Stonehenge, Bath and a secret location.  I suspect it will be Sting’s house.  Cas and I went to a Sting concert last year, and he invited everyone there to stop by his house near Stonehenge for tea.  Certainly, that must be the secret location, right?  I mean, if he’s inviting a whole Irving, Texas concert venue over, he can absolutely make room for one little tour bus, can’t he?  

We shall see tomorrow.  More when I know it.

Also, here’s a great photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Strangers on a train

We woke up this morning in Glasgow and headed out for breakfast.  We went to one of the cute, little restaurants that resides just below street level on one of the side streets.  It was a space that had been servants’ quarters in its previous life, and now, serves as a cute, little cafe.  We got there early enough that we had time to walk to the River Clyde, which is the main aquatic thoroughfare through Glasgow.  It was a nice spot to stand and look out to the peaceful water.  We got a good view of the bridges in the distance and the city.  It was a good way to wind up our Scottish adventure.  Since our hotel was pretty much in the train station we were leaving from, we went back to grab our things out of the room and take a quick, final bathroom break before heading to the train.  And we hit the same snag for the second time in the Scottish part of this adventure.  Both hotels we’ve stayed at in the UK so far were very nice, and we got late check out in both of them.  What both hotels failed to do with that information was to make our room keys aware of the alteration in time.  In both hotels, we tried to get back into the room after breakfast, but before our later time, and in both of them, we had to head back to the front desk to get the room keys reset.  Let that be today’s life hack- if you ever get late checkout and you’re trying to re-enter the room after the normal checkout time, swing by the front desk to have your key reset first.  It’s apparently a problem.  But after we got back in the room and retrieved our luggage, it was a pretty easy trip from the hotel to the train.  We had reserved seats, and we started to settle in to our role as the old, married dorks who do crossword puzzles together on journeys.  

Right across the aisle from us, a woman looked to the empty seats that faced, two by two around a table.  She asked the woman seated across from where she was trying to sit if she could move there.  It wasn’t her reserved seat or anything, but apparently, thats totally normal, and the obliging, seated woman said yes, then continued quietly working on her laptop.  The interloper started to listen to music on her headphones.  How do I know she was listening to music and not a podcast or something?  Because I am certain everyone in train car D could hear her music.  Wonderful.  That’s pretty rude, and just as I was sitting in my own, little assigned chair, wondering if the tunes would stop, a terrible man arrived and sat next to her.  I quickly surmised that they had met at the train station, they were interested in one another romantically and they were the worst two people in the entire United Kingdom.  

They were loud, rude, every other word started with F.  Yes. That F.  They were vaping, drinking, and very obviously falling in love.  What a meet-cute this will be that they can tell their future cellmates.  

Between me and Cas, I was the one deployed to the bar car for wine. The first time I went, I returned with two mini-bottles of red.  The second time I went, Cas texted me from Car D and said that the loud, rude, aggressive man had left.  I brought back prosecco.  That called for bubbles.  Let’s celebrate the quieting down of our train car.  His seat was taken by an older woman who sat quietly with her crochet project.  Hallelujah!  Give me a quiet lady with her crochet any day!  After that change of personnel, the rest of the train trip was a breeze.  The tricky part came when we had to navigate from the city-to-city train to the hotel via two London Underground trains.  With luggage.  During rush hour.  Oof.  I’m glad we pack light.  We did pretty well.  Of course- because Cas is a genius.  Other life hack I could give you today is to travel with Cas, but I’m not really willing to hand him over, so good luck with that.  

We’re here in London, now.  We’ve checked into our hotel where we’ll be for a week.  We’re right by the Thames, and we walked along the water before having a bite to eat and heading back to the hotel.  Today was a little bit of a long day, made longer by our bearing witness to a love story we had no interest in watching, but we stood by the water of two rivers in the UK today.  We had dinner riverside at a Brazilian place, of all things.  Cas is going to keep tabs of all the different international restaurants we visit.  Someone told us before we left Dallas that the best food in England is the food from other places.  I guess we shall see.  For now, that’s all she wrote.  It’s bed time.  We’re up and about tomorrow, doing a walking tour of Westminster, Big Ben and Buckingham Palace.  It’s supposed to be in the 80s tomorrow. So we may actually bust out shorts for the first time on this trip.  We shall see.  Good night from jolly old England, and may you never meet our friends from the train today.  

Photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Red Hot Chili Pipers

Greetings from sunny Glasgow!  Apparently, sunny Glasgow is a rare treasure, and today’s particularly beautiful weather brought Glaswegians out to local parks, lawns, gardens and grassy spaces to lay in the sunlight and boost their natural vitamin D reserves.  But let me back up to this morning before we get to sunny Glasgow.  We started in *also sunny* Edinburgh.  What are the odds?  We only arrived to Scotland in a slight misty bit of rain, and it’s been smooth sailing ever since.  And today, I am feeling well enough to actually enjoy it.  

We got started with a nice breakfast sandwich in a local cafe, then a trip up from the grassmarket area of Edinburgh to the Royal Mile, where Cas gallantly repeated his recently acquired information from the previous day’s tour.  He told me many stories and facts from the charismatic guide he’d had the day before.  I learned all about a local locksmith from way back whose side business involved secretly copying the keys of the wealthy and stealing from their homes.  He told me about a female surgeon who was something of pioneer.  He showed me the writer’s museum, and in a bit of a coup, he walked with me to the ticket collection area of Edinburgh Castle with yesterday’s tickets, explained how we missed our time because I was very ill, and how we’d love to just look around.  I think the lady taking tickets was a little exasperated by the line forming behind us as he explained everything, and I think she was sympathetic.  She said, in a perfect Scottish Brogue, “Just go ahead and go.” We thanked her profusely and hurried through the entry gate.  It was a terrifically interesting castle, and we had an opportunity to look around for a while.  Unsurprisingly, the castle’s height on its Castle Rock afforded some very nice views of the surrounding city.  From Castle Rock, we worked our way back down to the hotel, gathered our things and checked out.  I am almost back to my usual tourist level of energy, but not so much that I was ready to brave hills and traffic to march my luggage all the way to the train station.  It’s not far, but it’s a relatively hilly trek, and I got winded a few times on the myriad Edinburgh stairs.  We took a taxi driven by a charming man who explained the children’s parade Cas saw yesterday while he drove.  Apparently, once a year, the local taxi drivers decorate their cars in balloons, and drive sick or disabled children in a parade through the city.  The kids can shoot water guns at people who are watching the parade, and they apparently have a great time.  The taxi drivers evidently take the kids to a beach and then take them home at the end of the day. It seems to be a pretty fulfilling thing for the cab drivers to do, and I think more cities ought to get in on this.  

Our decision to head straight to the train station from the hotel was motivated by the hope of a nice lunch in Glasgow.  We walked into the Edinburgh train station and found a machine that promised to sell tickets.  Two or three button presses later, we had selected one-way to Glasgow, redeemable anytime today.  That’s a nice touch- you can just grab the next available ride, or you can take it slow, have a drink or grab something to eat.  We decided to get a move on.  It was already slightly after noon, and we wanted to check in to our hotel in Glasgow before lunch.  

The train was easy to board and efficient to use.  I know the bigness of America really does make our train travel more challenging, but we could learn a thing or two from the Europeans.  

When we stepped off our train, we were a very short distance from our hotel.  Strangely, there are two train stations in Glasgow, and our hotel is attached to the one we didn’t arrive at.  No worries, though, we’d had an hour or so to relax in comfy train seats before our walk.  When we did arrive, we were about an hour before check in, but they had a room ready for us.  The attendant at the desk was talking rapidly, and had such a pronounced Scottish brogue that I had some difficulty understanding him.  I told Cas that I needed to listen faster, and he said he did, too.  Between the two of us, we got the general gist.  Room 341.  Got the WiFi password.  Know about breakfast.  Complimentary cookies (thank you!).  Enjoy the stay.  Got it.  

He also recommended a hop-on-hop-off bus tour.  Honestly, since I started the day at a slight energy deficit then added over 10,000 steps before lunch, that sounded perfect.  I could learn all about Glasgow while seated on the top of a double-decker bus.  We ended up on one with a live guide narrating the information over the speakers, which is great, as neither of us wanted to learn through earbuds.  We toured the city, saw the old and new buildings, learned about its history and spent a beautiful late afternoon in sunny Glasgow, which, as our guide mentioned more than once, is a rare thing of beauty.  

We didn’t do the hop-on-hop-off like they intended, I’m sure.  We hopped on at stop one and hopped back off at the close of the tour.  No other hopping was involved.  It was kind of perfect.  After that, we stopped for a quick drink and an opportunity to take in a little local color.  We sat at an outdoor cafe next to three girls in their 20s, and I could tell they were very obviously all looking at/talking about/checking out the same guy.  I told Cas.  We tried to surreptitiously see which guy.  I think I figured it out- which guy they were all taken with- and I certainly don’t get their interest.  Maybe standards are very different for folks half my age.  Who knows?  I did get a kick out of sitting near them, because they all had fantastic Scottish accents, but one of them started to show off her fake American accent to her friends.  Honestly, it wasn’t half bad.  With a little coaching, she could sound just like she’s from the middle of Kansas or something.  

But seriously, how did I get this far into the day and not mention the Red Hot Chili Pipers?  Yesterday at lunch when I was feeling crummy and ordered just a fruit smoothie, we were at a cafe in Edinburgh.  They were playing some truly awful music.  Two of the patrons finished their lunch and left, leaving just me, Cas and a Scottish man who requested a change of tune.  He asked that the waitress put on the Red Hot Chili Pipers.  I genuinely thought he said Peppers, and we’d be hearing a rock band from California.  Nope.  It was a bagpipe band.  They apparently play rock songs.  We heard bagpipes play Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train, a few songs we couldn’t pick out, and of course, Journey’s Don’t stop believin’.  It was unbelievably silly. Cut to about 24 hours later, as Cas and I are perusing a selection of refrigerator magnets in a Glasgow storefront, and there it is again- Journey on bagpipes.  I wonder how many more times we’ll hear the Chili Pipers this trip.  I certainly don’t want to stop believin’.  

And with that, it’s dinner time.  I will leave you with this photo of Cas, standing by a cannon at Edinburgh Castle.  Cas at the Castle.  hehe.  

Photos: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

On the mend

If I’m being honest, this morning was pretty rough.  I was asking AI platforms about the likelihood of people to have intestinal distress after trying haggis for the first time.  It’s apparently not that common, making me a special case.  We were supposed to be up and ready for our Royal Mile and Edinburgh Castle tour at 10.  That wasn’t going to be an option for me.  I insisted that I get a little more sleep, but Cas go on the tour.  He texted me at a few points.  Let me tell you the funniest thing he said in the series of texts, “It’s a great tour, but totally dumb without you. I’m totally not codependent.”  I replied, “Yes, but I’m totally not codependent with you.”  

Ah, to be young and in love.  Okay, maybe not so young.  Still…  He stepped out this morning and found medicine, a banana and a completely boring bread roll.  That was a good start for my dietary needs today.  I slept while he went on our Royal Mile and Edinburgh Castle tour.  The company we booked with couldn’t move us, as they sell out regularly.  I insisted that at least one of us go.  He came back to check on me.  We walked to a cafe, where he ordered a sandwich and I got my hands on a fruit smoothie.  Things were starting to look up.  Then, after lunch, I took another nap.  It was not my favorite day of our summer travels thus far, but Cas was pitch perfect in being a supportive spouse.  He saw that my needs were met, then he took the book he’s been reading and headed out to sit at a table along the main drag where we’re staying.  He caught some local color, saw the way the neighborhood flowed and read a few chapters.  Mostly, he just kept from distracting me while I slept.  We reconvened at the agreed-upon time and headed up the stairs that lead to the top of the Royal Mile.  I wasn’t ready for a long walk yet, but I can take stairs in chunks.  We had a Scotch Whisky Experience booked today.  It was a tasting of five whiskys, a guided tour run by a very entertaining young Scot named Archie and a very nice meal.  I tried to hold my own.  I smelled, swirled and sipped from each of the glasses, but the tasting amounts (less than a standard shot, thank God) mostly went to Cas.  He said he was happy to help.  What a guy!  I caught the scents and little baby-sips of the flavors, but I am not back to 100% just yet.  Cas picked up my slack.  Score one for having a very helpful husband.  It meant he got extra whisky.  I truly am feeling better, though tomorrow may not be a great day to run a marathon or anything.  We’ll walk the length of the Royal Mile while Cas repeats the contents of his apparently extensive tour notes to me, then we’ll head back to the Whisky Experience shop to tip Archie (we forgot our cash in the hotel) and do a bit of shopping there, then we’ll head to the train station and make our way to Glasgow.  We don’t have a train to Glasgow booked yet, because there are so darn many of them every day that it would be hard to choose the just right time.  We’re waiting to see how the morning treats us, then heading out after that.  

The only thing we have on the calendar for the next little bit of time is a stay in a fancy hotel in Glasgow tomorrow night and a train from there to London the following afternoon.  We planned it low-key, and as of my troubled start to the morning today, I am happy about that.  

I did learn Scottish cheers, though.  Slàinte Mhath!  (slanje-va is the pronunciation, to the best of my understanding.)  It is a toast to good health.  So if you’re reading this back in the states while I am still over here on the mend, raise a glass or a coffee cup or your bottle of water and say a slanje-va for me.  I could use the boost.  

Here, once again, is our photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Haggis and tatties and neeps, Oh my!

Something Cas learned while out shopping for me this morning was that Immodium is the same brand name that they use in Scotland.  I don’t think I was cut out to live on haggis.  There’s a fun little fact to learn…. 

Waiting to see if everything returns to normal so we can tour the castle.  What castle, you ask?  Why, this castle: 

Quick update- Cas did the castle tour and took notes.  I took a nap.  I think I’m feeling back to normal- or close to it. He’ll retell the royal mile tour for me, and he kept the castle entry tickets, so once I’m ready, I get the best tour guide of them all.  

Neeps and Tatties

It was raining when we got to Edinburgh.  The rain wasn’t particularly aggressive- just a light mist, but it was enough that we didn’t want to make the ten minute walk to the hotel.  There was a spot on the sidewalk where folks were lined up to catch taxis, and we got into the line.  That got us deposited right at the front door of our hotel for not too much money.  That puts our transportation for the day at two subways, one international train that runs underground, one overland train and one taxicab.  We’re in for the night.  It’s kind of early for that, but the weather is being a bit uncooperative, and honestly, it was a long day of shuffling from point A to point B.  We checked into our room and found it to be pretty fancy.  There’s a shower and a tub.  I am sitting at a nice writing desk, now, and if I am so inclined, I can loaf around in one of the two fancy hotel robes they provided.  I’m opting for PJs and socks, but it’s good to know I have options.  

One of the things we did when we arrived was hop on the WiFi and ask a few AI platforms about what we should do.  We have things planned and booked for tomorrow, but today, we knew we’d be wiped out and kind of in need of food, a pillow and a blanket. Chat GPT and Gemini both agreed that we had several good options near our hotel, if our true intention was to eat haggis.  

And of course we wanted to eat haggis.  We’re in Scotland, for heaven’s sake.  We had escargots and beef tartare in Paris, and we will most certainly have fish and chips in London.  When you go to a place, you should try the thing they do the best.  That’s why we needed to have haggis today.  

We zeroed in on a “Taste of Haggis” appetizer at the White Hart Inn.  It was a good, little plate, and it left us wanting to try this dish at other restaurants while we’re here.  The haggis came with neeps and tatties- that’s turnips and potatoes- and a lovely whisky sauce.  We also had some whisky that hadn’t been made into sauce, because when you’re in Scotland, you try a little Scotch.  We drank wine in France, right?  It was pretty great to soak in the vibe of the pub and see that, while there were loads of tourists, there were lots of Scottish folks around, too.  It’s kind of cool- you walk down the street where our hotel is, cross and head to the pub.  Takes no time at all- and while you walk, you can glance up at Edinburgh Castle.  That’s just their normal background scenery.  Wow.  We’ll be touring the castle tomorrow along with the Royal Mile.  More on that when the time comes.  For tonight, we’re well fed, we have a little Scotch Whisky in our bellies and we’re about to tuck ourselves in so we can sleep soundly in a nice bed and not fitfully in a train seat.  

As always, more photos are here in the album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Traveling by train

4:30 came awfully early this morning.  Cas and I were so buoyed by our extra-long nap yesterday that our dinner started after 10 pm.  That pushed bedtime to even later than usual, and made it a bit difficult to get moving at that early hour.  But, we needed to get a move on.  We had to take two metro trains to get to the station where the Eurostar train took us under the English Channel to the UK.  I try not to think about that part too much or question the logic of how it all works.  Things underwater have tremendous pressure exerted on them.  The farther under water you are, the greater the pressure.  What kind of engineering voodoo did they have to get just right to make sure that the tunnel isn’t crushed at any second?  I know it’s a tunnel dug through the earth under the water.  How does that work?  How did they calculate the amount of reinforcement necessary to keep the trains running on time without the walls caving in?  I know there are definite, specific answers to these questions, but I was satisfied this morning just knowing that we made our way safely under the English Channel to the station in London.  

There was a fair amount of nodding off on the train, too.  I know Cas and I were both in need of a little more sleep than we got.  I didn’t spend enough time awake to see if Cas was getting much shuteye, if I’m being honest.  We got to St. Pancras station, got off the train and walked out to the street.  When booking the tickets for all of this, I was told to expect a 10-minute walk from one train station to the other.  That’s not exactly true.  King’s Cross is right across the street from St. Pancras station.  Even though our Chunnel train was a few minutes behind schedule, we had plenty of time to sit at the King’s Cross station, enjoy a sandwich and stop for a quick visit to what was apparently awarded as the United Kingdom’s Loo of the Year for 2023.  Bravo, British bathroom buffs!  It was clean, well stocked and efficient to enter and exit.  We’re on the train from London to Edinburgh, Scotland, where it may be raining upon our arrival.  Apparently, we can spend ten minutes walking to the hotel or we can locate a taxi just outside the train station.  That choice will be weather-dependent.  

We’ll be in Edinburgh about 12 hours after we woke up this morning, give or take.  There’s a walking tour we’ve booked for tomorrow, as well as a Whisky tasting experience, but today, we’re taking it easy after the train pulls into the station.  I genuinely like traveling this way.  I am happy we booked trains- it was just over $200 to get both of from France to England, and that’s the cheapest border crossing involving a body of water that we’ve done since that kayak rental we did at the Rio Grande.  

But that’s going to have to be it for now.  I may just “rest my eyes,” as my grandfather used to say.  It really is a very relaxing way to travel…

Also, we’ve updated the photo album- here it is: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Tiny French dogs don’t vape…

Americans walk off the airplane at Charles de Gaulle International Airport with a certain set of expectations.  We’re somehow trained to expect rude waiters, slender, elegant, cigarette-wielding French women with impeccable fashion sense and lots of tiny dogs.  We somehow think we’ll be fighting for attention, starved of customer service and confronted by lots of Frenchmen who refuse to communicate unless we make an effort at their language.  

If that ever was the case, it is no more.  I have had extremely pleasant French waiters, very kind shopkeepers, pleasant people in the hospitality industry, and with the notable exception of that relatively rude guide at Versailles, some extremely patient and informative tour guides.  Today, we had more kind, patient Frenchmen take care of us.  Cas and I left the Airbnb this morning after bidding adieu to his family.  There was a bit of drama, as apparently, Jeanne arrived at the airport without her passport.  We searched her room at the apartment, dragged out the cushions and pillows from all the shared spaces and even went out into the street in front of the apartment to see if it had fallen to the pavement.  It turns out the driver of their van to the airport found it in the vehicle and brought it to her in the airport.  Her feet are on the ground in Texas as I write about this, so it must have all worked out, but this is what I mean.  The French people we have encountered have been kind, overall.  So different than what you’d expect if you pay attention to the narrative I have been fed my whole life.  

Maybe a large part of that has to do with our attitude.  We’re visibly happy to be here and open to learning new things, trying new experiences and seeing what there is to see.  

Today, Cas and I left the apartment, a little while after I was out in the street, wearing my pajamas and my slip-on shoes, looking all over for a missing American passport, and headed to a laundromat.  We washed all the things we’ve worn already and made conversation with a very interesting couple.  The woman was French by birth and Australian by choice.  She sounded British.  It was pretty confusing.  I think the clientele of the laundromat was 50/50.  Half of their customers appeared to be travelers who needed to clean their clothes, and the other half appeared to be local folks, just living their lives.  A little more authenticity, here.  When we got everything clean and dry, we loaded it up and headed to our hotel in the Latin Quarter.  It was a strategic choice, as the new spot wasn’t far from the old spot, and we had to move all our luggage ourselves.  Easy enough though the bag of folded laundry would have been simpler to manage if we’d repacked our suitcases at a laundromat.  Seemed like a bit much though.  

Our hotel let us check in two hours early, which was great.  We were just shooting for a spot to leave our roller bags, but they had our room ready.  Hey, when life hands you a victory, you accept it.  We dropped our bags in the room, took a moment to breathe, then headed to the main part of this area of town for a sandwich.  We sat at a table on a sidewalk, looking at a fountain and listening to a musician playing a stringed instrument that was part guitar, part bass and part tripod somehow.  It was nice to listen to, and when he came around to all the sidewalk tables after his finished playing, we threw a few coins in his tip jar.  It felt pretty French.  

We did stop on the way back to the room for a little ice cream.  Full disclosure, it seemed like an Italian gelato spot.  In fact, this part of the Latin Quarter reminded me of New York in a way.  Lots of people form different parts of the world settle in New York, just as lots of people from different parts of the world settle in Paris. I appreciate the nice Italians who came here to make gelato.  We saw restaurants from all over.  Lots of Greek places were all around, as were Japanese and Korean places, and there were tons of Lebanese restaurants.  So many, in fact, that Cas looked it up.  

There are lots of Lebanese restaurants because there are tons of Lebanese people.  France once governed Lebanon, and there was a little culinary crossover.  We determined the best course of action would be to take a nap of epic proportions, then have Lebanese dinner.  The nap was clutch, too.  We have been moving at such a speed this week that, when given an opportunity for a moment of rest, we really needed to take it.  We just reclined to see if the mattress in this new hotel was any good.  We rose hours later with a new outlook on the day.  It’s only on vacations that Cas can fully participate in a mid-day nap without incident.  At home, he has trouble shaking off the grogginess and returning to the living, but on a vacation, he can adapt to a siesta mid-day and keep on being a tourist.  

We strolled around the streets in this neighborhood for a while, noting the variety of dog sizes.  The tiny French dog stereotype doesn’t hold, and absolutely none of the dogs were smoking or wearing a beret.  Honestly, though, there was some smoking around, but there was also a fair amount of vaping.  Most folks didn’t do either.  We had a few cocktails at a local bar where Cas had to step inside to order.  I held the table we wanted on the sidewalk, so I missed the emotional and passionate responses to the tennis match that was on the bar’s TV.  He was in there when the tide turned and the local hero (probably, given the response) won the day.  One of the patrons yelled YES! In French, which is OUI!  Cas giggled, because a grown man was shouting what sounded like WHEE! At the top of his lungs.  Ah, to be in Paris!  

We left there after a bit and headed down the street.  Google told us we should try some Lebanese food.  Done and done.  We had tabouli, hummus, shawarma, labneh- lots of Lebanese things.  Did you know the Lebanese now make wine?  And did you know it’s not half bad?   And did you know that Lebanese Parisians really like it when you come in as a guest and want to try new things?  Well, that’s all true.  Try it out sometime.  Eschew the stereotypes, but believe me.  The French waiters are pleasant, the Lebanese food is good, the dogs come in all sizes, and the smoking isn’t as pervasive as you think.  And with that, please enjoy a funny thought I had, then explained to ChatGPT.  I wanted make a René Magritte-style image, based on his famous painting, which is somehow called The treachery of images.  You’re welcome to Google the original so you can fully appreciate my comedy chops: 

Also, here is the Heather-and-Cas photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

She keeps Möet & Chandon in her pretty cabinet

Cas and I just woke up to say bon voyage to the rest of the crew.  All five of them shuffled out the door, lugging suitcases, backpacks and loads of memories.  Probably a good number of souvenirs, as well.  It was great to travel with my in-laws.  I know not everyone can say that, but I married into a pretty neat group of folks.  And even though I fully acknowledge that it was really nice to be around them for a week, and even though I really appreciate what they each brought to the table in this adventure, I am also grateful for the Heather-and-Cas time coming up.  We got a little preview of that yesterday, in fact.  We went to Reims and learned about Champagne.  

Originally, we had scheduled our Champagne adventure for today.  We were going to wave goodbye to everyone, drag our stuff to a hotel up the street and have them watch our luggage while we went out to enjoy our own adventure.  Apparently, the guy who works Sunday was sick, so we were moved to yesterday.  It turns out that Saturday was the day we all had set aside to do our own thing, so our own thing became a Champagne adventure.  That makes today an unstructured day of infinite possibility.  And laundry.  But let’s dig into how yesterday went, shall we?  

Cas and I were awake and ready when the driver for our tour came to pick us up and take us to Reims.  We were the first on his pickup list, which included three other couples.  What that meant was that we got to chat with him a bit- totally interesting guy- and we got the best seats in the van he was driving.  There were three rows of seating and we got the row for just two people, right up near the front.  The last couple in the van had to sit apart from one another.  That simply won’t do.  I feel bad for them, but certainly not bad enough to sit anywhere but right next to Cas.  

The first stop on our Champagne adventure was Dom Caudron.  The way they explained it to us was that they were a small village of about 250 people, and they made Champagne.  They grew grapes out there in their beautiful French countryside, and when the time came to put in the majority of the work of Champagne production, it was all hands on deck.  Apparently, it takes a village.  Sorry- couldn’t resist.  

It was a lovely vineyard and an informative visit.  And did you know they ship?  We should be arriving home with plenty of time to spare, but we’ll be receiving a six-pack of bottles on the front porch in Dallas in a few weeks.  

After that visit, we were off to church, then lunch.  We went to visit the Notre Dame of Reims, which is a beautiful cathedral in which many, many French kings’ coronations occurred.  I didn’t know this, but Notre Dame just means Our Lady, which puts it right up there with other commonly used church names.  There are many Notre Dames.  This one had some rather unconventional and pretty modern stained glass in a few of its chapels, too, which was unexpected and kind of cool.  I am sure there are historical purists who are infuriated, but I enjoyed the change of pace.  

From there, we hit up a restaurant called Le Theatre.  There, we had a three course meal.  I had a cod tartare, while he had a terrine appetizer.  I think that translates to: I had the French equivalent of sushi and he had something that kind of looked like an upgrade of pimento loaf sandwich meat.  His meal was haddock, while mine was pork, and our desserts were an apricot tart for him and some coffee ice cream for me.  Oh, and we each had a tiny, French cup of coffee.  

After that, we were off to do a champagne tasting while overlooking the French countryside.  Wow.  I just read that back.  I need to say it again- a champagne tasting while overlooking the French flippin’ countryside.  I mean, dang.  I’m not exactly living a rough life, here, am I?  It was beautiful, of course.  We practiced the best way to open a bottle.  (Apparently, you hold the cork and rotate the bottle, not the other way around.)  We mostly just enjoyed the space and the time there.  It rained a little bit when we first arrived, but that cleared up so we could really take time to gaze out over the fields.  These folks sure can do scenery.  

Our final stop yesterday was a visit to Möet & Chandon.  I couldn’t shake the Queen lyrics from my head- pretty much all day- from the moment our guide told us we’d be headed there.  The song Killer Queen starts with snapping fingers and the line: She keeps Möet & Chandon/In her pretty cabinet/Left in a case, she said/Just like Marie Antoinette

If the other three couples were a livelier group, I am sure a sing-along would have been in order.  Alas, they were all painfully grown-up seeming- I doubt they would have played along.  So many reasons why I picked Cas.  He plays better.  

The tour there was presented by a young, French girl who was not the most compelling speaker, and there was a trio of women who the vineyard put with us who were chatting in Spanish throughout the tour.  I am sure there was a certain amount of translation happening, but it was pretty distracting, especially given the muted tones of the tour guide assigned to the group.  Our visit there concluded with a tasting and a visit to their “boutique.”  You guessed it- exit through the gift shop.  We were totally on board, too.  They had given us a 2016 vintage in our tasting, and we had a great idea about sending a bottle or two of that back to the house.  See, we got married in 2016.  Might be nice to pop that cork in a year or so.  But the apparent price to ship anywhere from 1-3 bottles to Texas is 240 Euro.  That was just to send them.  That didn’t include the purchase price.  They really should talk to the folks at Dom Caudron and figure out what shipping company the small village is using.  We decided we’d made the right move- ship from the little guys who we’d probably never find on a shelf in Dallas.  For the giant company I had seen and heard of before, we can hit up the Total Wine or the Goody Goody or something back home.  Möet & Chandon is a pretty big name, after all.  For heaven’s sake, we bought their product at the top of the Eiffel Tower, and Freddie Mercury sang about it being kept in a cabinet.  

But we’re here in our Airbnb for the last little bit of morning time, getting ready to move out to the next location.  Time to get clean and ready.  We’ve already shoved all our stuff into the luggage.  Before I sign off, here’s a photo of me and my guy sipping champagne in the French flippin’ countryside: 

Here, too, is our photo album: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl 

Let me eat cake

Today was a study in excess.  We started with a shared breakfast of fruit and pastry in our Airbnb apartment before heading out to see the palace at Versailles.  Have you ever seen a photo of the palace at Versailles?  Holy cow.  Hey, Versailles- the Vatican called and asked you to tone it down.  For real.  It’s all in gold leaf with gates designed to show you just how wealthy a French king can be.  We toured through private dining rooms, bedroom chambers, meeting rooms and all sorts of other spaces,  The whole tour was done at a slow shuffle through an ocean of people.  If I am being honest, the guide was a bit unpleasant and the tour was so crowded that it was hard to really understand it all.  Becky, referring to the tour guide, said, “She’s very French.”  I muttered under my breath that I have a different word to describe her.  Let’s leave it there.  Not everyone in the travel and tourism industry is cut out for that business.  

But to the excess- there was a whole lot of all-too-much on this leg of our adventures.  There was too much opulence.  Too much excess. Too much of other people waking in the same space as we were walking.  Too dang much.  And when the tour finished, we stopped for lunch.  Cas and I split a croque monsieur. It seemed only appropriate to have that sandwich in the palace of Versailles.  We had a really nice meal together, then we contemplated the need for cake.  Marie Antoinette-style.  The people have no bread? Then let them eat cake! style.  But alas, it was a really pretty afternoon, and we decided that we would rather go outside and see what the gardens are all about.  We actually did share a small piece of cake when we were out in the garden in a “train” car, moving from one spot to another. 

We took that miniature “train” to the spot where you can rent a small boat and row around in the water.  When you think of a small boat, think of a stereotypical French scene- a lonesome poet or a young couple in love rows out at sunset to the middle of a lake and stops in the center of the water.  The solo poet opens a book or the couple gets close together.  The sun fades into the horizon while the one, little boat floats in the water.  Now, picture that same boat with several similar boats nearby, all filled with tourists and super obnoxious French teenagers.  

Cas and I rented a boat for just 30 minutes, as that was about the amount of time we had available.  He rowed us out and I rowed us back in.  I have been working out with a rowing machine most mornings, so I had plenty of practice.  Besides, I like to bend gender norms.  I can be the girl and row for the boy and still be okay.  It’s perfectly fine.  

When the time came to wrap up the visit to Versailles, we headed back to the Airbnb via our old friend, the subway system.  It was a really good way to get back in time to lay flat and still before getting ready for he exceedingly fancy dinner Cas and I were told to expect.  I gotta hand it to Dave, too.  He told Jeanne that there would be a fancy dinner cruise, but he really played it low-key.  He told her to dress up.  He said there would be a dinner cruise on the Seine.  He even said it was fancy.  But I don’t know how many details he shared.  It was a private event.  Seven guests only.  On a yacht.  With a private chef who has, in his life, earned a Michelin star.  Also, there was always wine or Champagne.  Also the Champagne was Dom Perignon.  Also, Dave really knocked it all the way out of the park with this one.  From the gold-leaf excess at Versailles to the six course dinner with multiple amuse-bouche items, I can’t think of a more indulgent day.  I far prefer a super-fancy meal with Jeanne, Dave, Chad, Becky, Zoey and Cas to the dripping excesses of gazing into the rooms at Versailles, but I can say that today was fat and full with excess, gold trim, fancy pants and all-too-many things.  I certainly don’t want to do that every single day, but once in a blue moon, I am happy to eat too much spectacular food, see opulence and know that the world is one of great highs and lows, but I get to see more highs.  

Cas and I are splitting off from the group tomorrow.  We had a Champagne tour scheduled for Sunday, after everyone went home, but the tour company called and said they needed to move us to Saturday (tomorrow), as their Sunday guide was ill.  Fun fact, we had Saturday set aside for a choose-your-own-adventure day, so with nothing booked, we pulled the trigger, and now, we’ll have an unstructured day after the rest of the crew heads back to Dallas.  Maybe that’s when we do laundry.  Who knows?  For now, though, we should brush our teeth, hit the hay, and be ready early tomorrow for an adventure through Champagne-land.  Not sure we can replicate that Dom Perignon- probably shouldn’t have set the bar that high.  We’ll let you know… 

Anyhow, here are those photos again: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl

Tour director Zoey

With seven people traveling together and making heavy use of a city’s public transportation, it naturally follows that one person will often guide the other six through a place like a subway station.  Frequently, that person is Cas.  I now see that Chad does that, as well.  Yesterday, Zoey took a turn.  We started the day very slowly, moving out for a brunch instead of a breakfast.  This time, the whole seven of us went to the Crêperie and seated ourselves at three small sidewalk tables.  It was a very nice breakfast, once again, looking at the Pantheon.  

With that done, we headed back to the apartment.  Cas and I stopped on the way to pick up some essential supplies. Okay, we stopped at a wine store.  You have to keep the apartment stocked, and wine is an important part of the list of things you stock a place with.  The group was assembling for a trip to Montmarte.  

We had a walking tour of Montmarte scheduled, and it was a pretty good tour.  The guide took us around to different sites, noting what different movies these places had been featured in.  I suppose I should have watched Emily in Paris or Amélie or something.  I guess it’s like required reading.  I missed the memo.  

Jeanne was excited to have one of the artists in the square create a portrait of Zoey.  It was kind of cool to see an artist rendering of our niece in pastels.  Cas and I decided that the thing do to while that was happening was enjoy a glass of wine at a table on a sidewalk.  We’re sitting at a lot of tables on a bunch of sidewalks, but they’re everywhere.  Probably because they’re cool.  

Dave sat out the Montmarte adventure, though.  He has a little congestion or something, and he thought a little down time would be better to prepare him for the adventures we’ll be having today.  He did miss out on the new leader of our pack stepping into that role, though.  Zoey effectively led us back from Montmarte.  Cas went into full-blown teacher mode, and instructed her how to read a subway map, then he had her use all of the signs to navigate, based on the information she gleaned from the map.  Good teacher + smart kid = safe travel home, expertly guided.  Jeanne had purchased a small French flag as kind of a joke for Cas, and Zoey picked up the mantle on that one.  Jeanne and Dave thought it would be funny for Cas to hold up a flag for us to see in a crowd and follow like a tour guide.  He, of course, resisted.  But when Zoey was leading the group, she held it up.  She acknowledged that she would never see any of these people again- to kind of indicate that it didn’t matter what the folks milling around the subway station may think of her.  Good attitude, kid!  

When we got the group back to the apartment, we all went our separate ways for dinner.  Chad, Becky and Zoey went to a restaurant, while Jeanne took a hot sandwich back to the apartment.  Cas and I went to a fancy, French restaurant.  He looked at a reviews for spots around the Latin quarter and found the one that claimed to have the best escargots.  If you’re ever going to eat snails, this would be the city to try it in. Give it a go.  We tried a few snails.  Anyone who had told me about escargots before last night helped set my very low expectations, but the snails I ate were pretty good.  After that, we had steak tartare and a bit of sausage.  The tartare came with French fries.  I had French fries in France.  

All in all, it was a heck of a day.  We had a tour guide niece, we ate snails and we saw the artists of Montmarte.  

Today, we have a trip to Versailles.  Should be a good one.  This evening, we have a dinner cruise.  

Here, again, are our photos: tinyurl.com/dunlap-pl, and a photo of me and a snail: