Home again, home again, hippity hop...

Well, as Mr. Wizard used to say on the old Tutor Turtle cartoons, “Drizzle, drazzle, drozzle drone; time for this one to come home.” After a long, long day (or two or three – I've lost track) we're in O'Hare Airport waiting for our flight back to Phoenix.

Weighing time at the Alkemaar cheese market

All in all, a most superior vacation. London feels like months ago already. We spent our last couple of days at a cheese market in Alkemaar, about a half-hour train ride from Amsterdam; cruising through several outdoor markets; chowing down on pickled herring; visiting one of our area's many coffeeshops for some, ummmmm, coffee; circling Amsterdam in a canalboat; visiting and having a couple of beers at the Heineken Experience (a big walkthrough commercial with a beer-fueled mini frat party at the end.); walking through the infamous red light district and chowing down on some excellent Indonesian food.

We came, we walked, we ate, we walked, we drank, we walked, and we came home. And now, we're back, experiencing the darker side of America's airports.

Walking through Chicago's O'Hare Airport, past the TSA workers with the minimum wage glaze in their eyes, you can't help but feel pity for the many unfortunate homeless people stretched out on the cold stone floors.

Wait a minute! They're not homeless! They're juice heads who've found open electrical outlets to plug in their computers, Ipods, phones and other devices that are particularly essential to bored-to-death travelers. At many airports, the outlets are plentiful. “Charging station here!! blare the signs at Dulles Airport and others. But O'Hare, with its fetid air of not-so-benign neglect and a thin, but noticeable film of scuzziness, is way short on necessary outlets. Some charging stations are hidden; some are invisible. So people huddle around floor sockets, looking for a hit of juice. One woman we met, who grabbed a piece of real estate and an outlet hidden behind a couple of trash cans, told us that people were plugging in their gadgets in the ladies room. “It's come to that,” she said. She considered it, but that's when she knew she had hit rock bottom.

On the other hand, the quest for voltage is a potentially great market opportunity for entrepreneurs who can't bring themselves to enter the drug trade or pimping, but are looking to capitalize on people's desperate need of a fix. Any fix!!

“Hey man! I got what'cha need here. You looking to get hooked up? I got 110 volts; I got 220. You need a converter – I got converters. First one's free. You ever do it with 4-socket power strip? I got what ya' need, baby.”

Okay, I gotta wrap up. There are a bunch of tough looking kids with Nintendo game systems in their hands giving me the stink eye, and I don't trust this neighborhood.” I gotta head home, and plug in there. Practice safe sockets.

You heading for O'Hare anytime soon? Bring a gas powered generator and a shotgun. The TSA people will never notice.

Three obeservations about Amsterdam and the Dutch

Thousands of bikes parked at Amsterdam's Centraal
railway station

1. You think people texting while driving is nuts? How about texting while biking? As I've mentioned previously, Amsterdam is a biking paradise. The streets are packed with bicycles, which have the right of way, and your chances of getting nailed while crossing the street by one of them is far greater than your getting hit by a car. Nevertheless, I've seen numerous people riding with one hand on the handlebars and the other feverishly pecking away at a mobile phone keyboard. Nuts, I know. When I see a guy shaving or a woman putting on makeup while biking, I'll know there is real trouble.
   
   
2. Dutch is a deceptively difficult language for outsiders to speak. The guttural “g's,” which show up all over the place, aren't natural to a native English speaker. After wrestling with street names for awhile, I realized that my Dutch was sounding a lot like Klingon. (On the whole, though, the Dutch people are WAY nicer than Klingons.)
   
   
3. Despite their outward friendliness and openness, I've come to the conclusion that the Dutch people are planning to take over the world by killing the rest of us, one tourist at a time. It doesn't take much observation to notice that, on the whole, the Dutch people are very fit. Either they're hiding all of the fat people somewhere (maybe Luxembourg) until the tourists go home, or obesity is the very rare exception rather than the rule here. But what do they tempt the tourists with? Beer, cheese and Dutch pancakes. Delicious? Yes, but the calories and cheese aren't doing any of us visitors any good. So, when we die off, the Dutch will be free to take over. Pickled herring all around! So don't fall for their diabolical plan. Don't eat Dutch pancakes or drink their beer. That way there will be more for me.

Like a picture postcard, only better!

Greetings from Amsterdam: the land of bicycles, canals, cafes and, yes, coffee shops. We arrived via high-speed train from Brussels this a.m. (Have I mentioned in the last 60 seconds how much I like trains?). One very short cab ride later, and we were at our new digs – a beautiful little apartment in the fashionable Jordaan section of the city. I've enjoyed the homey B&Bs and small hotel that we've stashed ourselves in during the past 10 days, but nothing beats coming back to your own apartment – especially one as nicely appointed, well-located and well-kept as this one is. For those of you looking for an interesting change from hotels, try renting a vacation apartment through Vacation Rental By Owner, Air B&B or similar outfits. We've stayed in four apartments during the past few years, and we haven't gotten a turkey yet.

Welcome to our Amsterdam neighborhood

Jordaan is an old working-class neighborhood in the northwest corner of the city that is home now to artists, cafes and, undoubtedly, the very well-to-do. I can't imagine what the cost of property here must be. But in this compact city, where one of the biggest dangers you face is being run over by enthusiastic bicyclists, walking is a joy. After resting up for an hour or two, Judy and I set out on our first walking tour, which took us over canal after canal, past gabled brick buildings and through historic neighborhoods. What can I say – it looks just like the pictures. It's that good!!

Of course yesterday was pretty special as well, as we took a day trip from Brussels north to Brugge. Lots of wandering amid medieval buildings including, believe it or not, a Crown Plaza Hotel under which the remains of a medieval settlement were discovered during construction. The hotel displays many of the finds in its conference center, and the walls of the conference rooms are lined with stone from the dig. Not your average conference center, if you ask me.

Brugge

Two disappointments however: a crappy waffle (Hard and dry; not fresh for sure) and the French fries. Maybe our “frittes” were inferior, but apart from being served in a paper cone and dipping them in mayo, they were, well – fries. Nothing special. Again, maybe we just had bad examples. C'est la vie.

By the way, mention “French fries” to a Belgian, and watch his hackles rise. You'll instantly be instructed that they have nothing to do with France (French refers to the cut – not the point of origin) and that they were invented in Belgium. So there!! It sort of reminds me of the old Hercule Poirot TV episodes, when Poirot would constantly have to correct people who thought he was French. “No, monsieur, I'm Belgian,” he would say through gritted teeth. Have a little respect, people!

These culinary disppointments, however, were offset by a visit to a local brewery. (What, again?? Yes, again!!) Great beer at De Halve Maan (The Half Moon) Brewery – the only one in Brugge. Drank the beer. Bought the glasses.

Anyway, we're in the home stretch of this visit. Three days of touring Amsterdam and the surrounding area and then we're airborne, headed for Phoenix (provided that the canals don't rise here and the dust doesn't blow in from Iceland). Between now and then, I'm going to try to get Judy on a bicycle to do some local touring and pay a visit to a cafe that serves more potent refreshments than coffee.

So many beers, so little time...

Hello from Brussels, the capital of Europe. This is my fourth trip to Brussels, but the first for pleasure. It's Judy's first time in this centuries-old city.

Danielle, Judy and Pol

Brussels is an enormously interesting city and is rich in history. For the casual visitor, to be honest, it has limited sightseeing charms. Nevertheless, the highlight of this stop has been the chance to spend time with our friends Pol and Danielle vanden Ende. Pol and I became friends while we both worked for Honeywell – me in Phoenix, Pol in Brussels. We haven't seen each other in about 10 years, so it has been great catching up with him face to face.

We spent yesterday evening and Pol and Danielle's home in Rebecq, a pastoral farming village just outside Brussels. After a delicious dinner at their home and much conversation, we made our way to La Taverne Du Moulin, a local pub located in a mill dating back to the 1100s.

Ah, beer! Have I mentioned lately that Belgium is the most amazing country in the world for beer? Lambic beers, abbey beers, brown ales, wit beers. You name it, they've got it. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail here about the subject. Suffice it to say that both Pol and I love Belgian beers, and it was good to get a chance to once again indulge our passion.

Pol and Dan

Today, after a visit to Brussels' famed Gran Place and surrounding attractions (including the city's symbol, Mannekin Pis), we met Pol at Cafe Mort Subite, downed a quick lunch and a beer or two and set out through Brussels on foot. Later, we met up with Danielle at the Hotel Metropole, a sumptuous old hotel where I used to stay on Honeywell business trips. Another beer or two, and it was off to dinner. Finally, we said our adieus, and it was back to our B&B.

Speaking of our B&B – in contrast to the comfortable but slightly cramped quarters we've had at other stops on our trip, we're in a huge room at the Brussels Guesthouse. Plenty of room to spread out, which is a nice change.

Tomorrow, we board a train for a day trip to Brugge, in northwest Belgium. Brugge is a stately, gorgeous city known as the Venice of the North. Lots of sightseeing, canal boat riding and, of course, eating and drinking ahead. We haven't had any Belgian waffles or chocolate yet, so we'll have to indulge tomorrow. Must – go – on – diet – back – in – Phoenix!! Must – go – on – diet – back – in – Phoenix!!

What Rick Steves doesn't tell you

Here's what Rick Steves tells you about York: it's a lovely English city, the capital of the north, filled with colorful history involving Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Vikings, kings, princes, derring-do, derring-don't, blood, guts, etc.

Here's what Rick Steves doesn't tell you: on Saturdays, York turns into something akin to the Jersey Shore. That is, people pour into the city to troll the streets of the old walled city to shop, to drink, to celebrate, to drink and – oh yeah, did I mention that there's a lot of drinking going on?

First here are the stag and hen parties. I'll not say much about the stag parties in that they consist of a bunch of rowdy young guys, who maintain their balance by holding on to drink glasses and yelling (volume and comprehensibility is directly proportional to the of drinks they've sucked down). In other words, they're generally indistinguishable from most of the rest of the crowd in the city.

A York hen party

Then there are the hen parties. This is a trip! According to Helen Mildner, owner of the Farthings B&B where we stayed (highly recommended, by the way), young bachelorettes about to pack it in descend from all over northern England on the weekend. Unlike their male counterparts, the ladies are pretty easy to spot. In addition to being about as rowdy as the men, they sport t-shirts, sashes, blinking headgear and other frou-frou identifying the party they're with. The guests of honor can be identified by their slightly off-kilter bridal veils and eyes so glazed it's a wonder they can see where they're going. Sometimes, the dress is casual; in some parties, the women are dressed to kill. The only ones they're likely to kill, however, are themselves, in that many are trying to navigate the cobblestoned streets in high heels, with their heads full of raging sky, no less. By the end of the night, many of them are carrying those shoes.

All of this explains my observation yesterday about the streets of York being lined with pubs.

Adding to the revelry yesterday is the fact that the first racing meet of the season began this weekend. After the races, attendees dress up and head for bars, parties and other revelry. Judy and I encountered a virtual stampede of men and women –many already well-lubricated -- dressed in suits, gowns, tuxedoes, kilts, etc. while trying to make our way back to The Farthings for an hour of rest.

Beyond the people watching, Judy and I managed to get to York's Castle Museum, the York Brewery (let no brewery go unvisited!) and a performance of The Crucible at the Royal York Theater. All were excellent.

And so, we're aboard a train, headed back to London, where we'll catch a train to Brussels. The free-range travelers forge on.

York -- The pubs have ascended during "The Rapture" and settled here

Yorkminster

It was great to be back in London, but yesterday, we boarded a train (I LOVE train travel. Fast and a fraction of the hassle of flying) and headed about 200 miles north to York. If you've never been to York, it's definitely worth the visit. York is the traditional capital of northern England, and there's more history here than you can shake a stick at. The walls of the medieval city, which are in remarkably good shape, are built upon the walls erected by the earlier Roman city. Throw in the Vikings and Anglo-Saxons in between, and ya' got yourself some heavy duty history, folks.

Towering over everything in Yorkminster, a truly spectacular cathedral that, as near as I can tell, is on the nearly the same scale as Westminster, Notre Dame, etc. The difference here is that it dominates the vista in this modest city and that it can be seen for miles across the flat Yorkshire landscape.

Medieval walls, Yorkminster and a more modern rooftop

We're camped out at “The Farthings,” a very nice B&B about a 10-minute walk from the center of town. We spent much of yesterday on a rain-drenched walking tour led by one of York's many volunteer guides. It was spectacular. We got a great overview of the city and its history, hiked around atop the city walls and somehow managed to avoid getting drenched.

While I make sure to imbibe in the locally produced English ales (maybe a brewery tour later today), I'm satisfying my recently developed love of good tea as well. This involved a trip to a busy York tearoom yesterday for Earl Grey (very good) and scones (very fattening). It's a good thing we're walking a lot.

Yorkminster towers over everything

Speaking of pubs, though – if there's a shortage of good pubs in your area, it's probably because they've picked up and come over here to be close to their families. Maybe there was a pub Rapture and the pubs ascended to here.  You can't swing a dead cat here without it hitting a pub. There are dozens, all serving cask-conditioned ales, and all of them crowded. Nevertheless, I'll have my elbows out and will plow my way to the bar. I have my priorities.

Things to ponder....

Question: How do you throw away an empty coffee cup in an English train station?

Answer: Damned if I know!

A

As a not-so-quaint reminder of “the troubles,” when the Irish Republican Army was regularly setting off bombs in English train stations, there are few – if any – trashcans in the stations. With the situation in the mideast these days, I doubt that things will be changing anytime soon. Ironically, the queen is currently on her first state visit to Ireland, making nice .Guess I'll just chew the coffee cup and be done with it.

Hiking through Bath, etc.

Hello, there. The vagabonding through England continues. There's no great overarching theme to today's entry (Besides, it's 9:30 p.m., it's been an exhausting day and, in the words of Paul Simon, “It's a wonder I can think at all”).

No pictures right now. Sorry. It's not that we haven't been taking them; it's just that all of the stills are on Judy's camera, and she just realized that she didn't bring the connector for my computer. It's an older model, from back in the bad old days when you needed something more than a USB cable. I'll take stills with my trusty Sony which is larger, but simpler in so many ways (like transferring the photos!)

• Deja Vu all over again, Part 2: In keeping with the theme that this year's visit to London is sort of an extension of last year's visit to London: Today, we took an all-day tour of Bath. We booked the tour with “London Walks,” a great outfit that conducts walking tours all over London and many other parts of England. We had a great time in Greenwich with them last year, courtesy of our tour guide Chris Green. This year, our tour of Bath was conducted by... Chris Green. Once again, it was like we'd barely been away.
  
  
• When and if you get over here, visit Bath, about 90 minutes west of London by train. Bath is the site of ancient Roman health baths, fueled by natural hot springs, dating back to about 75 AD and later revived during 18^th century by the Brits. I won't try to capture it all here, but the tour of the city – sort of a holiday resort where the upper crust Brits could take advantage of the healing waters to soothe their ills, real and otherwise – and the museum, where you can see the hot water springs and walk among the Roman ruins, is well worth the time and money.
  
  
• Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Sometimes it's just ignorance. And sometimes, you just get lucky. We arrived back at Paddington Station (home of the bear!) at about 6 pm and, not knowing a damn thing about the neighborhood, we just lit out to check it out, visit a pub, see the sights, etc. For all we knew, we could have been wandering through a less-than-savory neighborhood, but as I say, when on holiday, you don't spend a lot of time thinking about such things. As it turns out, we were in an extremely affluent and classy part of town. After a drink (or two) and a bite to eat, we strolled through Kensington Gardens, caught a glimpse of Kensington Palace and wound up at Royal Albert Hall (and no, I don't know how many holes it takes to fill it). Not bad for a serendipitous stroll.
  
  

• We couldn't return to London without a trip to a West End show. Theater in the UK is considerably less expensive than in NY or other major cities, and the theaters are smaller and more intimate. And, tickets for most shows are available at the discount TKTS booth. Perfect. We saw Billy Elliott last night. I'm not a big fan of musicals, but this one is worth the money. Great performances and it actually has a strong book. There's some THERE there. 
  
  
• Tomorrow, we pack up, board another train and head north to York. Details to follow.

Deja vu all over again

Parliament, the Big Ben clock tower, and Westminster Abbey.
Taken from the London Eye.

Cognitive dissonance is that odd, slightly discomforting feeling that occurs when you try to hold two conflicting concepts in your mind at the same time. It's the feeling that we had upon arriving in London yesterday. On one hand, it was a trip to Europe -- exotic, unusual, exciting. On the other hand it was a case of, "Hey, London! How are ya' How have you been since we last saw you just a few months ago?" Adding to this feeling is the fact that we're staying in a small, homey South Kensington hotel just a few blocks from where our apartment last summer is located. We know the Underground stops; we ate in an Indian restaurant just a block away whose food Judy spent the winter pining for. Walking past Parliament, Westminster Abbey and Big Ben and over Westminster Bridge to the south bank of the Thames felt very familiar and very weird, all at the same time.

Instead of fighting jet lag and fatigue, we decided to flow with them and spent a very active day. In TT (typical turista) mode. We handed over lots of money to a ticket vendor (in London, you hand over lots of money with great regularity) and took a ride on the London Eye -- that gigantic ferris wheel on the south bank. On one hand, it offers a spectacular view of the London skyline. On the other hand, there ain't much of a skyline there. To appreciate the views of London, either from the sky or from the ground, a good sense of history is important.

Examining the liquid bill or fare at The Grenadier

From there followed a long hike past Westminster Abbey (sorry, there didn't seem to be any leftover favors from the wedding), and into Belgravia -- one of the toniest sections of the city. There, we found our way to The Grenadier, a historic pub tucked away in a pricey residential area. Lots of history there, good ale, mediocre pub grub. Whaddya' gonna do?

Very much unlike last summer's visit, when the temperatures soared into the 90s and the humidity hung around our neck like chains, it's in the high 60s and the skies are drizzly and overcast. In other words, a much more normal day in the North Atlantic region.

So Harrod's!

Speaking of visiting the familiar, it was a short walk from The Grenadier to Harrod's or, as I like to think of it, "The Having Store." The department store to end all department stores. We past up the opportunity to spend ridiculous amounts of money on useless trinkets and instead spent a ridiculous amount of money at the fancy-shmancy coffee shop (where I drank tea -- go figure!) And finally, I made the pilgrimage to the basement via the "Egyptian Escalator," and there it was -- the small, yet remarkably tasteless, shrine to Princess Diana and her lover (and son of Harrod's owner) Dodi Fayed. I got teary just thinking about it.


Jet lag finally caught up with me, and I was asleep by 8 p.m. I slept 10 hours, something that usually occurs only if I'm deathly ill.

Speaking of the royal wedding -- outside of the usual tasteless and/or snarky offerings at souvenir stands, there doesn't seem to be much evidence that it occurred or that anyone other than the very upper crust gives a damn. I'll keep an eye out for evidence of its "importance," but if there is any, I suspect it's in the gossip columns, where we'll learn who Pippa is (or isn't) boinking.

Even Steven -- and not in a good way

Anyone with more than a passing acquaintance with "Seinfeld" is probably familiar with Jerry Seinfeld's philosophy of "Even Steven." For everything bad that happens to Jerry, it will be balanced by something good.

This theory goes far toward explaining today's events. I'm currently in DC's Dulles Airport, recovering from the first leg of our journey. It was not an auspicious start. I've always been amazed by our luck in our encounters with babies and small children on flights. At first, there is the fear that the children will act up, cry, etc. and make for a flight that is more miserable than it otherwise would have been. (Is any flight actually enjoyable anymore?) Almost always, the kids have been angelic -- airborne dolls.

Today it was payback. Even Steven time. Two Russian parents boarded with their two young girls -- maybe 2 and 3 years old -- and plunked themselves in the row in front of us. And thus began four-and-a-half hours of tag-team tantrums. Not crying and whining, mind you; full on tantrums.The parents did little to quelll it, and on we flew. Trapped!! A flight attendant told me that she hadn't seen anything like it in her 15 years in the air and was wondering whether she could ditch her uniform at the airport, don civvies and head for the nearest bar.

Boarding for London is just ahead. Hoping for better luck.

Prep continues

I'm a pretty unflappable, steady-as-she-goes flyer. Judy is not. Her stomach is already churning, and that'll probably be the case until she boards the plane, pops her in-flight drug of choice -- Ambien -- and snoozes her way across the ocean. In case of consciousness, however, she has stashed her portable comfort food of choice in her backpack -- Pringles and Twizzlers. She probably would like to carry a pizza in there as well, but it would just get everything greasy. Besides, the TSA folks would probably want a slice or two.

Packing approaches. Once again, I have sworn that WE'RE TRAVELING LIGHT!!! No, I really mean it this time. Really. Of course, no matter how light we think we're packing, we manage to strain the zippers on the suitcases. And, amazingly, the suitcases always weigh damn near the airlines' limit. I'm sure there's some undiscovered gravitational property at work here, but it's beyond me.

On the road again

Both Judy's and my parents took the same tack when it came to travel.  Sure there were the occasional short weekend trips or the occasional visits to relatives elsewhere in the country. But it wasn't until "the kids" (i.e., us) were grown and out of the house that they put on their traveling shoes and started booking international flights.

The problem with this strategy, of course, is the clock is always ticking, and the race is on. How much seeing the world can you do before the rigors of age take their toll? How many hills can you hike before the joints and muscles cry, "No mas!" My in-laws would liked to have done more, but it wasn't long before my father-in-law's health deteriorated, making anything more than a short car trip out of the question. 

With all of that in mind, Judy and I aren't wasting any time. The kids are elsewhere, and it's time to hit the road as often as possible. Sure, we were in Europe last year. But we loved London, and there's so much more to see. So, Monday morning, we're getting aboard the big metal mailing tube and flinging ourselves across the Atlantic again. Time flies. So do we. 

First, we'll head back to London, which should feel almost like a homecoming by now. (We REALLY enjoyed ourselves last year and loved the city.) But aside from a few walking tours, a visit to St. Paul's, a stop at the new Globe Theater, a show or two in the West End, a ride on the London Eye and, of course, the pubs, the city will mainly be a jumping off point for us. Later in the week, we'll head west to Bath, and we'll be spending a long weekend north of London, in York. 

From there, it will be back to London's Kings Cross Station, where we'll look for Platform 9 3/4, grab a train to "The Continent" and make our way to Brussels. I've been to Brussels three times on business, so am fairly familiar with it, but it's new turf for Judy. Besides, I'm looking forward to spending time with my "evil twin brother" Pol Van den Ende. Pol and I both worked in marketing communications for Honeywell a lifetime or two ago. We managed to work things out so that he got over to Arizona regularly, where he could rent Ford Mustangs and take in the desert landscape, and I got over to Belgium, home of the world's best beer. So this promises to be quite the suds-drenched reunion.

Finally, it's off to Amsterdam, where we'll spend four days or so taking in the sights, visiting some museums and perhaps dropping by a coffeehouse or two to sample the -- ahem -- coffee.

More to follow. Stay tuned.