Getting started...

This is us! We grabbed this shot in Phoenix in late October, when we were all together for Joshua's graduation from UTI, at Julie and Charlie's house. Ruby also came along, but that's another story or two, and definitely a different blog, so check back for links to that.The trip to Europe actually started with Jessica's suggestion we spend Christmas in London. She brought this up in May at her graduation from Ithaca College, in Ithaca, New York. She had been urging us for awhile to do a little traveling to someplace friendly, and ease in gently to our awakening to the world-at-large. Marilyn took up the challenge, first formulating our plan around a Christmas visit to American friends living in London, Scott and Lori Mannakkee. As the planning progressed, it just made sense to get the most bang for our buck as long as we'd be on the road.
It turned out our friends were planning, for the first time in several years, to visit family in the states for Christmas! We added a week at the beginning of our trip to be able to get some time in with them in London, which was a great idea. They steered us to some inexpensive but comfortable and well-located housing, eased our introduction to the manic transportation system of the bustling metropolis of Greater London, and generally gave us a jump on having a good time with minimal fretting.
Since Jessica and Joshua had only a week off from their commitments, Marilyn, Mackenzie and I would go on ahead, also taking in Italy at Mackenzie's request (and my sister Laurie's urging, having just visited there in late 2005). Marilyn had discovered most things shut down on Christmas Day and the day after (Boxing Day) in England, but there would be lots to do in Paris for those precious days we would all be together. So tickets were bought in August-September for a rendezvous in Paris, with a 3-day wrap-up in Scotland at Joshua's request.


Along the Way
We made it to London slightly worn. We had an all-night flight from New York, after getting on the plane in Seattle at 6:30am. I had three seats in the center of the twin aisle plane to stretch out on, but Marilyn and Mackenzie were not so fortunate. So we were not well-rested, but decided to go with our guide Scott's advice to overcome jet-lag by making a normal day of it, and not sleep till evening. We got a bit woozy around 3:00 pm, but kept our pledge and soldiered on with more sightseeing.
Fortunately, we had chosen the first two days to take advantage of a special offer from the The Big Bus tour company. We got two days for the price of one, and could get on and off any place we wanted. They had several routes as well, so it was also a decent transit service. That cut down on bus and subway fare, which was pricey. Plus, after getting in a bunch of walking, it was so nice to sit for awhile and just watch things go by.
One of the little details of preparing for the trip never quite got done. In between getting to know London, which included getting to know our way around the neighborhood where we were staying, we were on the lookout for a post office. After four or five trips from the dorm we were staying in to a transit stop by a large hotel, we noticed we had been passing right by a very busy post office. Finally, we could get rid of (I mean, send!) the last six or eight Christmas cards we wanted to send! Most of the flight from Seattle to New York I spent addressing cards. Most of those were mailed at JFK International, but there were a nagging few that had no addresses or stamps, including a small letter to Marilyn's sister that kept escaping notice, and an application for an SAT test for Mackenzie! So a couple of extra days, extra stamps and extra GBP later, we were care-free and ready to sightsee like the rude Americans we are...

Too much Fish in those Fish and Chips
We found most Brits to be friendly, courteous and helpful. When wandering aimlessly stopped being fun as we would search in vain for our next objective, everyone from shopkeepers, bus drivers, passersby and fellow tourists whose sleeves we would tug would cheerfully give us their best guess in answer to our plaintive query, and send us on our way. The gloves came off, however, when our needs were more mundane and in their British eyes we were demoted to the rank of that most deplorable and miserable of God's creatures, The Customer. The staffers at the post office got pretty high marks in my book, but those shop keepers, ticket agents, night clerks and security guards had their own rules to live by. 'The sign says we open at 12:00? ...well, if I get 'round to it by 12:20, then that's when I get 'round to it...' 'You've got the wrong ticket for this train. You'll have to purchase another.' 'The machine said this is the one I should buy for a family pass on this route' 'You've got the wrong ticket for this train. You'll have to purchase another.' 'But it says right here All routes, All day!' 'You've got the wrong ticket for this train. You'll have to purchase another.' 'Do you take credit cards?' 'You've got the wrong ticket for this train. You'll have to purchase another'...
The meal Mackenzie craved was genuine English fish and chips. We noticed many places that served them during our meanderings, and some were even affordable. But it was usually the wrong time, or we figured we'd find a better place. This went on until we found ourselves in the final hours of the last night we could have them , and we still hadn't tried any. It was getting late, we were famished, but dang we had to find some fish and chips! About four pubs later we discovered food is hard to get after 8:00pm, as the places with good, inexpensive food close their kitchens about then. We grudgingly slid in to an all-night diner downtown, a step below a Shari's or IHOP but pricier. Shazaam! They have fish and chips! Oh Boy!! The long awaited plate arrives, and the devouring commences...but Wait! What's this?! A fin?!!? ...and scales!! ...they misunderstood! I said, Yes, filleted... Well, the same thing happened at lunch the next day... apparently that's the British way, leave the skin on the bottom side.. well, it didn't suit us.

All by Ourselves
The only tour we had pre-arranged for our London visit was a 10-hour loop to Windsor Castle, Stonehenge and Bath. Marilyn had done a lot of research, and selected an outfit that used 16-passenger vans. That way there'd be fewer people in the group, she figured, and less time wasted exiting and re-boarding, etc. Our rendezvous instructions were emailed to us weeks in advance, and we actually brought them with us... we were set. Hold on a sec... we ended up staying in different lodging than they were originally told, so we'll need to start pretty early to get to the rendezvous point by 8:15 am. Can we email them? Call them? Where's that calling card... We didn't buy one yet?! The phone in our dorm room is s'posed to make local calls, have you figured it out yet? What do you mean the night watchman wasn't very nice? Oh, you have to buy a calling card for the room phone from the day attendant... I guess I'll just use our cell phone...
So we get the pick-up location changed for the next days tour, and it is just a few blocks away. Cool. We start out early, planning on getting a good seat near the front. Glancing around, we don't see anybody, just a large, unmarked white van. But it's our tour bus. Where is everybody? Must be we're just so early... let's go check with the driver. Wow...! We're it! Just us three and the driver. Talk about attention! The driver is excellent, very laid back and has a college degree in history.
All the sites were good visits; sun at the castle, dramatic clouds at Stonehenge, deep twilight at Bath, yielding some great colors. It happened to be a Wednesday, so our trip back to London, which started about 4:30, was hampered by a very thick and laborious trek through commute traffic. I think we were almost two hours late getting back.

Enjoy it Now or Enjoy it Later
We crammed in quite a bunch of fun, and have a few photos from just about all of it. We cruised the Thames, getting off in Greenwhich. We saw the Naval War College, the National Observatory and a great little soup and sandwich shop. Hopping a bus we also took in the Globe theater, the Tate Modern and the London Eye. And that was all before lunch! (...just kidding...)
The thing about touring I can't quite balance is the photo thing. I love taking photos and videos, and I love just soaking up the place. But there's usually not time for both. The major casualty of that conflict this trip was Kensington castle. I felt I wanted this trip to be more deliberate, more sedate and thoughtful than others we've done. Which to me meant taking time to be rested, taking time to notice details of the places we go, read the captions. The trade-off, of course, is fewer places. Marilyn really really really wanted to see the Princess Di photo exhibit just opening at Kensington Palace first thing Monday morning, early. I figured, what's the rush, let's catch up on our sleep after that long flight yesterday and do it this afternoon or tomorrow. But the short daylight, the stuff we also wanted to squeeze in, the transportation burden (slow traffic, bus schedules, buying tickets...) pretty much steam-rolled the idyllic, stress-free stroll approach. We never did get to Kensington, and for several stops the cameras were either: a) not with me (as at the Tate, when Marilyn pack-muled the gear while Mackenzie and I tried out the third- and fifth-floor tube slides!); or b) were out of juice (as in Greenwich, where the 35mm quit just as I was about to shoot a cool 360-degree panorama in the middle of a 5-way intersection); or c) were mis-adjusted (also in Greenwich, at the Observatory, where my back-up plan, using the single-shot feature of the video camera, was derailed by a memory chip being not all the way in position meant none of my shots there were captured).
The flip side of that is getting photos when they are not allowed. Some of the very first shots taken in England are in that category. Scott met us at the airport and shepherded us unto the train for the hour-long trip into London. We arrived at the historic Victoria Station, and immediately began snapping pictures and video. Passing through some large archways were some even cooler areas, vaulted ceilings, ticket booths with cupolaed roofs, intricate marble details, grand public spaces, all begging to be in my view finder (well, Mackenzie's view finder; my camera was still stowed away). Without skipping a beat Mackenzie and I waltzed on, in our photographic trance, snapping away, up to the ceiling, down the tracks, around to the arch way... "No cameras allowed!" barked the security guard. "...wha... what?... you mean me?..." "You can't take pictures in here." "How'm I s'posed to know? There are no signs!" "Well I've just told you, haven't I?..."
The other factor with pictures (and plane flights and theatre tickets) is being in the right place at the right time. So who can go to London and not witness the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace? We sure weren't going to miss it, weather or no weather. With conflicting guidance from Rick Steve's and local afficianados, we stoutly made our way to the palace under threatenng skies. A full drizzle had set in by the time we got to the front gates, but the crowd was milling about just the same. Would it be cancelled due to rain (why let the rain ruin those huge furry trash cans they wear on their heads -at $3000 a pop- when they'll do it again the day-after-tomorrow)? The crowd's attention was pulled away from the palace grounds, and with the faint throb of drums and pipes we saw the guard detail making its way toward us through the park across the wide boulevard. After their entry through the gates, and unable to worm our way to the fence, Marilyn and Mackenzie set out to find another vantage point. I stayed put, confident I could at least get the video camera shoved high enough over the intervening heads to capture some images. As it worked out I got right up to the fence and could thrust the camera through the bars and film the whole routine, all 25+ minutes of it.

More Places to Go
I felt the big test of our prowess as world travelers was to be our ability to get ourselves into the same country as the hotel where our next reservations were pending. The next leg of our journey started off with a bang (or should I say short, sleepless night catching winks between sirens, loud drunk Brits on the street and glances at the clock?), as our flight from London to Rome was requiring us to be on a bus by 5:15 in the morning. We made that no sweat, and stepped off our RyanAir flight in Rome pretty much on schedule. The day was sunny but cold, as was the weather everywhere this journey.
Our location was great for efficiency, if not for beauty. Close to Termini, the main train station, we were able to catch trains, subways and buses with ease. However, our neighborhood seemed a bit dirtier than most of this dirty city, and definitely smellier. After dropping our backpacks and finishing up the paperwork at the main office of The Beehive, we chowed down at a greasy little whole-in-the-wall called Indian Mama's, who's take out we saw the hotel workers eating. They had huge wraps that were fanatastic. The curry stained our hands for days....
That evening we did one of Rick Steve's recommended walks, finding our way to the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps and a restaurant on the piazza del Fontaine that served a great chocolate gelato dessert with rum cherries inside. The streets were full of people strolling, there were holiday lights everywhere, and we had to keep reminding ourselves we were really there. The abundant ancientness was amazingly intoxicating... there were volumes of stories behind everything in reach, and yet getting to know it seemed just beyond reach, but also uneccessary, for it all can be enjoyed just for what it is.
We had lined up tours of St. Peter's/The Vatican, and also another for the Coliseum/The Forum. It was tricky finding our rendezvous point for the St. Peter's tour... the place is so huge, and there were about 4 places that fit the description we were given. Fearful of being late and missing the tour entirely, we made a last desperate sprint for the last place which had any remote resemblance to the meeting place described, and there, sure enough, on the sidewalk two long blocks outside the square, stood our guide, satchel over his shoulder, holding a small sign. Again the heaven's smiled on us... we were the only visitors that day, so had Thomas all to ourselves. He was amazing. An American who had majored in history, he seemd more church advocate than tour guide. His grasp of historical influences and connections between the development of the church, human religious awakening and liberation of cultural thinking impelled him to frenzies of passioned pronunciations of unavoidable linkages between personal growth, religious commitment and cultural appreciation. Often passersby would stop and listen, and occasionally he would have to inform them it was a paid performance (er, service). I think we should have gotten college credit for those two days.
Mackenzie's passion for things artistic served her well. She absolutely loved the National Gallery in London (our first visit was too short, and our attempt at a second visit was foiled by a similar lack of time), so we made a point of visiting as many major museums as we could. In Rome that meant the Borghese and the Vatican, both of which had amazing pieces in their collection. Interestingly, though, neither the presentation of the pieces nor the quantity and type of background material was as good as the National Gallery. We rented the audio guides everywhere we went, and by far the best produced guide was in London. The Edinburgh Castle audio guides had a promising start, but our visit there was cut short so we can't say definitively. But I digress...