The Other Side of the Other Side of the Pond

What do you do all day? How do you spend your time? Do you get bored? Do you get lonely?

When we meet new people and Chelsea tells them all about her school, and I tell them no I'm not studying and no I'm not working because I couldn't get a work visa yet, these are the sorts of questions I get pretty much every time. If you're wondering too, the answers are Lots of stuff, by doing all that Lots of stuff that I do all day, No, and No not now that I have internet.

People do seem to be curious as to what I do all day while Chelsea's at the library though, so I figured I would go through a general day in the life of Seth the House Husband.

Generally, I wake up, make us some cereal for breakfast while Chelsea's getting ready, and pack Chelsea a sandwich, apple, and yogurt bar for lunch. Then we have breakfast together. Then I walk Chelsea the 10 minute walk to Willesden Junction, so she can go to the center of town for whatever sort of school-related thing she has going on that day.

Then I walk back and shower and take care of all that, since I was busy with the food while Chelsea was getting ready. Then, my day can go a number of different ways depending on my mood. But there are a few different activities that I've been doing pretty consistently most days.

One thing I've been spending a lot of time on is editing photos from the honeymoon. I'm hoping to earn some money through photography starting next year once I have my work visa, so I'm trying to finish up a fairly bulky portfolio, and from there I'll set up a website to get my business going. So, the first step in that is polishing up all of the photos I took on the honeymoon that might add something to my portfolio - mostly landscapes and artistic shots, which are quite different from most of the more journalistic photos that already make up the bulk of my portfolio. So that's taking quite a bit of time. I shot 1,773 frames on our honeymoon, so it's quite labor intensive to sort through all of those, weed out the bad ones, and then crop, rotate and tone the keepers. I generally do three rounds of edits on my photos: the first round, I simply go through and cut out the ones that I'll obviously never use, whether they're out of focus, boring, or simply a duplicate of another photo. The next round I go through the ones I've decided to keep, do basic brightness, color temperature, saturation, and contrast adjustments, and convert and save them from a bulky and cumbersome RAW file to a more compact and easy-to-work with jpeg. The third round, I use Photoshop to fine tune all those same toning properties I edited in the second round, and also crop them to my liking. So far, I'm about halfway through the second round, and have 792 frames ready to be polished up in Photoshop. So that's a few hours spent most days.

I've also been writing a novel, for those of you that don't know. Sadly, I'm horrible at summarizing it. I've finished outlining the story in its entirety, and I'm over halfway finished fleshing it out into an actual written work, but I still am not able to come up with a satisfying or succinct summary for it. Hopefully once I've finished, Chelsea can read the whole thing and summarize it for me. I also have yet to come up with a satisfactory title for it, but I'm a bit closer to figuring that out than I am the summary. I'm much better at coming up with titles, but titles are also very important to me, so I've put quite a lot of pressure on myself that the title be absolutely perfect. So that's still taking some time. But since I've teased you so horribly with all this, I will try to go ahead and describe the novel, quite generally, without giving anything away.

Chelsea always calls it a scifi, which makes me cringe, but in many ways that is sort of accurate. There are no spaceships or aliens or laser guns, so it's certainly not scifi in that sense, but in a broader sense, it is concerned with both science fiction and, perhaps more interestingly to me, the fictions of science. It is indeed set sometime in the near future, though nothing specific - some time in the next 30 to 50 years. There are elements of time travel, though again not in any traditional sense (think biological rather than mechanical), and I have tried to represent the technology of the future in one way I think it could possibly actually and realistically develop. So nothing too fantastical. No flying cars, etc. It is very concerned with the biological though, and might contain a few more elements of the fantastical in relation to the human body. In that way it also has hints of fantasy woven into it, drawing on sort of medieval conceptions and notions of mystery concerning the human body. But I won't go any further into that at the risk of giving anything away.

Thematically, it is very much concerned with addiction. There's is also a sort of extended allegory to the spiritual realm and the early Christian church which is deeply entwined with the protagonist's addiction. That is what is really valuable and important about the novel to me, and is likely what will be missed or ignored by most readers.

And on top of all that, there's the fear of a 1984ish government, a love story, and an experimental rock band that tries to demonstrate and explain their artistic treatise and it's importance to the world (another part of the novel that is quite important to me). So there's certainly a lot going on, but hopefully it will all make sense and come together into a cohesive whole as you read it. Because I'm sure if it ever gets published you all will be the first ones running out the door to go buy your copy and you'll read the whole thing in one sitting the day you pick it up. I can dream.

So that's quite a bit of my day as well. I'm nearing 50,000 words on it so far, and I'm writing between 1000-2000 words a day, so the first complete draft should be finished by the end of October (novels typically run between 70,000 to 100,000 words).

I'm also still writing poetry, and I've just finished a collection of poems entitled Standardized, which was inspired and influenced by my time at the Georgia Center for Assessment rating standardized test essays from 5th and 8th graders. I'm also still working on another collection of poems entitled The Alarm, which is a sort of successor or continuation of my undergraduate thesis The Skeleton Keyhole. That one has been in the works since I finished The Skeleton Keyhole last November, but I don't yet see myself concluding that collection any time soon. So I work in that area occasionally, and am also spending a bit of time trying to find homes in magazines and journals for all of that work. For those who don't know, two of my mp3 collaborations from The Skeleton Keyhole have been published in online journals.

One with my friend Tuna:

http://www.cricketonlinereview.com/vol6no1/seth-mckelvey-tuna-fortuna-1.php

And one with Chelsea:

http://www.instereopress.com/?p=1003

So that's pretty awesome. Hopefully I can continue to get some more considered in the coming months.

I've also been preparing to make another go at graduate school. I think I'll have satisfied my urge to live in the UK after this year, so this time around I'm applying to American schools. At the moment, I'm considering CU Boulder and Maryland for their masters programs, and UPenn and UNC Chapel Hill for their doctoral programs. There is full funding available at all four of those through grants, fellowships and teaching assistantships, which is why those have made the list. I've also considered SUNY Buffalo and UC Santa Cruz, but funding is less readily available at those institutions, and the professors which originally drew me to them have recently retired. So those are less appealing to me now. I would also much prefer Boulder or Maryland than the other two, since I am not really sure at all that I am ready to commit 5 or 6 years to live in one place and complete a doctorate, as would be the case at Penn and UNC. Maryland might also be a good place for Chelsea to pursue a doctoral program as well, so that's our top choice at the moment. However, Chelsea has convinced me for the time being to keep my mind open to the two Ph.D. programs as well.

That's quite a bit of research and keeps me busy as well. But, that also means I have to take the GRE, which is like a glorified SAT for prospective grad students. So I've downloaded a study program for that, and will be spending quite a bit of time studying for that the next few weeks as well. I'll be taking that at the end of October. The only thing that makes me nervous about that so far is how similar the scoring rubrics for the writing portion are to the rubrics we used when scoring the essays for 5th and 8th graders. I know how fickle scoring can be with those rubrics, and I know that good writing doesn't necessarily mean a good score. So that makes me uncomfortable. But, thankfully I have seen it from the inside, so maybe I can use that to my advantage.

Those are the main projects that have been keeping me busy. I've also been reading quite a lot from our local library. Since we've moved in, I've read Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which I enjoyed but didn't think it quite lived up to the massive praise it has received, Tolkien's Children of Hurin, which I loved and which made me consider giving The Silmarillion another chance, Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart, which Chelsea mentioned in another post, and which I was very impressed by, and two books of poetry, The Death of a Naturalist by Seamus Heaney, and Chinese Whispers by John Ashbery, both of which I really got a lot out of and at times even enjoyed (though I love poetry, I don't often find "enjoy" to be the proper term to describe my feelings toward it). I've also been reading Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, which I've found to be very well written and even difficult to put down at times, though I find Rand's argument for Objectivism in it to be quite weak and at times even self-defeating. It was quite difficult finding The Fountainhead as well, as the only library I could find it available in was the British Library itself. The biggest library in the world. So, I really wanted to get in there. Getting a reader card there is kind of intense and difficult, and they really don't like to unless you have a really good reason (like a student, like Chelsea). I came up with a list of rare books that I do want to read in preparation for grad school though, and showed it to them. Since I can't find those books anywhere else, I think that sufficed as a good enough reason for them to give me a card. So that's pretty awesome, I get to research in the British Library (or the BL, as all the in-the-know people in Chelsea's program call it). It's pretty intense in there. You have to put all your belongings in a clear plastic bag when you go in the reading rooms so they can see everything you have, and needless to say you cannot check books out there. No pens are aloud in the reading rooms at all, and obviously no food or drink. I also learned the hard way that when it rains, you can't even wear your wet rain jacket into the reading room.

I've spent a couple days there reading The Fountainhead as well. It's an hour trip one way on the tube and costs a few pounds, so whenever I do go, I devote an entire day to it so I can get good use of my time. I only go on days when Chelsea has to go to the BL anyway so we can spend the day together. So far I've read about a third of that massive novel, and it'll take me 3 or 4 more trips to finish it the rest of the way.

Other than all that, I've just got all the housework to do. We found an old vacuum in a box in one of our wardrobes, so I tried doing that once. It was kind of broken and didn't work very well, and was covered in this nasty greasy substance of some sort...hair wax maybe? I don't like to think about it. But needless to say, that was not very fun, and hopefully we can just keep our floor clean and do that as infrequently as possible. I try to clean the bathroom every once in a while, and I have to do dishes by hand every day (no dishwasher). I do a load of laundry about once a week, and that all has to dry on a folding rack (no dryer). And I usually go meet Chelsea at the station to walk her home when she gets back, and then I make us dinner. We've had a few kinds of pasta, beef stew, pork chops, pork and beans, grilled cheese and tomato soup, and frozen pizza. So I've learned a fair amount of cooking, and actually haven't burnt anything yet.

Well, almost. There was the mincemeat incident. Also known as the Great Saga of the Mincemeat.

Mincemeat? What's that, you say? Mincemeat?

I'll tell you. Only the most diabolical of all British foods.

They were on offer (how to say "on sale" in British) at Tesco, buy one get one free, at a good price already. Mincemeat pies. I thought they would be somewhat akin to the meat pies we have known and loved in pubs. Meat is in the name. They call ground beef "minced beef." It should have been a pie filled with ground beef and gravy. So we bought two boxes. Oh, it should have had meat.

One day we decided to try them. When I pulled them out of the oven, I knew something was wrong. What is that, little granules of sugar on the top? Why would there be sugar sprinkled on top? And what is that shape, a Christmas tree?

Then I stuck a fork in and tasted it, and thus followed one of the most bewildering taste experiences of my life. It was kind of sweet, and caramel colored. It wasn't meat at all.

Over the next half hour or so, Chelsea and I forced ourselves to eat one of the most disgusting things we have ever eaten. The filling inside does not have one bit of meat in them, and I think they are actually intended as a dessert item, not as a meal (though I can't imagine anyone eating such defile things for the pleasure of it). The filling, the mincemeat itself, is essentially random fruit covered in some awful BBQ sauce derivative that has absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever. It was one of the worst things we've ever eaten. But we bought two whole boxes of them, and stubborn as I am, I was not going to let them go to waste. I convinced Chelsea that they might not be so bad if we bought some cream and poured lots of sugar on them. So we tried that.

(Yes, the only pictures you get in this post are of awful mincemeat. Sorry. Just be thankful you didn't have to eat it).

She ate another one like that, but then firmly declared that she would not touch another mincemeat pie no matter what I said, and that if I was too stubborn to throw them away, then I would have to eat them myself. So I did.

The cream did help, and it was bearable for the most part, and at times, times when the bite on my fork consisted only of cream, sugar, and pie crust, it was even enjoyable. But, my subconscious did get the better of me on two separate occasions, and twice I have forgotten about the pie I had thrown in the oven and burnt it into a black crisp of nastiness.

I am pleased to say, however, that I have indeed finished them all, having thrown away only the two burnt ones, and we will never be buying mincemeat ever again.

So that's a typical day in my life here. Sometimes I also go to the lovely Roundwood Park to jog or eat lunch, which is only a 3 or 4 minute walk from our front door, and is really wonderful. But I've taken some pictures there as well, so in another post soon I'll talk more about the park and show you what it looks like.

We've also found a church here now that we are quite happy with, Community Church Harlesden. It's a house church, made up of mostly middle-class white people, 20 to 30 somethings, and lots of young married couples. There are about 25 steady members. So we fit in quite nicely there, and feel really comfortable there and already like a part of the family. Really the only thing I am cautious about the church: is it possible to feel too comfortable in a church? Maybe. Sometimes I think it is good for us to choose a church for reasons other than our own comfort and personal preference and or happiness, and it can be very spiritually productive to move outside our comfort zones. But I don't think this is one of those times for Chelsea and I. I think God has provided this church, where we fit in so perfectly, for us in a neighborhood where we had never hoped to fit in at all. I think we could only find such a church here in this area only by the Lord's guidance, and that He's provided it for us as a place of rest and recovery from all of the difficult times we have been through these past few months. And I think eventually it will serve as a home base, a launching point, from which we can go out and interact with and minister to all the diverse community that does live in our neighborhood, which may at times be intimidating to us, be outside our comfort zone. So we're really excited about that, and we've already begun building up wonderful relationships with people in the church.

But this post is already insanely long (I really hope no one thinks I don't have anything to keep myself busy with anymore) so I'll save the rest of all that for the next post or two. Until then, I've got some writing, photography, studying, cleaning, and cooking to do.

The Other Side of the Pond

While Seth has been slaving at home getting everything perfect for our first apartment together, I had to travel the wild world of London for things dealing with school. First of all, I have preliminary reading for my courses, which start on September 27th. So, not only do they expect me to find my way to London, get an apartment, and find transportation to and from King's College, but also I've got to find all these books and read them before I ever meet my professors. Woo hoo.

As cynical as that may have sounded, it was not that difficult, and I am excited about the intensity of the program. Something I've realized with this whole venture is that, unless it's exactly the type of program I want, it really wouldn't be worth coming all the way over here to do it. So basically, I do think that my program is perfect for what I want to do, and that I've come to the right place.

What exactly is it that I'm doing? My Master's program is called “Early Modern English: Text and Transmission” and deals with manuscript study of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. Basically, working with old documents to try and figure out exactly what the heck Shakespeare and other folks that wrote during his time (Jonson, Marlowe) were talking about and how we can translate that to today's audience/reader. Obviously, a whole lot more scholarly stuff goes into it so maybe that's not the best explanation, but hey, I tried.

I decided to go to the library to do all of the reading, so where else would I go but THE library in England – the British Library. This place is absolutely HUGE! There are books and books and books, and plenty of people silent reading and soaking up the knowledge. You can't check out any books there, though, it's purely a research library, which means you have to sit there and read everything. So I spent my time sitting in this huge room of 600 desks with all these other very quiet people drinking in everything I could about Early Modern printing and text.

In the murk of all the reading, Seth and I still had to go to a church on Sunday. So the first Sunday we were here, we decided to try Willesden Green Baptist, which is the near the library we frequented when we had just arrived (and which Seth still frequents until we have internet in our apartment). Willesden Green Baptist was a predominantly black church, as is most of the community around where we live, but it was a wonderful service. It was a youth sunday, so the service I'm sure was a little different from usual. The worship was excellent, something we both enjoyed and relished in. After that, the youth took turns giving testimonies and mini-sermons, very similar to the way a youth sunday works in Ameican churches. The church was huge for an English church, between 300-400 there. We enjoyed the experience at this church, but at the same time, we're wondering if it's just too big for us. A part of the church that is very important to both of us is to build up a relationship with other believers, so that you can encourage one another. With a church this size, I'm not sure if we would ever really meet anyone. We are going to give it another try sometime soon, though, I think!

The second Sunday (just this past Sunday) we went to a different church, All Souls, which is our Church of England parish church. I do not know enough about the Church of England yet, and I want to learn more, as I can see how it ties very closely with Catholicism. I really don't know enough on this to speak more about it, but hopefully I will learn and be able to fill you in. This church was SO completely different from Willesden Green Baptist. It was much smaller, about 100 people there, and much more reserved. Willesden Green Baptist, the worship felt very spontaneous, as though the song may go on as long or as short as the Spirit moves, and people were very open in their worship styles. At All Souls, people were reserved, and everything was written down on a sheet for us to say and sing. I'm not sure how we felt about this church quite yet. After the service, they were very welcoming to us, and I could see how we could help the church with our musical talent – that there was an area of work there for us – but at the same time, we're just not sure yet where we belong. We continue to pray over this decision.

That wasn't the only thing I had on my plate, though. Besides the reading and the church going, I also had an international orientation to attend, which is where I enrolled and had to go to seminars on things like banking, culture shock, safety, etc. This lasted about three days, and we were put into little groups with the bleak hope that we would all become friends and not be so lonely in the huge city of London. Well, everyone knows how those sort of things go. You all awkwardly have to meet through some kind of ice breaker, and in the end, nobody really knows anybody any better. I did meet some nice and interesting people, but the university is so huge, I'll probably never see them again!

The seminars were helpful, especially the one about banking, where the system is a little different from the US! But one night after the seminars, they were holding what is called a “Pub Quiz” at the University. Seth and I had no idea what this was, but he came along with me for the adventure. We walked into the on-campus pub (so funny to me, as there would never be a place like that on a campus in America), and it's crowded and loud, but obviously, we don't know anybody. We just sit down and decide to take it all in. After a few minutes, a guy approaches us and asks if we want to be on his team for the Pub Quiz. We decided, sure, why not? We talk to the guy for a little bit more and find out he is from Nigeria, which gets Seth excited because he was reading Things Fall Apart at the time. So he and Seth have a moment where they share a liking of Things Fall Apart, and then we go to sit with the entire team.

The team he has created is all girls, a few of which are even Americans. We all exchange names and chat a little, waiting for the quiz to begin. In essence, a pub quiz is where they give each team a piece of paper and then ask about ten questions and you write them down. There are five rounds of this, so 50 questions in all. The questions are on pop culture – music, celebrities, stuff that has been in the news, and so on. Our team was pretty good – we actually came in 3rd place at the end of the competition, which we felt like was quite an accomplishment, considering there must have been 20 or so teams. It was a good night for us, though, just having the opportunity to be with other people our age, laughing and relaxing. I think it was something we needed more than we realized, and I really enjoyed it. Coming into a new city, I don't think either of us is really sure how to make new friends, since everyone lives so far apart. It's not like at UGA, where you can hop in the car and go see folks. Plus, when someone tells me where they live, I have no idea where that is, and vice versa.

On the other hand, I've begun to realize how it's okay not to have a huge crowd of friends all the time. I always like to be socialable, getting to know people and hanging out – these are my favorite things. Obviously, haven't really been able to do that here, seeing as I know only Seth. But I can see how God is strengthening me in that area – that I don't need to rely on friendships to keep me happy. Not to say friendships aren't important and a great part of life, but I need to rely first on God to provide me with fulfillment, and then have people in my life for enjoyment and encouragement. I think sometimes we replace God with people, because if we have that comfort zone of people, we don't so desperately need or seek after God. When He is truly all you have, you must cling to Him fully. Furthermore, I feel that if He wants us to have friends here, He will provide them, and it will be obvious to us. This is what I pray for, and I know that if it is His will, they will be presented.

On the last day of my orientation, we got to go on a free boat tour, which was fun – yay! I did meet up with a group of girls who were also going on the boat tour, and hung out with them. They were some really nice folks, and even if that's all it was, I really enjoyed the afternoon with them. Here's some pictures of the boat tour (and you thought there weren't going to be pictures in this post):

London Eye:


Parliament and Big Ben:




Cool London architecture:



Tower Bridge:




King Henry VIII's shipyards:


Greenwich Observatory:




Called “Cuckold point” this is where husbands or wives would throw their unfaithful mate into the water:


Where those condemned to piracy where hanged, dragged under the water, and then left for the birds to eat (quite a morbid tour, yes?)


Cool Swiss bank building:


Traitor's Gate outside Tower of London:



The Tower of London (undergoing heavy work at the moment)



London:


As you can see, the weather here is really temperamental. One minute, it will be perfect and sunny and the next cloudy and windy. So that's taking some getting used to. Basically, you can either freeze or sweat and the choice is up to you. Quite democratic, really.

Overall, Seth and I have really enjoyed our time here so far. We celebrated our two month wedding anniversary this past Saturday, and we were excited for that! The day consisted of a jog together, relaxing and reading in the park nearby, and then some pizza for dinner. All in all, I'd call that the perfect anniversary day. : )

One Does Not Simply Move Into London

Its black gates are guarded by more than just unionized tube workers on strike. There is evil there that does not sleep. The great eye is ever watchful.

It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand bus drivers could you do this. It is folly.

(For the culturally deprived, click here).

Seriously, Peter Jackson could direct a trilogy about the insanity we went through trying to move into our apartment two weeks ago.

Having finally figured out how to put down a deposit, thanks entirely to Sunday, again, and all her wonderful help (apparently Bank of America does not even understand that the Royal Bank of Scotland exists, and thus cannot do a wire transfer to it. So we had to write Sunday a check, and she was so wonderful and kind to us to transfer our deposit from her account. Truly a blessing from God), we had scheduled with our agent to move in the 7^th of September. This was all fine and dandy, until we started looking into how we would get around with all our luggage the day we moved in, and discovered there was a tube strike on the 6^th and 7^th, that would cause many of the subway lines to experience heavy delays or shut down entirely. Apparently this causes a sort of ripple effect in transportation, with everyone who normally takes the tube now overcrowding the buses and streets, and sends the entire city into minor chaos (though thankfully, the unions are kind enough to do their very best to do as little damage with their strikes as possible. The strikes musn’t be impolite, musn’t be too disruptive. Seriously, things are so messed up here. Different unions will work together to make sure they don’t strike on the same day, to ensure that there isn’t too much inconvenience or too much trouble for everyone. Because that would just accomplish the purpose of a strike too well...)

So, having never experienced a tube strike, we weren’t sure how much this would affect us, so we asked our agent if maybe we should wait and move in the 8^th instead, and deferred to his wisdom and experience on the subject. He said to go ahead and come on the 7^th, and it would be fine. So we did.

We get off our train from Macclesfield in Euston, and who would have guessed but the tube line we need is shut down. We have 2 hours to make it to our landlord’s office before they close, and the only station within 4 miles of the office is completely shut down due to the strike. And we have all our belongings for the next year strapped to our backs. So, I call the agent and ask him what to do.

“Um, I’m not sure. I sent you an email this morning saying maybe you shouldn’t come today afterall.” Later I checked my email and discovered “this morning” meant 1 pm, after we had already gotten on the train into London. Thanks for nothing.

So, essentially, our agent, Robert (not his co-worker Ian, who was so helpful to us in the beginning when we were looking for a place to begin with) was completely worthless. He put us in this horrible situation entirely by his own mistakes, and offered nothing to get us out of it. He had no plan. He said he would figure something out and call me back. So we waited there, with all our luggage, for him to call us back. Cheslea was livid. I thought maybe she should be the one to talk to him next on the phone so we could actually get something accomplished. For though it is normally my tendency to be confrontational and forceful in such situations, to demand that the other incompetent moron take responsibility for their mistakes, for some reason that day I felt no urge to demand anything from him, no fire to force him to action. But we talked about it, and decided that maybe it was a sign from God, that despite my natural inclinations I felt no rage against this unhelpful person, and that we should keep our calm with him and control our emotions in dealing with him. So, we decided I should continue to do the talking.

So he finally called back, and again had no help for us at all. He mumbled and said “I don’t know” a lot. So we were essentially stranded, and possibly sleeping on the street that night. Finally I suggested that we take one of the few tube lines that were still running to the nearest possible station we could find, and then maybe someone could pick us up from there. He agreed, and I imagined him bobbing his head up and down like a fool. So we did that, took an overground train to Willesden Junction. The man at the ticket counter had told us that we could possibly take a bus from there to Willesden Green, which was the closed tube station we needed to reach in order to get to our landlords, but not to trust the buses as they might be very unreliable. Oh really? London buses, unreliable? Never.

So, we didn’t want to take that bus across Willesden. That was about Plan J on our list of ways to get to the office, right after Plan I, which was hire a hot air balloon. But we got to Willesden Junction just fine, and called up our agent again. Again, he was useless. He tried to dump us off on Ian, who was a bit more helpful than his useless boss. He gave us the landlord’s phone number and told us to call them, and then if we had anymore trouble we could call him back. So we called the landlords. They were about as helpful as Robert. They mumbled a lot and kept repeating “I don’t know.” Completely unwilling to help us. So we were back on our own again. I didn’t really think much good would come of calling Ian back – we had hoped one of them would give us a ride, since we weren’t sure what other service they provided as middlemen between us and the landlord, but it didn’t seem like that was happening. Especially with the insane traffic caused by the strike. So, try as we might, we couldn’t find a hot air balloon, and saw no other alternative but to get back on the diabolical creature that is a London city bus.

In hindsight, the bus actually wasn’t that bad. It actually took us where we wanted to go, and didn’t cost but a few pounds. But while we were on the bus, it was pretty scary. The bus had already bullied us so badly, we were afraid of it. And on and on it went through unfamiliar streets with unfamiliar names, forever it seemed, never reaching Willesden Green. We had no idea when or if we would get there, especially with all the insanity of traffic and the strike, and time was running short. The office closed at 6, and though we had arrived in London at 4, sufficiently early to make the trip with time to spare, we had wasted so much time waiting on Robert to lend the aid he never did. So we both kept checking our mobiles for the time, and 5:20 came and went, then 5:30. I could see the tears welling up in Chelsea’s eyes. She knew we would face homelessness that night if we didn’t make it there in time. But then looking out the window, I saw some store, or some shop, I can’t remember what it was, but I saw the words “Willesden Green” in the title, and I had hope. I knew we were close, and knew God was watching over us. I squeezed Chelsea’s hand and told her with as much surety in my voice that it would be okay. And hearing myself say it aloud, I knew it would be.

And it was. We made it to the office by about 5:45, and in person everyone there was far nicer and far more helpful than they had been on the phone (a theory we’ve all but confirmed on the UK: British people are approximately 147% nicer in person than on the phone). We went through the contract, which was all standard stuff, no surprises, signed the paperwork, and got the keys. It went great.

Then we had to figure out how to get from the landlord’s office to our apartment. We had give up our naïve notion that they might drive us – the kinder days of generosity, when we had been under Ian’s care, were long gone by. I had looked it up when we were at Sunday’s, and knew it was a two mile walk. So I didn’t even bother writing down the directions, because I thought there was no way we could walk that far with all our luggage. Thankfully the landlord was kind enough to print us off a map showing the area between the office and our apartment, so we were able to get started in the right direction. We fully intended to take a taxi though, as those packs were really starting to weigh on us. So we figured we would go ahead and start walking in the right direction, and take the first cab we found. We thought that we might as well walk in the right direction while we were looking, since the closer you are, the cheaper the taxi is.

We found one. But it was empty, the driver nowhere to be found. So we kept walking, never to see another taxi again. We found the Willesden Green library, from which we had solid directions to and from the apartment, since we knew we would need to go there often, our lifeline (I’m posting this blog from the very same library, actually. Internet in our apartment is finally scheduled to be set up. Everything is in place, they just have to flip the switch. They're gonna do it next Thursday. Actually this Thursday, but last week it was still next Thursday and Brian Regan's joke was a perfect fit).

So, we just kept walking. We took a break on some nice little benches around a tree, which we now know to be an entrance to the wonderful Roundwood Park, which we’ll write more about later. And so we walked. It wasn’t as horrible as we thought it would be. It took about 45 minutes or so, not including our rest at the park, and we finally made it. Our new home for the next year.

So, that night we rewarded ourselves with a lovely dinner of donner and chips from a local chip shop (there are tons of them on our main drag, Park Parade, which is just a couple minutes walk from our front door).

Thankfully, we were able to slow down a little bit the next few days. Not too much though, wouldn’t wanna go crazy, actually have some time to relax. It wasn’t too bad though. We spent them mostly shopping for stuff to set up our apartment. Quite a bit of walking was involved, which was inevitable, since we’re us. But in the end we did quite well, and were able to get everything we need and cozy up our little studio, all for about 150 pounds. We found an ASDA, which is the name for Wal-Mart here, and took advantage of Argos, which is this weird store where all they have are catalog points, cashiers, and pick up points. You look through the catalog, write down the codes for what you want, take it to the cashier and pay, and then go wait at the pick up point. Employees in the massive warehouse in the back take your order and send up all the stuff you want, and you pick it up from the pick up point. It’s kind of like the fast food of department stores – cheap, fast, and easy. So, finally, without further ado, here’s our apartment, set up with all our purchases, in all its glory.

We really love it. The building is pretty old, I think. Edwardian, I think is the correct era, though I’m not sure. We totally have epic crown molding though, presumably original to the building when it was used for other purposes, since the molding doesn’t exactly follow the current room layout. Still, it is really nice, and makes the apartment feel much nicer and higher class.

We have a nice bay window with a table and chairs where we eat all our meals, for which I am now the primary chef.

Our street is all residential, and fairly quiet, and we’ve really enjoyed it these first few weeks. It’s been a lot of fun setting up our first home together, and we’re really thankful to have such a wonderful place to live.

Football and Hot Dogs

After our fun but insane Paris trip, it was time to wind down the honeymoon with a few low-key activities. To leave Paris, we woke up at 5:45 am to stumble through the dark streets of the city. We walked to the train station, took a train into Calais, took a ferry from Calais to Dover, and then another train from Dover to London, a tube from one station in London to another, and finally a train from London to Macclesfield. This sounds complicated, but I'll break it down.

Calais: This is the main port city to get to Paris, or really, to any part of Western Europe, from the UK by ferry. For a port city, you would think Calais would completely sell-out in its Frenchness, with tourists traps everywhere. Well, you would be wrong. Calais was definitely anticlimactic. Here's a few pictures:

What do you see? That's the point – you don't see anything. It was just kind a barren town, with nothing going on at all. In comparison to England port town of Dover, Calais didn't have a leg to stand on. So now that you know everything there is to know about Calais, on to the sea...

We took a ferry back from Calais to Dover, and the ferry ride was a really nice little adventure. I love the feel of the open water all around with the wind and the smell of the ocean, so this was great for me. And I think Seth really enjoyed it, too. The best part of it was the view of the white cliffs as we were re-approaching Dover. Here's a few pics, which are actually from the trip towards Calais, but a perfectly good representation of the ferry ride in general:

It was pretty cold on the boat – the wind was crazy!

Dover: We were glad to get to revisit one of our favorite places by coming back through Dover. We were actually able to get a ferry earlier than we expected, which meant we had plenty of time to relax in Dover before getting on our next train. We went by the library to check on our emails, as we were at this time finalizing things for our apartment in London, went by the grocery store to get a few snacks for the train, and visited a great chip shop as a welcome back into the UK with a hearty meal of fish and chips. We sat in the park enjoying our meal and the sunshine, which we had been spoiled into expecting after France. Going to have to get used to those rainy days in the UK again...

So there aren't really any pictures from Dover, since I've already revealed most of that to you. Just revisit the Dover blog, relive the memories. It's all there for you.

London: We got off the train, went downstairs, got on a tube, got off at another station, went upstairs and got on another train. It was easy and painless. By far the most satisfying travel experience we've had in London.

Macclesfield: This is probably the part of the journey where you, the reader, are confused about where we are going. What is Macclesfield? Macclesfield is how we got to the home of some of the most amazing people we have met in the UK. You guessed it, they're Americans! Before we found our way to our final destination, London, we made another quick little trip up to see Jack and Sunday Austin, and their two kids, Jack and Tom. They are friends of Seth's family, and fellow Southerners. I was excited to meet them, since from my past experience, it's been a great moment to find another American. After another train ride, one that was relatively peaceful (yay!) we arrived at the Macclesfield train station. Sunday and Tom came to pick us up, and immediately I could feel the warmth and love of this family. Sunday greeted us with a huge smile, and I knew that we were welcome. It was very natural talking with them, relating. They had actually just returned to England after a break in the States, so I think it was good for them to hear from other American expats as well.

Compared to the insanity of our trip, the peace and quiet of Jack and Sunday's was almost surreal. When we first arrived, the Georgia game had just ended, but Jack was still tuned into good ole American football. I remember having this weird, surreal feeling as we walked into their living room. Jack was relaxing on the couch with a Georgia sweatshirt on, and the TV showed football – American football. The next thing I knew, Sunday was offering us Coca-Cola and Dominos pizza. I took it almost without realizing what I was doing. I felt like I was watching us from somewhere far away. It was like a little piece of America here in England, and until I had it, I didn't realize how much I had missed it. Just the little things, like hearing Seth and Jack talk in the background about how the UGA football team was expected to do this year, while Sunday told me about their life in the UK with her sweet, Southern drawl. They were great, genuine people, and Jack told us several stories that made us laugh. I was glad to see how proud they were that they were Americans. I guess this is something I should discuss further.

Since coming here, I think it's been hard for me especially to know who I am. I arrived, realized no one was really like me here (different culture, accent, ways of life, etc) only to find out that I was a little skittish about being completely myself when no one else was that way. Talking with Kim first in Dover, and then secondly with Jack and Sunday helped me to see that it's okay that I'm different than people around me now, and that I need to be proud of that difference. Jack continually joked about how he embraced his “Americanness” at work. While his stories were very entertaining, this is something I really appreciated, because it helped me to see that I should do the same.

We headed to bed pretty early, since we'd been traveling since 5:45 that morning. The sofa bed was a dream – very comfortable, and very quiet. We had a great night's sleep and woke up the next morning to go to church with the family. We all crowded into one car – the poor boys were shoved into the very back – I felt bad about that! But we both really enjoyed the church. The people seemed genuinely excited to be there to worship God, and not for other reasons. The sermon was about accepting God's love and the fact that it is something bigger and greater than anything we could dream of repaying. I can understand that feeling literally through all the people that have been so good to us throughout our travels. From the beginning, everyone who has let us into their home has been great to us, and I'm overwhelmed by that generosity and hospitality. With Sunday and her family, I especially felt this way. I felt completely at home with this family, and I don't think it was just the Southern thing. I can understand what was preached in the sermon because Jack and Sunday were so giving and loving to us, and there was and is really no way we can pay them back. I just felt a little helpless about it, because I just have to accept it. I just have to accept that they are willing to do that for me, and that there is nothing I can do in return, and that they don't expect anything. How much more true is this with God? How much more real is this with God? It's amazing, how He loves, how He gives, the mercy and love He pours out, even when He doesn't have to, even when there's absolutely no way I can repay Him...

After the Austins treated us to a delicious lunch (at a carvery, which means MEAT), we all spent the rest of the day being lazy, for the most part. We watched some more football, which I hadn't realized I would miss. It was really nice to just be around for a day, to have some rest. Seth enjoyed throwing the football around with Jack and the boys, as well as kicking the soccer ball with little Jack. As for me, I enjoyed talking to Sunday and just lounging around. It was so great having her to relate to with our travels into the UK. Although she admitted her homesickness, her optimism really gave me hope for our next year here. Overall, the day was a great time of recuperation. Our travels have been great, and I wouldn't trade it for any other thing, but at the same time, I think we were both ready for a little rest from the traveling.

The next day, our last full day there, Sunday, Tom, Seth, and I headed to a little area where there were lots of shops. She needed to pick up several things, and Seth and I had decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and buy some sheets for the bed we would have in our apartment, so wouldn't have to just sleep on the mattress. It was a really windy day, almost blowing us all away, so we were pretty quick about it. The little town was really cute, and Seth and I had a lunch of Subway while we were there. It's weird, because Seth always hated Subway in America, but here in the UK it is quiet appetizing to him. I think it all goes back to this great deal we got on a breakfast sub in Glasgow...

Back to the subject at hand, it was nice just walking around the shops with Sunday and Tom, as well as the drive we took where she showed us around the area. As for our time at Sunday's, I did some documentation, as Sunday joked that there was nothing to document. I don't think she understood how greatly we appreciated the rest. Hopefully we can make it back up there for a more exciting adventure next time! So, to document our times there...

Our amazing place of sleep:

The windiest BBQ I've experienced (Seth was really excited about the hot dogs):

The Austins ready to eat American food (hot dogs!):

Sunday took a pic of us:

I wish I had taken more pictures while visiting the Sunday's, but I felt like I was freaking the kids out with my camera, so I tried to keep it to a minimum. Plus, I was just lazy as all get out during this portion of the trip. Hopefully we can return to see them again sometime soon and be a bit more active! But we very much enjoyed the solitude of their home, and their gracious nature towards us.

On Tuesday, the day we were scheduled to move into our apartment in London, Sunday was nice enough to take us to the train station. We had ALL of our stuff, which we hadn't been reunited with since Elgin. We repacked, and managed to have all our stuff on us. We looked ridiculous! Well, thanks to Sunday's photo skills, you can see for yourself:

So there we are, in all our glory. Of course, when you're carrying that much stuff around on trains and in London, things are bound to be way more ridiculous than they ought to be, but you'll just have to wait for the next post to find out all about it. :)

Paris vs. London

So to finish up our thoughts on Paris, here’s a little scorecard we drew up on the two biggest cities we’ve been to in Europe. It was very difficult while we were in Paris not to draw comparisons to London, so we decided to formalize it into a list. Because everyone loves lists! (This is also our first co-authored post! So even though it only says one name at the bottom, really we both wrote this one).

Respective Port Cities: London +3, Paris -2

So let’s start easy. As hinted at the end of the last post, Calais is lame. As we explained in our Dover post, Dover is awesome. Enough said.

Trains Into the City: London +1, Paris +2

The trains into London are just okay. They’re on time and reliable, and the views of the English country side are really beautiful. The trains in Paris went above and beyond. The first form of public transportation we’ve been in in which Seth actually had enough leg room. They move way faster than even the high speed trains in the UK (which are the exception...most of the trains in the UK are fairly slow). There’s plenty of room for all our luggage, which has been an issue at times in the UK. Some of the trains are even two levels, and the views are much better from the 2^nd level, where you can see above the trees and fences that often line the tracks and obstruct views. That being said, the trains into Paris don’t get a +3 because the landscapes surrounding Paris themselves were a bit drab and boring compared to those in England. Paris trains are also a bit more expensive.

Graffiti: London +3, Paris -1

London has Banksy. Paris just has a bunch of ugly garbage covering the walls into the train station.

Cleanliness: London 0, Paris -3

There’s only so much you can expect for a city in terms of cleanliness, so we think London does a pretty good job considering. There’s still some litter here and there, but overall it’s pretty good. The streets in Paris were just plain disgusting though, and what really did it over the edge was the smell.

Parks, Gardens, etc.: London +5, Paris +5

This was a split vote, so we gave them a tie. Seth thought Paris had the edge, while Chelsea gave it to London. In the end, the parks and gardens in both cities are absolutely beautiful, and a wonderful place to spend the day. Even the gangsters respect how beautiful the parks are and leave them alone.

Food: London +2, Paris -4, America +10

Chips shops in London are awesome. The only thing good in Paris was the kebab stands, which they have in London for half the price. Even the grocery stores in Paris were awful; it cost nearly as much to buy a meal’s worth of groceries as it did to buy take away. And as for that last score...well lets just say we miss some of our old friends Ryan, Wendy, Arby, and Mr. Bojangles. Please visit them for us.

City Buses: London -8, Paris 0

We really don’t even want to talk about the buses in London. In Paris, they really just don’t exist. We saw 2 or 3 the entire time we were there.

People: London +1, Paris -4

Anita has been so kind to us in London. Other than that, London, you’re just lucky Paris is so mean.

Weather: London -2, Paris +5

We’ve been pretty lucky concerning weather in London so far. The rain hasn’t been too horrible, and it hasn’t been too cold yet. But it’s always there, hanging over your head like a storm cloud. Literally. And the death winter is still yet to come. Weather in Paris was absolutely perfect; not a moment of bad weather.

Crying Children: London -2, Paris -3

For a while it looked like London was the solid loser here, with a steady stream of crying children. Nothing crazy, but keeping a good pace. The Paris came swooping in out of nowhere. After a few calm and quiet days, the finest criers in all of Paris came out in full force. The worst part of crying baby Parisians was the duration: they could keep it up for hours.

Fashion: London 0, Paris +2

London, you just wear black and look boring and sad. Fashion in Paris was strange at times, but at least it was intriguing and interesting to look at.

Tourist Attractions: London +4*, Paris +5

There was a split vote on London for this one. Seth has never been much of a fan of the tourism in London, though he did really enjoy Big Ben, the Strand, the Eye, and the bridges. So he gave it a +3, which is quite modest considering London’s position in the tourism industry. Chelsea gave it a +5 to average the score out to a +4, and we both agreed on a +5 for Paris, which truly did not disappoint.

Manpris and Fanny Packs: London +2, Paris +5

There’s a pretty high manpri-per-capita (mpc) in London, and an even higher fanny pack ratio. Both creatures run rampant. But Paris is essentially the world capital of the clothing item that’s either too short pants or too long shorts and the waist pack that everyone wears backwards.

Final Scores:

First Place: America:10

Second Place: London: 9

Third Place: Paris: 7

Whoa, who did that? Somehow America snuck it’s way in there and won it all. Oh you, America. You so random. Winning competitions you weren’t even supposed to be a part of. America wins again...

So, to summarize, Paris is a cool experience, but we’d never want to live there. We’re still dealing with the negatives of London, but all things considered it’s not a bad place to call home.

Man Cannot Live On Bread Alone

But no one ever told the Parisians that. Seriously, all anyone eats there is bread. If you’re ever in Paris, here’s an easy way to spot the locals: they’re the ones constantly carrying around the massive breadsticks, that goofy, awkward French food item called a baguette, perpetually with just 2 or 3 bites taken off the top (seriously, I think those things are constantly regenerating. They must be made out of the widow’s oil and flour from the Bible, never running out. You never see anyone finishing a baguette. They are forever just beginning to eat them.) And I don’t blame them quite frankly (incidentally, the Franks were essentially the only definitively masculine group of French people to ever live. Those guys were awesome/scary). With the prices of food there, really the only thing anyone can afford to eat on a regular basis is bread.

Thankfully, we were only there for 5 nights, so we could afford to splurge every now and then and go crazy, like the time we bought a microwave lasagna, or the time we bought a microwave shepherd’s pie We didn’t actually know what we were buying in the latter, since we don’t read French, but it looked good on the box. Then we got home and started looking up the words while it was cooking and were a bit worried—meat and...applesauce? Then we realized that “potato” is literally translated “earth apple,” so we figured out it just mean mashed potatoes.

Anyway, I have now come to realize that I don’t actually hate British food at all. When we were in Oxford 2 years ago, I lost about 10 pounds in 6 weeks (unintentionally) and I thought that I really just did not like British food. I wholeheartedly agreed with Jim Gaffigan’s take on British food (I couldn't find a video, but here's my transcription of it from memory):

"I do love ketchup. Salsa, that's like the Mexican ketchup. And marinara is the Italian ketchup...and British food is terrible.

They use vinegar on their food there. You know what I use vinegar for? Cleaning windows! How bad does your food have to be when vinegar makes it taste better?"

Now I understand that all along it was French food I had a problem with. Coming down through Scotland, then London, then Dover, I kept wondering where all those boring baguettes were, all the tiny portions at astronomical prices. That hasn’t been my experience at all with British food. I’ve found very satisfying portions at fair prices at nearly every chip shop we’ve been to, and [insert fried greasy meat product here] and chips is one of my favorite tasting meals ever. Then we got to Paris, and it all came back. That’s it. I’m saying it flat out, right now. French food is horrible.

But what about all the fancy French restaurants, with all the fancy French food, you might ask. Well, I concede that such high-end French food does indeed taste pretty good. We were treated to such at the high table dinners when we were in Oxford (again with the French...I think Oxford’s got a bit of an obsession). However, that does not take price into consideration at all. If I were to spend 50 euros a person anywhere else in the world, I am confident that I could do far better. Case in point: every time we walked by a restaurant on the street and said to ourselves, “Hey, that looks/smells good. That could be worth burning a little cash on having a nice dinner in Paris,” it turned out to be an Italian restaurant.

Whoa, that was a curveball, eh? After that title you thought this was going to be some deep spiritual post, and then I ranted about food for four paragraphs. It’s okay, everyone else who read that title thought the same thing.

So enough about food. Every other stereotype I’ve ever heard about Paris was basically true. Maybe 4 days isn’t enough time to really judge an entire city, maybe, but on the surface, everything you’ve heard is true. Everyone one smokes cigarettes there. Everyone. They really do love wearing black and white horizontally striped shirts (like mimes. Except we never saw a mime. Nor did we ever see anyone playing an accordion, though we did hear one a few blocks away. But those were the only two stereotypes that let us down). Everyone rides scooters there. If an entire city could be labeled “promiscuous,” Paris would be it. People were literally making out in the streets (not that we didn’t add to the romantic atmosphere of Paris ourselves...it was our honeymoon after all).

We definitely saw an 80 year old woman walking down the street in a sheer black and white dress, with all her bright red underwear shining through for all the world to see (I'll spare you the picture).

The Eiffel Tower really is in Paris, we checked to make sure, so that stereotype is true too.

Guys really wear manpris there.

The people are incredibly rude/unfriendly. Seriously, we met only one nice French person the entire time we were there, who hooked Chelsea up with bathroom access in Starbucks even though we didn’t buy anything. Other than that, all jerks. And it wasn’t just because we were American. For the most part, people were never specifically rude to us, since we mostly just kept our heads down and our mouths shut and stayed out of the way. What I’m really talking about is how rude they were to each other, all the inconsiderate and obnoxious behavior we saw as passive observers.

Another stereotype, which I was apparently wholly unaware of, but was nonetheless quite true, were the gypsies in Paris. All I ever really knew of Parisian gypsies was from the Hunchback cartoon, and mostly all I remember from that movie was trying to figure out how to pronounce Notre Dame.

So, I almost got totally scammed by a gypsy. The very first day, on our way to start sight-seeing, we were walking across this sort of open gravel area in front of the Louvre. I, being the ultra tourist that I am, was wearing cargo shorts, sunglasses and a big backpack. According to Chelsea, that equates to a big target on my head. So up comes this lady, of some ethnicity I couldn’t really place, somewhere in between South American and Middle-Eastern, with some raggedy clothes on. She’s walking with some sort of purpose in our direction, and then all of the sudden points at something on the ground and reaches down and picks it up, exclaiming something in a language I didn’t recognize. This sort of grabs my attention, and I slow down a little bit. Then she comes running up, and she has a gold ring in her hand, and she starts showing it to me. I’m fairly intrigued, but thankfully Chelsea isn’t as gullible as me. She comes and tells the lady that that’s great luck for her, and that she should keep it. I still haven’t really caught on, but I follow Chelsea’s lead, thinking that she was just trying to be nice. But then the lady motions with her hands, pointing to where jewelry would go on her body (she’s not wearing any) and shakes her head, and points to the sky, as if to God, like she’s saying she can’t wear jewelry for religious reasons. I notice she has pierced ears at this point, and I begin to get a bit confused, but I still haven’t really gotten it (I’m a bit ashamed of how slow I was with all this. Thankfully Chelsea was there to keep me from being stupid). Then the lady proceeds to slide the ring on her finger, to show us that it’s too big for her, and motions to give it to us, and tells us (now in English) that it’s a gift from God and it’s our lucky day. Chelsea repeatedly tells her to keep it for herself, but finally gives in and just snatches the ring, grabs me by the arm and pulls us away. Then the lady starts walking away, but then stops and comes back, and asks us for money. Chelsea then very forcefully tells her no over and over again, forces the ring back in her hand, and physically forces me to walk away without another word. Then we checked all our things, and nothing was missing.

So, I was quite the gullible tourist, but Chelsea demonstrated her street smarts and saved the day. My question now is, what was this lady’s plan? We since discovered that this is quite a common gimmick among the gypsies—we saw quite a few other people targeted in that exact same area in the next few days, some even by the exact same lady (though none fell for it quite as bad as I did), and then someone attempted it on us again later that same day by the Arc de Triomphe (though he picked the wrong tourists to mess with...Chelsea was already in a bad mood from walking too far, and had already been targeted again by a gypsy trying to give her a rose...so she essentially just yelled at him to go away, and pulled me off by the arm again). So how exactly do they succeed anything with that little trick? As far as I could tell, that lady had played out her entire trick on us, and still went away empty handed. What’s her plan? When I get my wallet out to hand her a Euro, just steal the whole wallet and run? Like I wouldn’t chase her down and bury her face in the dirt? If she was going to pick-pocket us, she’d already had plenty of opportunity, so why hadn’t she? Why wasn’t there a second gypsy coming up behind us to take things while the first distracted us? As far as I can tell, they did not live up to their legendary status of tricksters and thieves in any way at all. I was quite glad to not have anything stolen, but gypsies, come on. That’s just disappointing.

So Paris sounds pretty horrible in this post so far. Could I beat up on it any more? Oh, how about this, Moulin Rouge was totally unimpressive and boring. It literally looks like a silly movie theater, and is actually a bit more impressive in the pictures than in real life (which did actually make it fun to photograph, but that was about it). For the record, Chelsea disagrees with me about Moulin Rouge.

What’s going on Seth? Are you telling us that you didn’t like Paris?

Nope, not at all. We absolutely loved Paris. It was wonderful, so much fun, and a perfect note to end on to all our crazy travels. The only thing that kept our private hostel room from being a bona fide hotel room was the fact that we didn’t have a private toilet or shower, but even those weren’t communal, and we only had to share them with a few other people that we never even saw. The room itself was certainly nice enough to be a hotel room, with our own little sink, a nice bed, a large wardrobe for all our clothes, and even our own little table and chairs. It was certainly the cleanest hostel we’ve ever been in, and cleaner than some hotels I’ve been in. So we couldn’t have been happier with where we stayed (except perhaps moving it a bit closer to the Eiffel Tower. We walked there twice, and almost died from exhaustion).

All the touristy sight-seeing was also truly incredible. The only way I know to describe it is that seeing it all makes you feel exactly how the movies make you think it would make you feel. Perhaps that’s a bit convoluted, but what I mean is that it’s not how watching a movie about Paris makes you feel, but how you imagine you would feel if you were really in the movie. That’s really what it feels like.

There really was so much to see in Paris. One of our favorites was Notre Dame, which I personally liked much better from the back and the side with its intricate, complex architecture, than I did the more famous view of the front entrance, which was itself still quite imposing and grandiose.

The first day, we took a free tour of the city, and our tour guide was American, but quite knowledgeable, so a pretty good combination. It was pretty awesome, and we saw and learned way more in those few hours on the tour than we ever could have on our own.

Hotel Invalides: used to be a military hospital.

The Obelisk...it was supposed to be a trade for a gift with Egypt...Egypt held up their end of the bargain and sent this. France never sent anything back. Egypt is still upset.

The opera house the Phantom of the Opera was inspired by.

The garden of the Royal Palais. This is where the first sparks of French Revolution were ignited.

Arc de Triomphe. This took forever to walk to, and we got attacked by that other gypsy here. But it was totally worth it. It was so epic.

This building has bullet holes in it from WWII.

We also crossed the Love Bridge, which I don’t remember the real name for. But essentially, the tradition is that you lock a padlock in one of the chain links with your true love, and then throw the key into the water, to represent its permanence. And then there’s some weird Parisian stuff where they have 2 or 3 different locks all locked together...I don’t even want to go there.

So, we wanted to do that, but we couldn’t find anywhere at all to buy a lock. Not a single souvenir shop was selling them. Just a sad, missed opportunity there. Seriously, gypsies, here’s your chance. Just sell locks right there and gouge the prices. Countless tour guides take countless gullible tourists there every day and tell them the exact same story. It’s a gold mine.

We did, however, pick out a chain link in the fence, and wrote down how to get back to it. That way, if we ever come back to Paris, we’ll be prepared with a lock in hand, and we’ll have a place to put it. Hopefully no one else puts a lock there first, or we could end up in one of those strange Parisian love triangles.

Finally, at the end of the tour, our entire tour group somehow got roped into being extras for a photo shoot for some clothing brand or bicycle brand or something. My photography professor and/or communication law professor wouldn't be too happy with me, since we didn't see one bit of paperwork or receive one bit of compensation for allowing our likeness to be used for commercial purposes. But it happened anyway...we basically stood there and watched these guys doing tricks on bicycles, and then a guy in a leather jacket wearing a panda costume head rode up behind us on a bicycle and forced his way through the crowd we had formed. That was the whole shoot, and they did 5 or 6 takes. And of course, somehow I ended up being the one standing right next to wear the panda man forced his way through the crowd, so I'm assuming that I'm in every single photo. So there's probably a picture of me floating around out there in French advertising somewhere...if anyone finds it, let me know haha.

We also decided to have dinner and a bottle of wine on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower one night, and hung around for the light show after dark. It was really romantic, and was definitely one of our favorite things we did in Paris.

Another day, we also went and had a nice picnic lunch at in these gardens...I don’t remember the real name, but we call them the Judge Gardens because, according to the tour guide, that’s where all the French people come just hang out and judge each other. It was really nice, and the weather was beautiful. We didn’t really judge anyone, but we probably got judged ourselves quite a lot.

Finally, the last day we saved to be devoted entirely to seeing the Louvre. Pronounced sort of like loov, which Chelsea and I both knew, but still quite fun to mispronounce. Until you’re standing in front of a public street map trying to figure out where to go, and repeatedly and intentionally mispronouncing it The Lurv just to be funny, until you discover a local standing behind you glaring, who has just confirmed that every negative stereotype they’ve ever heard about Americans is completely true. Which I may or may not have done.

Anyway, the Louvre is massive and epic and exhausting. You have to enter through this giant glass pyramid, which is pretty cool all by itself.

Then you have to go down underground, to like the Batcave of art, which links you up to three main buildings of the Louvre. Or maybe it’s like the Disney World of art. Seriously, there’s even like different Kingdoms. Over here you’ve got the paintings Kingdom, over there is the Greek and Egyptian antiquities Kingdom, and over there you’ve got the sculptures Kingdom. Except they call them by the proper names of the massive buildings housing each section, not Kingdoms. But they should.

So we went in there and saw a bunch of art. For 7 and a half hours. Seriously we were in there nearly an entire working day (equivalent to 2 whole French working days...seriously I don’t think anyone works there. They all just lounge around in the gardens or cafes judging people). Seeing that much art is exhausting. By the end we were practicing a technique I have personally developed over many museum trips, a technique in which you simply walk through the room or gallery, glance at as many pieces of work as you can without slowing down, and take in as much culture and sophistication as possible before leaving the room out the other side. I call this “absorbing.” It has become quite necessary for me, since I refuse to leave a museum until I have seen everything it has to offer (unfortunately for Chelsea. Especially unfortunately for both of us in a museum the size of the Louvre). Sadly, we didn’t quite make it. We skipped a large section of the “Decorative Arts” collection, which is essentially just what rich people used to decorate their homes with way back when. Mostly fancy vases and chairs and carpets and china. It got repetitive after 3 or 4 rooms. We did, however, see Napoleon III’s (Bonaparte’s nephew and successor) apartments, which were pretty incredible, and very interesting to see.

We also skipped a pretty large section of French sculpture (the Louvre was far less international than I expected...it very heavily favors French artists. Which is fine and all, I certainly don’t blame them for representing their own people. Just wasn’t what I expected).

Other than that though, we saw it all. We won’t ask you to revisit our entire 7 and a half hours there, so here’s just a few highlights (finally, a tourist attraction that actually allows photography! Of paintings, no less! No flash of course, but no big deal since it’s lit very well in there).

Winged Victory

Venus

Hammurabi's Code

A famous Mary Magdalene statue.

A big sphinx!

And finally, the Mona Lisa herself, in all her glory.

People have all warned us about the Mona (another word we enjoyed intentionally mispronouncing, Mon-er, with an exaggerated Southern accent. No wonder the French hate us). Everyone has said that it would be very disappointing. But we really weren’t. Yes, it’s a pretty small painting, yes you have to stay about 15 or 20 feet away, yes there were like 100 Japanese tourists crowding all around it going crazy, but it was still quite surreal. For the first time in my life, I really got the Mona Lisa. I really understood that there really is something special about that painting. I understood all the hubbub. It was quite surreal.

I must say, however, that still, even after seeing it in person, my primary thoughts concerning the Mona Lisa haven’t changed. That is, the thing I think most often when looking at it, is how ugly of a painting it is of an ugly woman. I guess now I just appreciate the impact of that ugliness much more.

So that was that at the Louvre. Before we left, we saw the inverted glass pyramid inside the underground entrance as well.

Then we left, exhausted and hungry. For our final activity in Paris, we went and sat out around the fountains around the glass pyramids and had a nice light dinner of sandwich meat and crackers (they love that word, light, in any context relating to food. It basically means they’ll charge you for a full meal but you’ll only eat enough to fill you up half way). It was really nice, and the breeze from the fountains felt wonderful. Then, much like at the Eiffel, we waited around till dark, and saw the pyramids and all the rest of the Louvre all lit up. It was quite beautiful, and really was a great way to end our trip to Paris, which was itself a great way to spend the waning days of our honeymoon.

We enjoyed one last night in our lovely hostel/hotel, and got up mega early the next morning to catch a train back to Calais, the port city of France (essentially their answer to Dover—totally lame, nowhere near as cool as Dover. Basically nothing interesting in Calais and the food is expensive). Then a ferry from Calais back to Dover—I made it back through British customs, hooray! So I’m good in the UK till I’m back in the states for Christmas, and then hopefully I can get a work visa to come back in January. Chelsea of course is all good on that front. So that was it for France, though for the next few days I had to catch my self from saying “Merci” instead of “Thank you.”