A tumble through London, Scotland and Paris
Every year I get the impulse to fly to far-off lands. I have the attention span of a gerbil when the feeling sets in, and my only thought is to book something fast.
Last year, the stress of everyday life prompted me to click “purchase” on a very last minute solo trip to Barcelona. I was on a quest to find Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansen making out, and instead returned with a sprained ankle from wearing stilettos on cobblestone. Another time, I landed on a very remote part of Costa Rica, learning how to surf with a band of Finnish sisters and some instructor named Cheeto. Surfing: If you think your ass hurts after a WillPower and Grace class, try having the ocean tumble your muscles like a pair of dirty socks in a washing machine. One of my all time favorites was when I took my mom to Jerusalem and learned the delicate difference between sporty haggling and pissing off very large men in the Armenian market.
My adventures don’t fit eloquently together with a cohesive theme of why I book the flight, but I always return feeling like I know my authentic self a little better. Perhaps this is because when we travel, and really immerse ourselves in the experience, it has little to do with bragging rights, the lavish hotels or flight upgrades. Instead, travel creates a space to be a kid again, view the world with new eyes, and in the process, leave your ego behind.
It’s late morning in London and the first thing you notice is how heavy and delicious the air is, as compared to Denver. Zooming past a myriad of billboard ads along the highway from London Heathow Airport, the buildings start to twist into neighborhoods with knotty roads and brick chimneys lined up like dominos. Checking in at the Waldorf London Hotel, you politely ask the concierge to lend you an umbrella, and venture out into the streets, groggy from the flight, but thankful to rediscover your legs.
London is one of the greatest cities on the planet. You take note to the natural rhythm the city seems to have, and try to feed yourself into the flow of the foot traffic. A very large puddle disrupts your strut, soggy socks, and now “rain boots” have just been added to the top of your list of things to acquire in Europe. With only the occasional bus map to guide you, you take the opportunity to get lost and end up outside Westminster Abbey, staring up at the enormity of Big Ben clock tower.
Late afternoon, you find some dry clothes in your suitcase for the night out in Soho, happy that you have a warm pair of gloves from a vendor near the River Thames. Soho is alive with every kind of character searching for a dark beer in a pleasant pub. Settling into a cherry mahogany booth at the back of The Ship pub, you gulp a refreshing local brew. The night continues at a celebratory pace until you retreat for some rest before the train to Paris tomorrow.
A high speed train under the British Channel? Are these Eurostar people nuts? When the idea was presented by your fave euro blogger, it was unsettling but alluring – like many things. Your mind wanders. You settle into the seat and bust out an arsenal of guide books on language, food, sight seeing and transportation of Paris. Arriving a couple short hours later, you’re in the heart of Paris ready to explore
Where to first this late afternoon? In the distance, you see the Eiffel Tower and set out on foot to discover. Over an hour of taking in curious architecture, row after row of gorgeously cloned buildings, you start to wonder just how far away this elusive tower of Eiffel is. One more corner and BAM!! Landing at the leg of this massive building, you look up and are astonished and as if orchestrated, the clock hits the hour and a light show shimmers against the darkness. A group of American boys studying abroad strike up a conversation with you and offer recommendations for things to see.
Outside Eiffel, you peruse the street vendors for trinkets. Never one to buy souvenirs, you wander about while your travel companions survey the goods, anxious to return home with evidence of their dalliances abroad. It reminds you of the stories of explorers that would travel to acquire spices, silks and jewels from the Far East. One thing catches your eye and with a quick offering of euros and you stash your new prize under your arm and walk into the night.
“Bonjour!” you sing to the pouty barista serving up fresh croissants on a small corner of the Tuileries Quarter. Proudly thumbing through your “DK Guide to Everyday French,” and wearing a newly acquired raspberry beret (the kind you’d find at a second hand store), you wonder if any Parisian will at least crack a smile at the sad attempt this American is making to fit in. Mental note.
You bound off clutching carbohydrates, ready to the see all the treasures the Louvre museum has to offer.
The Louve is like a zoo. Everywhere you turn, someone is snapping photos chaotically and without purpose. Shattering all preconceived notions you had about museum etiquette, you join in the fun with your clan and push your way to the front of the pile, looking dead on at the Mona Lisa. Quoting your best gay friend’s recount of a disappointing night he once had, you say, “it’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be,” with a giggle. Take a second of silence in some side room filled with overwhelming French renaissance masters, and it’s back to the streets (in the non prostitute sense, of course).
Walking the streets of Paris is an adventure. Half the time the beauty of the buildings mesmerizes you, and the other time you’re guarding your wallet from the pickpockets swarming like bees about in the metro stations. Hop on, hop off, and somewhere early evening you and your companions settle into a small café in the Opera Quarter that offers delicious wine, stinky cheese and a riveting game of rugby. Testing out your French, the waiter flirts while pretending he doesn’t understand you. He slips into English with a wink and brings another basket of bread. Curious about the game, you cheer along with the French, but unable to mask your utter cluelessness. Embrace it. On a napkin, you write down a few things you want to see in Paris over the next couple days, before heading back to the UK to explore Scotland.
In this moment you realize it’s the first time in awhile you’ve given up everyday routine to embrace foreign territory. It’s in the absence of expected comforts that you feel a surprising, yet blissful familiarity with yourself. Ironically enough, it’s like coming home. As the wine sinks in, you smile and laugh at the silly stories being told around the table and get excited for what’s to come.
