Australia suffers under the same sort of teasing from Europeans that we receive in America; namely, that our countries are young and have little history. This normally is said with an upturned nose or in defence of some indefensible point (i.e., the fact that many current problems can be traced to Franco/Anglo global meddling). The upside, though, is that when one finds something of genuine historical significance it feels really unique, special, and wonderful.
Sydney grew out of what was the first colony of white settlers in Australia and can therefore date itself from the 1780s; some 170 years after the founding of the Jamestown colony, though substantially older than most Western states. The majority of this old town is grouped in an area around the Harbour Bridge known as "The Rocks." Following my Garden sojourn, I headed down through Sydney's main esplanade and ferry terminal, Circular Quay, and around to the old part of things.
Much to my amazement and satisfaction, it was as if the Caribbean had been dropped out of the sky into Australia. The buildings in this section of Sydney were wonderfully well-preserved and completely juxtaposed with Sydney's modern concrete and glass persona.
Naturally, the area is a giant tourist trap. It is made especially worse by the fact that cruise ships moor at Circular Quay, dumping thousands of holiday-goers directly into this historical haven. Parts of the area are extremely chintz, but parts of it are genuinely wonderful. The market was first-rate and the food vendors were flat-out excellent. I still have yet to figure out Australia's curious obsession with Bavarian sausages and biergartens, yet the presence of a Löwenbräu pub right in the heart of old Sydney was amusing, if nothing else.
I had not planned on making it down to this little enclave of history, but it was a worthwhile detour and something that I can definitely recommend to anyone going to Sydney for a visit. Equal parts England and Colonial Williamsburg, it will be a surprise even if you expect it.
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The second-half of my day was going to be spent (finally) enjoying Australia's ample sun and sand at one of its world-famous beaches: Manly. In what has to have been the work of a genius local planner, the majority of Sydney's beaches are barely accessible by public transport, if at all. The notable exceptions to this are Bondi (pronounced bahn-dye, people) and Manly. Hence, they bear the crushing weight of the tourist demand for a day at the beach. Bondi can be reached from Sydney by rail and bus. Manly, though, is really only reachable by ferry. Since it is a rare occasion indeed that I get to be on a boat, I was giddy at the opportunity.
I've discussed this briefly with J and others, but I have a theory that, in the US, we have no real parallel for the importance of water to Australians. I don't so much mean the nearly constant drought conditions under which the country labours as I do the centrality of beaches and open water to their national psyche. I would wager that no other country in the world places so many of its major cities (that is, all) within a 30 minute drive of the ocean. The benefits are obvious, and it makes me wonder why it took so long for nation-builders to realise this. Weekend pursuits shift from the land to the water. Families go to the beach, rather than to parks or to backyards. Exercise becomes more important (because it's always swimsuit weather!), and therefore the nation is healthier. Men leave the office and go surfing, or better yet, sailing.
Sydney harbour on a Saturday is, therefore, unlike anything I've seen in my life. I still don't know how the ferry managed to make it through the forest of amateur Thor Heyerdahls on the way from Circular Quay to Manly. Perhaps it is some latent connection to the sailing ships that bore their forefathers. Perhaps it is because of the beauty and purity of harnessing the wind for transport. Perhaps it's just because it's fun. Nevertheless, it was beautiful and only served to draw this deeply amazing country further into my heart. I've always loved water; now I had found an entire country that does too.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Terra Incognita Australis Post X: The Rocks and the Ferry
Terra Incognita Australis Post IX: Sydney Parklands
Melbourne is a garden city. Much like London (in parts), Paris, and Brussels, every other block contains a small green square of paradise. Sydney, on the other hand, is a city of parks. To the North lie several 'reserves' of 'bushland' that are as good as any regional or national park that I have seen in the US. Closer in are Hyde Park and the Royal Botanic Gardens.
Hyde Park was undoubtedly named for the similar green expanse in London. Both share a large, tree-lined boulevard, though London's certainly has the measure of Sydney's. Nevertheless, it is surprisingly green and has some impressive trees. It also happened to be hosting the "New South Wales Wine Week;" too bad it wasn't open when I came through.
Much like London, one can seemingly wander through Sydney's Central Business District (CBD) without setting foot in anything other than parkland. Hence, cutting across the corner at Hyde Park leads into "The Domain" and from there to the Royal Botanic Gardens. The Domain is a pleasantly green space of rolling hills. It is also home to the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Personally, I preferred the National Galleries of Victoria and spent little time in the NSW galleries, Also, I knew that my days in the sunshine were numbered and that I had a lot of ground yet to cover in the sprawling expanse of the RBG.
I have come to enjoy botanical gardens. Like wine, seafood, and Al Pacino movies, botanical gardens only make sense to adults. As a kid, I think I would have found them really boring. Now, though, I enjoy a quiet stroll. What this says about me, I don't know, but Sydney's gardens were easily the equal of any that I have been to in England. It is always incredible to be able to step into an alternate reality right in the heart of a major city. The real benefit of the Sydney RBG, though, is its views of the Harbour. Whether this is some great secret, hidden for aeons by Australians is beyond my reckoning. However, I can say that I was the only person that seemed to notice that one could get a really great picture of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House from the Lower Gardens. When I rounded the corner and it all came into view my jaw dropped. There was nobody; literally nobody. I sat and quietly sketched the view in my notebook. Of course, I also snapped every picture I could. In the time that I was sitting there no one came by; a span of at least 20 minutes. The great thing about the Lower Gardens is that it rings a cove and the Harbour remains in view the entire time. The Australians must have an innate sense for design, or the country is just that incredible that one need not try. It was amazing. I did not have enough time to linger long in the Gardens. That is a trip for a different day.
Terra Incognita Australis Post VIII: Morning Sydneyside
Having ducked out first thing in the morning (admittedly, leaving my host slightly unaware and a tad frantic that I was going to have no idea where I was or what I was doing), I was keen to get as quickly as possible from the gorgeous confines of Sydney's Central Station; as stately and gorgeously Victorian an edifice if ever there was one. My breakfast spot was handpicked by my lovely wife: bill's. How could I say no to having breakfast at a place called "bill's."
A couple of things occurred to me as I trekked up from the station to Crown Street:
1) Sydney is hilly. No lie. I've never been to San Francisco but I can imagine that the two are topographical sisters. I was sweating profusely by the time I finally crested the hill at Crown Street.
2) Sydney is older than most people realise. Obviously, Australia takes the same knocks as does the United States when taken in comparison with Europe. The perception that we have is of a country largely incorporated and settled in the mid-late 19th century and to a large extent this is true. However, there are parts of Sydney that date from the late 18th century, and it shows. The particular neighbourhood I was hunting for food in felt more like Bermuda or other British tropical colonies than some recently constructed metropolis. I was very pleased.
I arrived at Bill's at about 9am and the place was jammed. I took my place at a table right next to the door (as if eating by oneself is not awkward enough!), pulled out a fresh copy of The Economist, and tucked into a bowl of homemade toasted müsli and a spectacular "flat white." It was expensive, but I felt as though I had earned it after my barrage of presentations the day before. I also had the opportunity to contemplate my first impressions of Sydney, especially in relation to Melbourne.
Melbourne and Sydney are the Boston and New York of the antipodes. Both are large, sprawling metropoles. Both are the respective commercial and transportation hubs for their respective states. Both hate each other with a passion that extends back into time immemorial. There is no hope for you if you try to argue for the other city with a Melburnian or Sydneysider. They will be stubborn to a fault. Sydneysiders will concede that Melbourne has more "culture" than Sydney. However, they will chastise its weather and its isolation. Melburnians will concede nothing to Sydney. In my opinion, they do not have to. To me, Sydney is the London of the Southern Hemisphere. It is large, cosmopolitan, and international. I could not live there, personally, but I would love to visit it.
After my relaxing and contemplative repast, I hotfooted it from bill's up Elizabeth Street to Oxford Street and from there to the ANZAC Memorial. ANZAC stands for "Australia-New Zealand Armed Corps." Colloquially, they were known as "diggers." The exploits of the ANZACs are--in my opinion, unfortunately--little covered in American accounts of the World Wars. It was striking for me to learn that, per capita, no country last more men than Australia in World War I. They suffered a 68% casualty rate fighting in the Levant, Gallipoli, and Europe; a strikingly high number for a nation that at the time had little more than 5-7 million inhabitants. ANZAC Day is a great national holiday for both countries. I personally have always felt a strong pull towards the ANZACs and I don't know why. Partially because it is one of history's great acronyms, but also because of the bravery, courage, and valour with which these men fought. Their homes were in Australia, but in their minds, they were still British and owed a duty to protect a land and a people thousands of miles away. I had to see how a nation like Australia would honour its war dead.
If you are antipodean and you have never been to the Sydney ANZAC memorial then you must go. Living in Europe, I have seen a fair number of World War memorials. None is so strikingly poignant and dignified as the ANZAC memorial. it is a brilliant example of art deco architecture. But the centrepiece of the memorial--a bronze figure lying dead across two swords forming a cross--sends chills up the spine. Looking at this statue from the lower level of the monument, the visitor is confronted directly by the words "Let Silent Contemplation Be Your Offering." The waters of Australia's remembrance and national feeling are deeper than many would giver her credit for. It is rare, indeed, that so young a nation has so mature a perspective on the sacrifice of combat.
At this point I was emotionally overwhelmed and had to move on to greener (literally) attractions. I don't think I will ever forget the ANZAC memorial. It is a powerful reminder that the price a nation pays in war is levied in the currency of her sons in the short term and her memory in the long term.
Terra Incognita Australis VII: Getting to Sydney Pt. II
Having dealt with the macro scale of traveling to Sydney, it's time to address the micro. By fortune, by providence, by happenstance, my lodgings for my brief stint in New South Wales would be with a friend's brother and his girlfriend at their home just to the North of Sydney in the erstwhile borough of Killara. While this was a serious benefit in many ways (accommodation gratis, a knowledgeable guide, not one but TWO black labs), it also meant that getting into Sydney was going to be slightly more difficult than just hopping a tram as I had in Melbourne. This involved a 20-30 minute walk through the suburbs to the train platform and then a train down to Sydney Central Station.
When I say the suburbs, you really would not be far off if you pictured a cross between Florida and McLean or Great Falls, Virginia. In this respect, Sydney is bizarrely like the United States. Walking around constantly reminded me of different aspects of home. It was simultaneously comforting as well as annoying. Having come to appreciate a slightly higher density of living in the UK, anything more spacious feels a tad extravagant. And extravagance is the rule in Killara. Have a look online; most of the homes have at least a tennis court if not a swimming pool as well. In spite of this, there are some really lovely homes with excellent views of the parkland that is interwoven into the fabric of Sydney's northern suburbs.
You did not misread above; I did say that I was taking a train. I found this simply marvellous and I consider it to be one of the most admirable things about urban Australia; it has a Victorian (period, not state) railway network. Had America remained in the Empire, well, there would have been all sorts of untold consequences for history. For all the benefits that Independence has granted us, we did miss out on one of the greatest periods of cultural optimism in the Victorian Age. Australians are direct inheritors of this legacy and still benefit from it to this day. Especially so in the form of a lovely train system. The Killara platform would have been at home on any rail line in the UK. Check out the pictures; it's really bizarre. It's not so much the fact that Australia has a railway network, it's that it is so good. With what little exposure I had to it, I can draw several conclusions (as written in my notebook):
1) Just because a ticket office is advertised to open at 7:30 am need not imply that it actually will. I was left with a moment of panic on the platform at Killara when I realised that the ticket office was not open. The ticket machine did not seem like it would accept my card and I had no bills. By what can only be the grace of God I had exactly $4.20 Australian in change; the fare from Killara to Sydney Central.
2) "Beware Gap when Boarding" lacks the cheeky simplicity of "Mind the Gap"
3) I was disappointed that the train wasn't called the "Emu Express" or "Wacky Wallaby." Come on Australia, it isn't stereotypical, it's a part of your heritage.
4) The Sydney rail system reminded me more of the German S-Bahn than British Rail. Again, it's not so much that Sydney has rail, it's that it is so bizarrely out of place and that much better than the British rail system.
Much like the remarkable flight from Melbourne I described in my last blog post, the North Shore line does not fail to disappoint with scenery as it approaches the city. The closer one gets to Sydney proper, the more rocky, hilly, and grand the landscape becomes. Eventually, it all opens up into a spectacular view overlooking the harbour and the old town down on the rocks. Easily the best 25 minutes I've spent on a train, ever.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Terra Incognita Australis Post VI: Getting to Sydney
Getting to Sydney is something that one does in stages; micro and macro, if you are of a more economic bent. On the macro scale is the matter of domestic air travel within Australia. On the micro level, one has to navigate Sydney's congested highway system or (surprisingly) capable rail network.
Air travel within the US has always been a bit of an inconvenience and a nightmare. The regulations seem to change deliberately so as to be incomprehensible. Our airlines go out of their way to make the skies unfriendly. I'd like to say that it was not always like this, but that is probably my own perception from the rose-colored glasses of childhood. Similarly, Ryanair and its competitors in Europe seem to establish new lows for blatant commercialism and standards for the "passenger = living cargo" model of air transport. My surprise was quite genuine, then, when I found the Melbourne to Sydney leg run by Virgin Blue to be an altogether hassle-free, pleasant, and enjoyable experience. Melbourne airport is little bigger than Stansted, so it is easy to navigate. Security was actually helpful, and the terminals were clean. The flight itself was unremarkable, which is to say a lot in this day and age. I happened to be sat next to a young couple from California who, along with their delightful two year old daughter, were travelling in Melbourne and Sydney. The views afforded by flying from Melbourne to Sydney are singular. I am still filled with awe by the view as we flew into New South Wales over the Blue Mountains. Literally everything about this country is picturesque and amazing. Even something as mundane as a morning commuter flight from Melbourne to Sydney involves a sweeping arc around the Central Business District (CBD) out over the Pacific coast and a striking landing path over the harbour waters.
I had not originally intended to wrote about this, but as I had some pictures I thought that it would be worthwhile. To paraphrase the end of John's gospel, if I were to write down everything that was remarkable or beautiful about Australia there would not be enough books in the world.
Terra Incognita Australis Post V: Leaving Melbourne
I apologise for not having sufficient time (or mental capacity) lately to post. As my primary purpose for travelling to Melbourne was business, it was business that came first. For reasons of professionalism, I cannot comment on the conference other than to say that it was an interesting and enjoyable experience, and that if I eventually decide to leave the field then I will have a great deal to write about. Forgive the stream-of-consciousness writing as I do have a lot of ground to make up.
Yesterday was my last full day in Melbourne. What I have to say, is that Melbourne is one of the greatest cities for running on the planet. When we left the hotel at 6am, we headed straight for the path that runs around the garden border; the famous “Tan.” As was explained to me, it is called the “Tan” not because of gorgeous sunbathers (though assuredly there are many), but instead because it at one point in time had been covered in tan wood. This was done for the sake of exercising the horses. For reasons lost to Australian history, men started running on it eventually giving birth to the 3.5km metric by which all Melburnian runners are measured. Now, in any other city in the world, running at 6am puts you into a fairly limited crowd; especially if you’re heading towards a semi-darkened path. Running the Tan, though, is such a phenomenon, that the path was chock full of people. It was incredible; like everyone secretly decided that we could reverse the order of things and nighttime really was the best time to go out for a leisurely stroll or jog. In the middle of our hour long run, my partner and I managed 13:30 on the Tan, enough to open a few eyes at the conference.
Despite having been trapped in a room with no windows for the better part of the last three or four days, my enthusiasm for this city has not diminished. While I have had more of an opportunity to see it, I still am disappointed that I cannot see more of it. It is a wonderful place. There are beaches, old buildings, magnificent skyscrapers, good cafés, good public transit, friendly people, and of course, good weather. I fly out for Sydney and the unknown, yet again, and I do so with the distinct trepidation that I am leaving my heart behind.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Terra Incognita Australis – Post IV: Two Hours in “Singapore”
Terra Incognita Australis – Post IV: Two Hours in “Singapore”
Picking up where Post III left off, allow me to continue expounding the virtues of the Airbus A380. In Singapore Airlines configuration, the A380-800 (that is 800 passengers) actually seats only 470. Hence, there is more room available. Granted, on the 2205 Heathrow-Singapore route (which I will forever dub the “Breeder Line” because of the unexpected proliferation of infants. Thanks Mom and Dad for not taking me on a 22-hour plane ride when I was that young. Either they breed them differently Down Under or the parents really are just that crazy), the plane is hardly at capacity. Thanks to my luxury lie-flat Economy seating, the four-hours of kip I got was easily the most restful sleep I have ever had on an airplane. I am not kidding when I say that the 7186 miles between London and Singapore felt nowhere near as long as the 9-hour London to Washington journey of 2008, all thanks to having a row to myself.
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Flying into Singapore Changi was—without hyperbole—one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had the pleasure to enjoy. This is putting it into the same spine-tingling realm as the first football game I attended at Scott Stadium, the first time I raced track and field, and the first time I kissed my wife. Seriously, it is simply that cool. You descend through the clouds with the Malay Peninsula off to the East and the sea is literally full of ships. I grew up going to my grandparents’ house in South Florida and I always would watch ships coming into Fort Lauderdale and Miami harbours, but I’ve not seen a thing like this. The closer one gets to Singapore, the more ships appear. They dot the surface like water bugs.
Despite the fact that I know not all international airports are created equally, the contrast between Heathrow and Changi is stark. The contrast is brought into even greater relief when you consider that both airports act as the major hubs for their respective regions. Yet, Heathrow seems to bumble along, barely able to function, while Changi runs with a breathless efficiency that is downright tranquil. You know that there are thousands of travellers passing through to go off to all corners of Asia, yet the hallways are wide, quiet, and above all else, clean. The airport even has a butterfly garden and Koi Ponds. Seriously? It’s like driving an American car all your life and then getting behind the wheel of a BMW. You immediately wonder why they aren’t all made this way. Heathrow, for all its girth and notoriety, is no BMW.
Terra Incognita Australis – Post III: How does one go to Australia from England?
The short answer—for those of you who wonder about this sort of thing—is: You fly straight there, or at least, near as the Earth will allow.
The long answer:
If we had had the “Flight Path Channel” on flights when I was a kid, it would have been simultaneously one of the most maddening and fascinating things available. I don’t know if I could have turned it off on a given flight. Yet, I feel as though I would have sat there anxiously and, let’s be frank, boringly, counting the minutes away. Thankfully, I am older and wiser than I was; that is, I know how to turn the screen off.
When I tuned into the FPC for the first time it happened to be a little less than one-quarter of the journey from England to Singapore. You can imagine my surprise to see that we were flying straight through the heart of the Ukraine. I then tucked in to my luxury bed (see previous post) for four hours of the best sleep that anyone has had in Economy class, ever. With my kidneys feeling sufficiently pulverised and ready to be served for lunch on the next flight, I decided to wake up and get a little work done. Not bad. Went to bed at midnight UK time only to wake up at noon Singapore Standard Time. Nothing like air travel to make one feel slightly less than useful.
Having woken up from my nap, I had an even more striking revelation waiting for me: we were flying straight over Afghanistan. I mean right over it. Somewhere a few hundred kilometres north of Kandahar, a few hundred kilometres south of Kabul, right through the middle of the Swat region that has been so much of a pain for Pakistan recently. Oh yes, we’ll be flying straight through Pakistan, as well.
It is never lost on me how much of a blessing it is for me to be at Cambridge. This is rarely more apparent than when I go for runs out Madingley Road past the American Memorial Cemetery. The majority of those soldiers in WWII would have been about my age, or maybe even younger. Here I am, then, benefiting from the peace that their sacrifice bestowed. While it is less first-person, here I am now winging over one of the most troubled and disputed nations on Earth while many of my fellow countrymen are engaged in fighting for the freedom of her people in a country far from home. It is not a good feeling, but flying to Australia means flying straight there.
Terra Incognita Australis – Post II: The Unbelieveabliity of Heavier than Air Flight
I’ve flown a fair amount in my 24 years on Earth; very little of which has been long-haul. In fact I can tell you exactly how many times, to where and on what airline. Never have I flown on a 747, and thanks to Singapore Airlines, I will never have to. Humanity has engineered some incredible things: the Pyramids of Giza, the Great Wall of China, the seedless orange, and the Apollo Program. After less than an hour, I can confidently add the Airbus A380 to this list. Without the benefit of Wikipedia I can’t regale (re: bore) you with meaninglessly huge statistics or metaphors bordering on the galactic. However, take it from someone who knows a thing or two about things that move: the A380 is huge. Unnervingly huge. In an economy class row there are 10 seats; three at each window and four in the middle. Currently, I have a row of three to myself; this isn’t premium economy, it’s luxury economy. Rather than feeling like chattle, I feel like a person; with people amounts of space. Hell, I know there isn’t anything wrong with it, but it feels like it. And, I think you all know what I mean, that makes it even better.
Takeoff in an A380 is like when your friend with the annoyingly deadpan sense of humour tells you something and you don’t quite know what to make of it. At first, you think he’s serious. Then you think, no way, he’s got to be kidding. Isn’t he? And you get strung out long enough that you really start to panic, and then yeah, he was kidding all along. That’s what it is like. Never have I been in a plane that needed so much runway to get off the ground. When we were on the ground I could see the canards at the ends of the wing. The further down the runway that we went, the higher the canards lifted. At the moment, I can’t see them. As someone who knows something about materials engineering, take it from me: the A380 is flexible.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to watching “The Blindside.” Did they really have to start with the LT on Theismann hit? Dang.
Terra Incognita Australis – Post I: Leaving the Shire
Imagine this: you’ve spent your entire life, or at least the majority of it, within a 20-30 mile radius of the same place; perhaps, even less. You’ve dutifully tended your Master’s garden as your father had and his father before him. Then one day you overhear something you shouldn’t have and you find yourself carrying a loaded rucksack and leading a donkey on a journey that you would never willingly take.
This is the world into which Samwise Gamgee was thrust in The Fellowship of the Ring. He didn’t need to travel, he didn’t want to travel. He had all he ever needed or wanted in the Shire. Nevertheless, duty-bound, he undertook the adventure of his life. Not even one day into the errand, Sam stops dead at the edge of a wheat field. He realizes that this is as far as he has ever travelled in his entire life. One more step and the personal record is broken, and the way is unknown. We of course benefit from literary omniscience; we can view Sam’s pause as cute, poetic, and perhaps even a bit juvenile because we know just how much further he must go. He must face the wickedness of men, the treachery of Gollum, and the trials of Mordor. One more step, indeed.
I find a comforting parallel in my own story. When we left Virginia a little over two years ago, we were going to England. We knew it wouldn’t be that far, or different, though it would turn out to be both. For my part, it was like that first step out of the wheat field. Now I find myself sitting in the cattle pen that is Heathrow Terminal 3, anxiously pounding away a stream of consciousness blogpost on the very cusp of a 22-hour flight to Melbourne, Victoria via Singapore. To me, these places are names on a map. Now they are about to be permanently transfixed in my memory as real, physical locations. We’ve seen Scotland, England, Wales, France, and Germany. Now it is time to go to the other side of the world. One step, indeed.
My intent is to post daily, both photos and words from my travels. Sometimes it will be humorous and satirical; sometimes it will hopefully be deep and insightful. I know that my time in Cambridge is unique enough; even rarer still is to be able to take the vaunted and historic “Kangaroo Route” from London to OZ. As I leave ‘the Shire,’ I do so knowing that it is a great and fantastic adventure. One that, thanks to the wonderful tubes of the Internet, I can share with you all.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Hello March!
Today has been a beautiful, sunny day. Such days are rare in the UK, particularly this time of year. Yet it is days like today that make the desire to live one's life on this island in the North Atlantic understandable. The sudden bursts of sunshine have not only awakened the daffodils and crocus, ushering in the beginning of spring in Cambridge, they have also reminded us that time is passing, and passing quickly. Though we are certainly excited for what the coming months may bring, we are also sad at the prospect of leaving a place we have only begun to understand and appreciate. Not to mention a style of life we enjoy, and people we love. Ah, but such thoughts are not for now. No, as we continue to savor our time in Cambridge, let us share with you a short photo post of our recent adventures and activities. Cue 80s montage music! 
Celebrating Jackie's 25th birthday. Highlights included: a Will-planned + exceptionally executed SURPRISE PARTY (complete with 25 years of photos slideshow); weekend in London at Hotel 41; cupcakes from hummingbird; dinner at Moro; high tea at Fortnum + Mason; and buying The Tray. 
Receiving a quick visit from Will's Mom. Awwww. 
Exploring previously-unfamiliar parts of London, such as The City, Southwark, Notting Hill, and Wherever the River Cafe is Located.
The Tate Modern: A World All its Own. And one with GIANT lightsaber displays at that!
Why, yes, we now know how to find Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. Not to mention, Vinopolis + Terroirs!
Loving Borough Market, despite the Saturday crowds.
Wine is good too.
Enjoying a visit from KRISTA! Our first, and only friend thus far, to plan a trip to Europe solely for the purpose of visiting us. (She, in fact, joined us on many of the excursions mentioned above and below.) Yes, we felt special. Not enough photos were taken (blame it on the cold) to do justice to her time here, but trust us, it was awesome. Space was tight, but no one got hurt. We think we can now say with confidence, that, yes Krista, if Will should ever become a City Banker, you can come live with us and Jackie will bake bread for breakfast.
Traveling to Paris. Just a quick hop across The Channel for Jackie and Krista, but a nice trip nonetheless. Many baguettes, bottles of wine, and French pastries were consumed.
Many more baguettes, bottles of wine, and French pastries will be consumed.
