There is only one.
Lifelong goal of smashing a guitar accomplished.
The seersucker.
Good to see you, old friend.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Friday, August 21, 2015
Three Months of Travel: New York
Get the free upgrade from London -> New York -> DC. It's gonna be a good day.
Three Months of Travel: London Round 2
Location: London, UK
Duration: 2 days
Population: 13,879,757
Nickname: London Town (I guess)
Back to London and the Nice hangover is strong. Dragging our suitcases out of the Tube in Notting Hill, the pristine row houses just aren't as pristine. Things only get worse when we finally find our spot: An AirBnB disaster du jour.
Our host greets us and asks us to leave our shoes at the door. That was fine until we saw her floors: scratched up, worn and littered with hair, both from guests and her kitty named Karma.
The lady was in her 50s and had an undisclosed number of people living with her. There was something in the neighborhood of two sons. Perhaps one partner, a woman her age. Stu also heard her welcome another AirBnB victim later. There may have been more. We never got a good headcount. The halls turned corners we didn't look down.
Techno music pulsed through the house. During the daytime. From a woman in her 50s. "Want me to turn that down?" she asked, her hand adjusting the volume two notches out of thirty.
Stu and I passed the Capitalism is Evil poster in the hall, took our room and shut the door. It was one of London's only two-bed options within our price range (and still more than our palace in Nice). Stu was scheduled to fly out the next day, but I was locked in and paid for two nights. After witnessing some drug dealing/use outside our window that night, I left with him. He was going to Heathrow. I was bound for the Best Western.
Not that this is London's fault. It's more of all of ours for propping this place up as such a global treasure. London in the summer, I now believe, is to be avoided. The weather is perfect, yes, but is that really London? Shouldn't it be foggy and cold and British? The 15-minute wait to buy a Tube ticket with all the other tourists tells me I'm in the wrong place.
There was that run in Hyde Park. And dinner with our old friend Wickham who came all the way from Oxford just to say hello. The city has its charms, it just helps to make 50 grand a year more than I do to experience them.
The real London is for them. The pinstriped suits and stilettos that crowded the sidewalks beside me. Our feet moved in the same direction, but they were going some place further. Down corners and into private cars not waiting for me. Doors shut and off they went ahead. Some place in the distance, just out of reach.
Duration: 2 days
Population: 13,879,757
Nickname: London Town (I guess)
Back to London and the Nice hangover is strong. Dragging our suitcases out of the Tube in Notting Hill, the pristine row houses just aren't as pristine. Things only get worse when we finally find our spot: An AirBnB disaster du jour.
Our host greets us and asks us to leave our shoes at the door. That was fine until we saw her floors: scratched up, worn and littered with hair, both from guests and her kitty named Karma.
The lady was in her 50s and had an undisclosed number of people living with her. There was something in the neighborhood of two sons. Perhaps one partner, a woman her age. Stu also heard her welcome another AirBnB victim later. There may have been more. We never got a good headcount. The halls turned corners we didn't look down.
Techno music pulsed through the house. During the daytime. From a woman in her 50s. "Want me to turn that down?" she asked, her hand adjusting the volume two notches out of thirty.
Stu and I passed the Capitalism is Evil poster in the hall, took our room and shut the door. It was one of London's only two-bed options within our price range (and still more than our palace in Nice). Stu was scheduled to fly out the next day, but I was locked in and paid for two nights. After witnessing some drug dealing/use outside our window that night, I left with him. He was going to Heathrow. I was bound for the Best Western.
Not that this is London's fault. It's more of all of ours for propping this place up as such a global treasure. London in the summer, I now believe, is to be avoided. The weather is perfect, yes, but is that really London? Shouldn't it be foggy and cold and British? The 15-minute wait to buy a Tube ticket with all the other tourists tells me I'm in the wrong place.
There was that run in Hyde Park. And dinner with our old friend Wickham who came all the way from Oxford just to say hello. The city has its charms, it just helps to make 50 grand a year more than I do to experience them.
The real London is for them. The pinstriped suits and stilettos that crowded the sidewalks beside me. Our feet moved in the same direction, but they were going some place further. Down corners and into private cars not waiting for me. Doors shut and off they went ahead. Some place in the distance, just out of reach.
Back in 1999, dinner with these two was a weekly occurrence. Good to see the Master Wick C again.
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Three Months of Travel: Nice
Location: Nice, France
Duration: 4 days
Population: 1,005,230
Nickname: Nice the Beautiful
An hour and change after my delayed flight finally left Gatwick Airport, I strolled across the Promenade du Paillon, past the Lycée Masséna and up the stairs to a top floor apartment on Rue Gioffredo.
There was an inescapable truth all around: wealth. Even with a weak Euro and nearby London looking, by comparison, astronomically more expensive, this was the land of the rich. The South of France. The Gold Coast. I did not belong here. Yet, that didn't stop the owner of this penthouse apartment (via AirBnB) from welcoming me. She showed me how to lock and unlock the door and then she was off to Spain for a wedding.
I stepped out on the balcony, looked over the city, then walked downstairs to meet my traveling companion, Stu Smith, who was flying in an hour behind me.
"You're gonna like this," I told him.
Duration: 4 days
Population: 1,005,230
Nickname: Nice the Beautiful
An hour and change after my delayed flight finally left Gatwick Airport, I strolled across the Promenade du Paillon, past the Lycée Masséna and up the stairs to a top floor apartment on Rue Gioffredo.
There was an inescapable truth all around: wealth. Even with a weak Euro and nearby London looking, by comparison, astronomically more expensive, this was the land of the rich. The South of France. The Gold Coast. I did not belong here. Yet, that didn't stop the owner of this penthouse apartment (via AirBnB) from welcoming me. She showed me how to lock and unlock the door and then she was off to Spain for a wedding.
I stepped out on the balcony, looked over the city, then walked downstairs to meet my traveling companion, Stu Smith, who was flying in an hour behind me.
"You're gonna like this," I told him.
Our apt. in Nice. A total A+ and still cheaper than a C- in London.
Stu and I switched into running gear and quickly got lost in the narrow allies of Nice's stupidly beautiful Old Town. We saw a sliver of daylight between buildings and went for it. The calm blue of the Mediterranean lay below. We sprinted left for a run around the Port Lympia and back, the sun setting over the hills in front of us.
It's just hard to say anything bad about Nice. The city looks problem-less. No poverty. No crime. These can't be true, but it's a hard sell given the evidence. The biggest issue we faced was trying to find a cab Wednesday morning to get us to the train station to go to Monaco. A cab never materialized, but hey, there was that bakery a couple blocks back, and 20 minutes later a day trip to Monaco seemed as logical as Mexico. We were thoroughly content one moment to the next.
Of course, food. Our host left us a thorough list of recommendations. We visited her favorite on day one and found that it was closed for a month-long holiday (during Nice's tourist season nonetheless, a decision we found refreshingly illogical and French). Instead, we stepped two doors down the alley to Au Resto and were blown away. If this was our luck with random places, the week was going to be A-Okay.
The duck at Au Resto. Incredible, as was Stu's fish (above).
The famous beaches of Nice are stone covered, crowded and calm. Most goers didn't have problems walking across the flat rocks. Not me. Every third step was agonizing. Eventually, I just gave up and waded in with my flip flops on.
Whattaya know, the beaches are also topless, but only about one out of 100 women exercised the right. They usually blended in with everyone else and seemed to draw no extra attention. The nudity, like most everything in life, turned out to be not that big of a deal. You'll find more flesh in Rio.
The Mediterranean Sea.
We took in the local ice cream options. I lost 30 Euro at the casino. We ate, and we ate, and we ate.
On our final night walking the streets, Stu and I knew this was going to be a tough place to leave. I didn't want to depart, I wanted to send for everyone else. One could spend a lifetime in Nice. I get the feeling that Summers there never die.
The narrow streets of Nice.
Another incredible meal, this time at La Maison de Marie.
Pastry.
Sunset in Old Town, Nice.
Stuart Smith, the Evil Genius.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Three Months of Travel: London
After 19 hours of travel, the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station.
Stuart Smith and "The Monument."
London Bridge.
The Tower of London was built almost 1,000 years ago. We stopped by to use their wifi.
Gatwick Airport, we have a problem.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Three Months of Travel: Raleigh
Ran into my old friend Ramsey Boyd at Poole's. Can't recommend this place enough. Pictured here: Their signature macaroni and cheese.
Hey, it's the Smashing Pumpkins.
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