20.1.10
I promise...
to update this blog or at least provide a link to some photo website with my hundreds of photos from the trip. I swear. That is why I am putting it out there in cyberspace. I, however, make no type of guarantee of time. How about before March? As it's almost February, I think that's reasonable....
28.9.09
24.9.09
Bangers'n'Mash'n'Nuns--Oh my!
So I met Felicia in Oxford Circus after (her) work. The theatre was ridiculously easy to find and, as we met a couple hours too early, we went to grab some din-din. Fi announced she was “starving” which just does not happen. When she added, “I may even have to get desert” I almost dropped dead from shock. I managed to pull myself together and found out she had only had some coffee and a chocolate bar or some bird food like that all day. I mean, she may only weigh 45 pounds, but even that is too few calories for her to survive. As we had eaten in the same area the week before, we wandered in the opposite direction and found…..nothing. Apparently, and I don’t know if this is a law or something, pubs and restaurants are typically not on the main drag, only the side streets. After walking a few blocks and realizing our food options were relegated to supermarkets and convenience stores, I made the executive decision to take the next side street and feed poor starving Felicia. We quickly nixed the Chippery and Japanese place (Fi’s has a sensitive stomach—most birds do) and stumbled upon a Champagne bar. Now that sounded good. A glance at the menu, however, showed our only edible options were tapas and Fi, obviously quite hungry, said, “that’s not enough food.” We spied a pub around the corner and after taking a look at the menu (well—not me, bcs I’ll eat practically anything), we found a table in the corner and settled in. I have to admit, I was pretty excited, as this was my first real pub experience. Since I’ve been traveling solo—and since I havea vagina, I was a little intimidated by entering the local pubs by myself. Especially as I was staying out of the main tourist areas-- whenever I was tempted, the long queues of the local “chaps” (with very few females, if any, in sight) made me think twice. It’s embarrassing to admit that, but, apparently I’m not as brave as I thought. Anyway, back to the evening, since I was with Felicia, I felt the power of two. I scanned the menu but made my decision pretty easily—Bangers (Sausage) and Mash (Mashed Potatos) with an optional Yorkshire Pudding and of course, a (half-pint—I had to sit through a show after all) of Guinness. As traditional, we ordered and paid at the bar, then had the food delivered to the table. I was in AWE when I first saw my plate. It looked ridiculously amazing. Three bangers on a huge bed of mash, drenched in brown gravy, all sitting on top of a gigantic Yorkshire Pudding (basically a flaky pastry type deal). Amahzing. My first bite lived up to the expectation. It was delish. My beer was awesome too and went down so smooth—I could’ve kept drinking all night. But of course, I didn’t. I only got about half way through my dinner—it was really huge. But I finished my Guinness. Everything together cost only 10 pounds. A bargain, really. Felicia even did some serious damage to her dinner—a chicken breast with cheese and bacon (I think) with bread and salad. She almost finished her food. Ridiculous! Lol.
After a time mishap (I misread my watch—24 hour clocks require too much thinking on my part), we had about an hour to kill so we wandered over to Liberty department store on Regent Street. Liberty is pretty cool because the building is Tudor-style amidst the mainly Georgian and Victorian architecture of the West End shopping district, and was made using timbers from ancient British ships. The store has also been around since 1875 in its original location—cra cra, right? As we entered, we had a specific mission, find a place to pee! Felicia bemoaned the fact that there may not be a “public” restroom as the only promising signs were those of the department store café. When you need a restroom, you need a restroom, so I had no problem shelling out the cash for a drink or something, if the need arose. In any case, we hopped on the elevator in search of the café, only to find ourselves on the wrong floor, near the champagne bar. Well, God must’ve been looking out for us bcs next to the champagne bar was a clearly marked sign for “Toilets”. After walking around for a few minutes and not finding our way, I made eye contact with a salesperson and asked for the toilet. He kindly showed me and we were on our way. As I told Felicia, “I’m not embarrassed. We have to pee.” As I have found in several UK bathrooms already, they can be a little quirky. The sinks were in the stall with you, and one poor woman came out of the bathroom, only to be puzzled at the vast expanse of counter space, and no sinks. As her face turned a beautiful shade of pink, she turned heel, and headed right back into her stall. Good times. Afterwards, we wandered from floor to floor, just browsing and chit-chatting. The store is really eclectic, reminding more of something like a Fred Segal, as opposed to a Macys. Traditional designers mixed in with funky contemporary stuff. A (expensive) fabric and knitting section. A selection of bath products that would shame a Bath and Body Works. Even an amazing vintage designer boutique, complete with vintage Chanel earrings, Ferragamo shoes, and Yves St Laurent gowns. So pricey and extravagant were these items that Fi and I even had the pleasure of being warily tailed by a pissy looking sales guy. Extra good times. I also enjoyed a section of the store all made with specific prints of fabric—there was everything from purses, hankies, and tea towels to shower caps and journals. After some research, I found this is a specialty of the store. They introduce (sometimes vintage) fabrics every year and make several lines of products featuring them. Very cool. They’re a little pricey (especially considering our exchange rate), but I might have to check back in before I leave to grab something. After an ill-fated hand-rub with “Meyer Lemon” hand lotion (sounds good, right?—yeah, nope), we headed out and made our way the couple blocks to the Palladium Theatre.
I was excited to see “Sister Act” bcs of Carnegie-graduate, Patina Miller’s turn as Deloris Van Cartier—the part made famous in the movie with Whoopie. For any of you youtube/musical theatre dorks, you may know her from her amazing rendition of “Random Black Girl”. And if you don’t—go watch it now. The song is amazing and she is amazing. Also, the show got decent reviews and is rumored to be moving to the Broadway. God bless, Broadwaybox.com for having not only discount codes in the US but in the UK as well. I found Fi and I good Stalls tickets (that’s orchestra to you) for just under 40 pounds—about $65. The London Theatre experience itself is a little different than the Broadway—the main difference being that you have to pay for your playbill. I found this completely irritating, and from people-watching, found that I was not the only one. Not one to miss out on the playbill experience, I paid up without complaint, to read the bios and articles. I have to admit, the playbills are of a higher quality and a little bit larger in size, if not in page or content quantity/quality. As they’re considered part of my souvenir stash, whatever. Another difference is that almost everyone partakes of the pre-show/intermish concessions. The concession areas looked more like a popular bar, instead of the usual practically empty stands in NYC. People munched on chocolate, crisps (potato chips), chocolate and drank PLENTY of alcohol and other assorted drinks.
To be continued….
(Sorry everything is "to be continued" or not posted at all....between the inconsistent internet service and just time, it hasn't happened. No worries--I have lots to post--just not yet.)
After a time mishap (I misread my watch—24 hour clocks require too much thinking on my part), we had about an hour to kill so we wandered over to Liberty department store on Regent Street. Liberty is pretty cool because the building is Tudor-style amidst the mainly Georgian and Victorian architecture of the West End shopping district, and was made using timbers from ancient British ships. The store has also been around since 1875 in its original location—cra cra, right? As we entered, we had a specific mission, find a place to pee! Felicia bemoaned the fact that there may not be a “public” restroom as the only promising signs were those of the department store café. When you need a restroom, you need a restroom, so I had no problem shelling out the cash for a drink or something, if the need arose. In any case, we hopped on the elevator in search of the café, only to find ourselves on the wrong floor, near the champagne bar. Well, God must’ve been looking out for us bcs next to the champagne bar was a clearly marked sign for “Toilets”. After walking around for a few minutes and not finding our way, I made eye contact with a salesperson and asked for the toilet. He kindly showed me and we were on our way. As I told Felicia, “I’m not embarrassed. We have to pee.” As I have found in several UK bathrooms already, they can be a little quirky. The sinks were in the stall with you, and one poor woman came out of the bathroom, only to be puzzled at the vast expanse of counter space, and no sinks. As her face turned a beautiful shade of pink, she turned heel, and headed right back into her stall. Good times. Afterwards, we wandered from floor to floor, just browsing and chit-chatting. The store is really eclectic, reminding more of something like a Fred Segal, as opposed to a Macys. Traditional designers mixed in with funky contemporary stuff. A (expensive) fabric and knitting section. A selection of bath products that would shame a Bath and Body Works. Even an amazing vintage designer boutique, complete with vintage Chanel earrings, Ferragamo shoes, and Yves St Laurent gowns. So pricey and extravagant were these items that Fi and I even had the pleasure of being warily tailed by a pissy looking sales guy. Extra good times. I also enjoyed a section of the store all made with specific prints of fabric—there was everything from purses, hankies, and tea towels to shower caps and journals. After some research, I found this is a specialty of the store. They introduce (sometimes vintage) fabrics every year and make several lines of products featuring them. Very cool. They’re a little pricey (especially considering our exchange rate), but I might have to check back in before I leave to grab something. After an ill-fated hand-rub with “Meyer Lemon” hand lotion (sounds good, right?—yeah, nope), we headed out and made our way the couple blocks to the Palladium Theatre.
I was excited to see “Sister Act” bcs of Carnegie-graduate, Patina Miller’s turn as Deloris Van Cartier—the part made famous in the movie with Whoopie. For any of you youtube/musical theatre dorks, you may know her from her amazing rendition of “Random Black Girl”. And if you don’t—go watch it now. The song is amazing and she is amazing. Also, the show got decent reviews and is rumored to be moving to the Broadway. God bless, Broadwaybox.com for having not only discount codes in the US but in the UK as well. I found Fi and I good Stalls tickets (that’s orchestra to you) for just under 40 pounds—about $65. The London Theatre experience itself is a little different than the Broadway—the main difference being that you have to pay for your playbill. I found this completely irritating, and from people-watching, found that I was not the only one. Not one to miss out on the playbill experience, I paid up without complaint, to read the bios and articles. I have to admit, the playbills are of a higher quality and a little bit larger in size, if not in page or content quantity/quality. As they’re considered part of my souvenir stash, whatever. Another difference is that almost everyone partakes of the pre-show/intermish concessions. The concession areas looked more like a popular bar, instead of the usual practically empty stands in NYC. People munched on chocolate, crisps (potato chips), chocolate and drank PLENTY of alcohol and other assorted drinks.
To be continued….
(Sorry everything is "to be continued" or not posted at all....between the inconsistent internet service and just time, it hasn't happened. No worries--I have lots to post--just not yet.)
22.9.09
My Edinburgh digs
Here's some pics of my place in Edinburgh--The Fountain Court Apartments EQ2. It's sort of ridiculous--2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, full kitchen, washer/dryer, dishwasher, balcony w/ a view, closets, flat screens, free wi-fi. Pretty sweet.
21.9.09
I'm engaged!
That's right. I'm engaged to a Scotsman from Edinburgh. His name is David Ross. His a little bit older than I am but I always thought an older man could be interesting. We're getting married in the Isle of Skye at Dunvegan Castle...or maybe it's Eilean Donan Castle....it was hard to decipher from his strong brogue but I mean, a castle's a castle, right? And it's the Isle of Skye. I'm not about to argue. Where did I meet this Davey? He was my Timberbush Tour bus driver/tour guide. Let me start at the beginning...
Today had a shaky start. I woke up bright and early (well, maybe not bright), giving myself a good 40 minutes for the (supposed) 15 minute walk to the departure point for my all-day tour to Glencoe, Loch Ness and The Highlander (hot!), I mean, the Highlands. I had prepped--google mapped everything and thought I was ready. As I walked and walked and walked, I realized I had never seen signs for my turn off. Starting to panic, I asked a passerby (hard to come by before 8a on a Sunday) where Bread St was. "5-10 mins back that way" was her answer. WTF?! Yeah--great. So I backtracked and started looking for signs and finding none, just started heading in the direction of the castle (close to where my starting point was supposed to be). Finding myself at the base of a cliff, looking up at the castle, with only 20 mins to go, I really started freaking out. I had 2 options: take the "pretty" path through the gardens and up the hill to the Royal Mile (would probably take 15 mins, at least) or head up the scary staircase that looked like it went straight up to the Royal Mile. Choice made--scary staircase. As I walked up the (millions) of steps, I started my praying, hoping to God that I was on the right road and that the bus wouldn't leave without me. I picked up my pace and started wishing for a taxi to come rescue me or for Olympic athleticism and stamina to strike. No such luck on either account. As I walked faster and faster, breathing heavily and checking my watch the whole way, I realized I had magically ended up on the right road, but was now fighting the time. As I rounded the final corner, I saw a Timberbush bus and embarrassed, sprinted up to the door, only to find the kilted ass of a man in my face. Apparently I was the last in, as he was giving an intro to the rest of the passengers. A woman in the front seat gave me a kind smile, obviously sympathizing with the winded, Hawaiian (ask anyone, I'm Hawaiian) girl who just wanted to get on the bus. Trying to be patient and polite, I waited til he acknowledged me, only to find he didn't have my name on his list, but, if I wanted he still had spaces. WHAT?! At this moment, I realized that this bus was only the first in a string of 4 other buses. Clearly on the wrong bus, and even more embarrassed then before, I apologized and ran to a group of fleece-wearing men that looked like they might know something. Jackpot. He asked if my name was "Patricia Pineda". I said, "yes". "Good. You can get on the bus." Jesus. As I boarded the bus, painfully aware that it was practically full (thank God I booked on of those smaller minibus tours so it was only 20-25 people) and feeling the sweat start to bead on my upper lip from the mostly uphill (upcliff) workout, I sat down, thanking God I made it but wanting to die a little bit at the same time. Oh well. What can you do. After I sat, caught my breath, and took a couple minutes to try to relax, I checked my watch--8:19a. I literally just made it. Departure was scheduled for 8:20a. Now safely aboard, I wondered what the hold-up was and saw the now very agitated fleece-wearing man pacing up and down the street yelling into his cellphone. Apparently I was not the late one. After a couple mins, a young woman strolled up to the bus and got chastised by fleece man, whom I know recognized as our driver/tour guide. After figuring her sweet talking and excuses were getting her nowhere, she simply said that her friends (2 ) were coming right behind her. Five minutes later, fleece man, thought apologetic, pulled out and made the announcement that we had to leave, as we had a tight schedule. We were then strictly lectured on making sure we were always on time as the bus would leave without us, with no legal repercussion, point being made with the left passengers. I knew I was in for a good time...
The tour was a long 12 hours, but seeing as The Highlands were quite a distance from Edinburgh, I knew it was worth it and I'd get to see a lot of the countryside this way. As I said, I opted for a slightly smaller minibus tour, figuring I wouldn't get lost in the shuffle and I'd be able to at least make nice-nice enough for someone to be willing to take my picture here or there, and I was right. Departing from The Royal Mile, we traveled North-West, passing Stirling Castle, to our first scheduled stop of three, Kilmahog. I just love Scottish names, don't you? Anyway, Kilmahog was basically a glorified rest area, but again, what I expected. There was a couple gift shops, a restaurant, an old wool mill, and the best, Hamesh the Highland Coo (or cow). There were some great views (a nice Brazilian couple took my picture) and Hamesh was adorably ugly. You could walk right up to him and some people fed carrots and cabbage into his slobbery mouth. As it was a Sunday, there were quite a lot of people and buses there, but it was a nice place to get some photos in and to stretch your legs.
We traveled through Rob Roy country (who was apparently less of a Robin Hood and more of a selfish thief) and really, just saw the countryside. We stopped in Fort William for lunch. Again, sort of a tourist trap but to keep it in perspective, I just thought of the stops as bathroom/snack breaks w/ a nice view. For some reason everyone wanted to wait in this horrendous line to get hot food. After debating my options and waiting a good 15 minutes just to get to the soda section of the line, I realized this and decided to break the cycle. I jumped ahead, politely reached across some crazies waiting for hot food, and grabbed a ready-made cold sandwich, some crisps (potato chips to us), paid, and got out of there. Another weird thing, everyone wanted to eat inside. I'm talking meager seating folks. There were about 10 picnic tables outside, and although it was a little chilly, I was properly dressed, and joined the other sane people eating their cold sandwiches. That left me with a good 40 minutes left to enjoy my food and browse the shop. If anyone decides to take this tour, I would suggest bringing your own food with you. I would've eaten way better had I just brought some fruit, cheese, and bread with me. Or a sandwich I made myself or bought in an Edinburgh convenience store. Oh well...next time. The interesting thing about this stop was there was a small Whisky (fun fact: Scotch Whisky is spelled with a "y" while those of other origins should always be spelled with an "ey"--guess people don't follow directions though, Maker's Mark.) shop with free samples. Yay! What better way to ride a bus than w/o your stomach coated with a thin layer of Scotch Whisky. When I say thin, I mean thin, as the samples were literally barely filled shot glasses. It was interesting tho as I tasted sweet, smokey, and bitter flavors. There was also a rhubarb wine on sample that I would NOT recommend. It tasted like old cough syrup. Yeah. Tasty. From there we drove on, passing Britain's highest mountain, Ben Nevis. I would show a picture, but apparently, Ben doesn't like to be photographed, as he was covered with a lovely jacket of clouds. Our guide told us, this is pretty usual. How rude of Ben. We drove pased the Caledonian Canal, Fort Augustus, and came to the 24-mile long/2-mile wide, Loch Ness, famous for its monster, whom the locals call "Nessie." Apparently, if you catch a glimpse of Nessie and can provide legit proof of her existence, you can win a reward of 1 million pounds, which is roughly 1.97 million American dollars. If you want to start investigating Nessie on the water, there is also a 3 year waiting list. When you get to the top of the list, you can only stay there for 6 mos, then you have to give the next person a try. Crazy, huh? At this point, we were given the option to tour Urquehart Castle (basically ruins) and take a 30 min boat cruise to the official Nessie gift shop for 15 pounds or to take a 1 hour cruise on Loch Ness and see Urquehart Castle from the water for 10 pounds or to do neither and just hang around the shop and on the shore. I chose the driver-recommended option #2--a better value as it was cheaper and you got to see the Loch and the castle (altho from the water) and the selling point was the excellent picture-taking opportunities...
OK...I'm sleepy...so I will continue this tomorrow, maybe. And you will have to wait to hear about my engagement. (And no, Mom (just in case she's reading), I'm not REALLY engaged. Sorry. lol.)
Today had a shaky start. I woke up bright and early (well, maybe not bright), giving myself a good 40 minutes for the (supposed) 15 minute walk to the departure point for my all-day tour to Glencoe, Loch Ness and The Highlander (hot!), I mean, the Highlands. I had prepped--google mapped everything and thought I was ready. As I walked and walked and walked, I realized I had never seen signs for my turn off. Starting to panic, I asked a passerby (hard to come by before 8a on a Sunday) where Bread St was. "5-10 mins back that way" was her answer. WTF?! Yeah--great. So I backtracked and started looking for signs and finding none, just started heading in the direction of the castle (close to where my starting point was supposed to be). Finding myself at the base of a cliff, looking up at the castle, with only 20 mins to go, I really started freaking out. I had 2 options: take the "pretty" path through the gardens and up the hill to the Royal Mile (would probably take 15 mins, at least) or head up the scary staircase that looked like it went straight up to the Royal Mile. Choice made--scary staircase. As I walked up the (millions) of steps, I started my praying, hoping to God that I was on the right road and that the bus wouldn't leave without me. I picked up my pace and started wishing for a taxi to come rescue me or for Olympic athleticism and stamina to strike. No such luck on either account. As I walked faster and faster, breathing heavily and checking my watch the whole way, I realized I had magically ended up on the right road, but was now fighting the time. As I rounded the final corner, I saw a Timberbush bus and embarrassed, sprinted up to the door, only to find the kilted ass of a man in my face. Apparently I was the last in, as he was giving an intro to the rest of the passengers. A woman in the front seat gave me a kind smile, obviously sympathizing with the winded, Hawaiian (ask anyone, I'm Hawaiian) girl who just wanted to get on the bus. Trying to be patient and polite, I waited til he acknowledged me, only to find he didn't have my name on his list, but, if I wanted he still had spaces. WHAT?! At this moment, I realized that this bus was only the first in a string of 4 other buses. Clearly on the wrong bus, and even more embarrassed then before, I apologized and ran to a group of fleece-wearing men that looked like they might know something. Jackpot. He asked if my name was "Patricia Pineda". I said, "yes". "Good. You can get on the bus." Jesus. As I boarded the bus, painfully aware that it was practically full (thank God I booked on of those smaller minibus tours so it was only 20-25 people) and feeling the sweat start to bead on my upper lip from the mostly uphill (upcliff) workout, I sat down, thanking God I made it but wanting to die a little bit at the same time. Oh well. What can you do. After I sat, caught my breath, and took a couple minutes to try to relax, I checked my watch--8:19a. I literally just made it. Departure was scheduled for 8:20a. Now safely aboard, I wondered what the hold-up was and saw the now very agitated fleece-wearing man pacing up and down the street yelling into his cellphone. Apparently I was not the late one. After a couple mins, a young woman strolled up to the bus and got chastised by fleece man, whom I know recognized as our driver/tour guide. After figuring her sweet talking and excuses were getting her nowhere, she simply said that her friends (2 ) were coming right behind her. Five minutes later, fleece man, thought apologetic, pulled out and made the announcement that we had to leave, as we had a tight schedule. We were then strictly lectured on making sure we were always on time as the bus would leave without us, with no legal repercussion, point being made with the left passengers. I knew I was in for a good time...
The tour was a long 12 hours, but seeing as The Highlands were quite a distance from Edinburgh, I knew it was worth it and I'd get to see a lot of the countryside this way. As I said, I opted for a slightly smaller minibus tour, figuring I wouldn't get lost in the shuffle and I'd be able to at least make nice-nice enough for someone to be willing to take my picture here or there, and I was right. Departing from The Royal Mile, we traveled North-West, passing Stirling Castle, to our first scheduled stop of three, Kilmahog. I just love Scottish names, don't you? Anyway, Kilmahog was basically a glorified rest area, but again, what I expected. There was a couple gift shops, a restaurant, an old wool mill, and the best, Hamesh the Highland Coo (or cow). There were some great views (a nice Brazilian couple took my picture) and Hamesh was adorably ugly. You could walk right up to him and some people fed carrots and cabbage into his slobbery mouth. As it was a Sunday, there were quite a lot of people and buses there, but it was a nice place to get some photos in and to stretch your legs.
We traveled through Rob Roy country (who was apparently less of a Robin Hood and more of a selfish thief) and really, just saw the countryside. We stopped in Fort William for lunch. Again, sort of a tourist trap but to keep it in perspective, I just thought of the stops as bathroom/snack breaks w/ a nice view. For some reason everyone wanted to wait in this horrendous line to get hot food. After debating my options and waiting a good 15 minutes just to get to the soda section of the line, I realized this and decided to break the cycle. I jumped ahead, politely reached across some crazies waiting for hot food, and grabbed a ready-made cold sandwich, some crisps (potato chips to us), paid, and got out of there. Another weird thing, everyone wanted to eat inside. I'm talking meager seating folks. There were about 10 picnic tables outside, and although it was a little chilly, I was properly dressed, and joined the other sane people eating their cold sandwiches. That left me with a good 40 minutes left to enjoy my food and browse the shop. If anyone decides to take this tour, I would suggest bringing your own food with you. I would've eaten way better had I just brought some fruit, cheese, and bread with me. Or a sandwich I made myself or bought in an Edinburgh convenience store. Oh well...next time. The interesting thing about this stop was there was a small Whisky (fun fact: Scotch Whisky is spelled with a "y" while those of other origins should always be spelled with an "ey"--guess people don't follow directions though, Maker's Mark.) shop with free samples. Yay! What better way to ride a bus than w/o your stomach coated with a thin layer of Scotch Whisky. When I say thin, I mean thin, as the samples were literally barely filled shot glasses. It was interesting tho as I tasted sweet, smokey, and bitter flavors. There was also a rhubarb wine on sample that I would NOT recommend. It tasted like old cough syrup. Yeah. Tasty. From there we drove on, passing Britain's highest mountain, Ben Nevis. I would show a picture, but apparently, Ben doesn't like to be photographed, as he was covered with a lovely jacket of clouds. Our guide told us, this is pretty usual. How rude of Ben. We drove pased the Caledonian Canal, Fort Augustus, and came to the 24-mile long/2-mile wide, Loch Ness, famous for its monster, whom the locals call "Nessie." Apparently, if you catch a glimpse of Nessie and can provide legit proof of her existence, you can win a reward of 1 million pounds, which is roughly 1.97 million American dollars. If you want to start investigating Nessie on the water, there is also a 3 year waiting list. When you get to the top of the list, you can only stay there for 6 mos, then you have to give the next person a try. Crazy, huh? At this point, we were given the option to tour Urquehart Castle (basically ruins) and take a 30 min boat cruise to the official Nessie gift shop for 15 pounds or to take a 1 hour cruise on Loch Ness and see Urquehart Castle from the water for 10 pounds or to do neither and just hang around the shop and on the shore. I chose the driver-recommended option #2--a better value as it was cheaper and you got to see the Loch and the castle (altho from the water) and the selling point was the excellent picture-taking opportunities...
OK...I'm sleepy...so I will continue this tomorrow, maybe. And you will have to wait to hear about my engagement. (And no, Mom (just in case she's reading), I'm not REALLY engaged. Sorry. lol.)
Can someone make a comment, pls?
My bro is having trouble posting comments so I just wanted to see if it's him or something with my settings. Thanks.
15.9.09
"Update your blog, biyotch"
The title is a direct quote from my loving, eldest brother. Thanks, Ger. Anyway, this biyotch is blogging, ok?!
So, Day 2--the rains came. And man, it just did not stop. My plan was to take the Big Bus Tour (you know, touristy, double-decker, red bus deal) all the way around town to get my bearings and then figure out what I wanted to check out. Yeah--that did not happen. I have no problems being a tourist but I refuse to be one of those crazed take no prisoners tourists who will don the plastic poncho and work that double decker. Uh uh, no ma'am, that is no what we do. So I did what I do whenever it rains and I have no pressing matters...I take my sweet ass time. I took a super-long shower and was pleasantly surprised to find out that my hand-held shower head was not alone in there--I looked up and saw a magical gigantic waterfall shower head mounted to the ceiling. Thank you, God.
After extensive cleansing and primping (for no reason at all), I wandered in the direction of the closest tube station, Paddington. By now it was late enough to consider lunch and still pouring so I walked into a cool looking brasserie called Phi, which is attached to the overpriced Hotel Indigo. They had low, modern furniture upholstered in this trippy striped fabric. I ordered a 3-course prix fixe lunch, whipped out my Time Out London, and settled in to avoid the rain. Food was decent. The place was cuter than the food was tasty, but not too bad.
After avoiding the inevitable for as long as I could, I went back out and figured it was time to get the whole cell phone situation taken care of. I went into Paddington Train Station to look for a Vodophone or other similar store and unfortunately, found one. The guys in there were total douche bags and not helpful at all. When I brought out my phone and sim card (on loan from Tita Ina) and asked how to use it, they basically said to "put it in like normal and call this number." Wow. Thanks. Realizing that they were not going to be helpful in any way, I went in search of Carphone Warehouse. When I asked the newspaper man where it was, he pointed out directions and then helpfully added, "but ya know it's pourin out, right?" Yes, thanks. Five minutes later, I had found my destination and hoped for the best. This time I hit the jackpot--a nice woman who felt my pain and helped me to set everything up, buy what I needed, etc. Good times. So, when in Europe and in need of a local mobile, I urge you to avoid the Voda jerks and head for Carphone Warehouse.
With new phone in hand, I headed back to the hotel to charge that bad boy so I could be prepared when Felicia called. We planned to meet for dinner in Soho. I plugged the phone in, started playing with settings and the manual and next thing you know, I'm startled awake from a hard sleep by the text msg buzz. It's Felicia telling me she just left work. Well shit! Looks like that jet lag found me. Panicked bcs I'm supposed to take the tube to get to her, and I hadn't gotten my ticket or looked at a map or anything (and knowing how confusing the NYC subway can be to a first-timer), I hauled ass out of there. Of course, it was still raining, but what can you do. (My trench coat, compact, yet sturdy umbrella and Ugg boots were the best things I could've brought on this trip.) Thank God the London tube ended up being sort of like, NYC Subway Lite. I went to the ticket man bcs the booths confused me, and the nice man gave me my card and told me the easiest route to my destination. As I went to the escalator, another uniformed man was calling out directions to random travelers. I got to the platform just in time to see my train pull out of the station. Settling in for a long NYC wait, I sat down on a bench and was immediately shocked to find another train pulling into the station. Cra-cra! I was still stressed bcs I only had 15 mins to meet Felicia and about 4 stops to go--little did I know the tube moves at the speed of light and I was perfectly on time. The London Tube is also weird in that it's like sitting in a tiny upholstered waiting area. I dunno. It's weird. And HOT and stuffy. Even when it's not crowded. Anyway...
I met Felicia in Oxford Circus and that place was insane! People everywhere--like NYC Times Square on a sunny summer day. Except it was like, 20 degrees and pouring rain out. After fighting our way through the crowds, Fi pulled us into the Carnaby Street area to look for an appropriate place to eat. I don't know how to describe it other than to compare it to the NYC Soho--it's very similiar. We wandered around and eventually decided on an interesting looking place called "The Living Room." It seemed normal enough and I was excited to try their random food. Fi and I shared (I use the term "share" loosely since Fi doesn't eat) a couple small plates--Wok fried Edamame and Ginger (reeeaaally good) and a hummus and pita (eh...Astoria Greek is better). Fi got a salad (surprise) and I decided to get two starters for my meal so I could check out their "high end" food. I ordered Roast Saddle of Rabbit w/ Crisp Acorn Fed Ham and a Cider Cream and Prawn and Crab Cake with Crispy Shallot Rings and Cucumber Salad. Yeah...fancy right? I mean, I'm all about satisfying my inner foodie but I have to admit I was disappointed. The rabbit was really dry and just blah. The salad--really more like a garnish--that was served with it was the best part. Sort of sesame tasting and honestly I never tasted the Cider Cream. The Prawn and Crab Cake was better but it sort of didn't work. I dunno. I guess I just expected more. I have to say the place is really cool though. It's sort of huge and there's a VIP lounge and a big bar. The best part though, is the bathrooms. Yes, the bathrooms. I asked the hostess where to go and she said, "go down the stairs and look for the shoe." Yes...the shoe. Ok. Whatever. I head downstairs and am a bit taken aback as I see only paneling and no doors, but considering there's a huge sink basin in the middle of the room, I assume bathrooms must be somewhere. So I look for the shoe. I looked up and literally saw a man's shoe coming out of the wall. I blindly pushed at the walls until one swung open and realized by the smell before the sight, that this was certainly the mens room. But then where the hell was the women's room?! Slightly panicked now (what if someone comes down and sees me looking like a dear in headlights desperately needing to pee?) I'm searching the room for another shoe and FINALLY see a high heel coming out of another wall, almost blending in. Annoying. I walked in and knew I had found the place. But that's not where the adventure ends. For those of you who know me, you know I LOVE a kitschy bathroom. Case in point, the fantastic toilets at Vynl Diner in Hell's Kitchen. I try and take everyone I know there and encourage them to use the bathroom....more than once. (If you dont' know what I'm talking about, I obviously need to take you there and soon.) So imagine my glee when I opened a stall only to find the walls completely carpeted in oriental rugs and the back made to look like a bookcase in a study. There was even old time radio being piped in. It was awesome.
By this time, Fi had to head back and I took off back for my hotel. Still raining. Hard. Overall, not a supremely eventful or tourist-satisfying day, but not a bad way to spend a rainy one...
So, Day 2--the rains came. And man, it just did not stop. My plan was to take the Big Bus Tour (you know, touristy, double-decker, red bus deal) all the way around town to get my bearings and then figure out what I wanted to check out. Yeah--that did not happen. I have no problems being a tourist but I refuse to be one of those crazed take no prisoners tourists who will don the plastic poncho and work that double decker. Uh uh, no ma'am, that is no what we do. So I did what I do whenever it rains and I have no pressing matters...I take my sweet ass time. I took a super-long shower and was pleasantly surprised to find out that my hand-held shower head was not alone in there--I looked up and saw a magical gigantic waterfall shower head mounted to the ceiling. Thank you, God.
After avoiding the inevitable for as long as I could, I went back out and figured it was time to get the whole cell phone situation taken care of. I went into Paddington Train Station to look for a Vodophone or other similar store and unfortunately, found one. The guys in there were total douche bags and not helpful at all. When I brought out my phone and sim card (on loan from Tita Ina) and asked how to use it, they basically said to "put it in like normal and call this number." Wow. Thanks. Realizing that they were not going to be helpful in any way, I went in search of Carphone Warehouse. When I asked the newspaper man where it was, he pointed out directions and then helpfully added, "but ya know it's pourin out, right?" Yes, thanks. Five minutes later, I had found my destination and hoped for the best. This time I hit the jackpot--a nice woman who felt my pain and helped me to set everything up, buy what I needed, etc. Good times. So, when in Europe and in need of a local mobile, I urge you to avoid the Voda jerks and head for Carphone Warehouse.
With new phone in hand, I headed back to the hotel to charge that bad boy so I could be prepared when Felicia called. We planned to meet for dinner in Soho. I plugged the phone in, started playing with settings and the manual and next thing you know, I'm startled awake from a hard sleep by the text msg buzz. It's Felicia telling me she just left work. Well shit! Looks like that jet lag found me. Panicked bcs I'm supposed to take the tube to get to her, and I hadn't gotten my ticket or looked at a map or anything (and knowing how confusing the NYC subway can be to a first-timer), I hauled ass out of there. Of course, it was still raining, but what can you do. (My trench coat, compact, yet sturdy umbrella and Ugg boots were the best things I could've brought on this trip.) Thank God the London tube ended up being sort of like, NYC Subway Lite. I went to the ticket man bcs the booths confused me, and the nice man gave me my card and told me the easiest route to my destination. As I went to the escalator, another uniformed man was calling out directions to random travelers. I got to the platform just in time to see my train pull out of the station. Settling in for a long NYC wait, I sat down on a bench and was immediately shocked to find another train pulling into the station. Cra-cra! I was still stressed bcs I only had 15 mins to meet Felicia and about 4 stops to go--little did I know the tube moves at the speed of light and I was perfectly on time. The London Tube is also weird in that it's like sitting in a tiny upholstered waiting area. I dunno. It's weird. And HOT and stuffy. Even when it's not crowded. Anyway...
I met Felicia in Oxford Circus and that place was insane! People everywhere--like NYC Times Square on a sunny summer day. Except it was like, 20 degrees and pouring rain out. After fighting our way through the crowds, Fi pulled us into the Carnaby Street area to look for an appropriate place to eat. I don't know how to describe it other than to compare it to the NYC Soho--it's very similiar. We wandered around and eventually decided on an interesting looking place called "The Living Room." It seemed normal enough and I was excited to try their random food. Fi and I shared (I use the term "share" loosely since Fi doesn't eat) a couple small plates--Wok fried Edamame and Ginger (reeeaaally good) and a hummus and pita (eh...Astoria Greek is better). Fi got a salad (surprise) and I decided to get two starters for my meal so I could check out their "high end" food. I ordered Roast Saddle of Rabbit w/ Crisp Acorn Fed Ham and a Cider Cream and Prawn and Crab Cake with Crispy Shallot Rings and Cucumber Salad. Yeah...fancy right? I mean, I'm all about satisfying my inner foodie but I have to admit I was disappointed. The rabbit was really dry and just blah. The salad--really more like a garnish--that was served with it was the best part. Sort of sesame tasting and honestly I never tasted the Cider Cream. The Prawn and Crab Cake was better but it sort of didn't work. I dunno. I guess I just expected more. I have to say the place is really cool though. It's sort of huge and there's a VIP lounge and a big bar. The best part though, is the bathrooms. Yes, the bathrooms. I asked the hostess where to go and she said, "go down the stairs and look for the shoe." Yes...the shoe. Ok. Whatever. I head downstairs and am a bit taken aback as I see only paneling and no doors, but considering there's a huge sink basin in the middle of the room, I assume bathrooms must be somewhere. So I look for the shoe. I looked up and literally saw a man's shoe coming out of the wall. I blindly pushed at the walls until one swung open and realized by the smell before the sight, that this was certainly the mens room. But then where the hell was the women's room?! Slightly panicked now (what if someone comes down and sees me looking like a dear in headlights desperately needing to pee?) I'm searching the room for another shoe and FINALLY see a high heel coming out of another wall, almost blending in. Annoying. I walked in and knew I had found the place. But that's not where the adventure ends. For those of you who know me, you know I LOVE a kitschy bathroom. Case in point, the fantastic toilets at Vynl Diner in Hell's Kitchen. I try and take everyone I know there and encourage them to use the bathroom....more than once. (If you dont' know what I'm talking about, I obviously need to take you there and soon.) So imagine my glee when I opened a stall only to find the walls completely carpeted in oriental rugs and the back made to look like a bookcase in a study. There was even old time radio being piped in. It was awesome.
By this time, Fi had to head back and I took off back for my hotel. Still raining. Hard. Overall, not a supremely eventful or tourist-satisfying day, but not a bad way to spend a rainy one...
14.9.09
Let's start at the very beginning...
Let's start the very beginning...(but not the back story of planning the trip or events leading up to it--that's just too much)
The Plane Ride was horrible. About 7.5 hours of pure pain from Newark to Heathrow. I smartly (or so I thought at the time) booked an exit row seat. I love exit row seats--lots of leg room, you can get up to go to the bathroom easily if you need to, no kids allowed in the aisle--it's great. One problem--you can't recline your seat. I don't know if this is an issue if you're the last exit row, but I, alas, was not. Not reclining is not a problem for say a 2, or even 4 hour trip, but 7.5 hours? No ma'am! In the immortal words of the ever-classy, Khia: "My neck, my back (lick it)...". I ached all over and there was not much I could do. I did meet a nice Filipino (of course) from Virginia Beach (double of course) who was very friendly (triple of course, know to be known as "o.c."), a couple seats over from me. We became airport buddies at Heathrow and it was sort of nice to talk to someone in line at Customs and to wait at baggage with. We exchanged info but it remains to be seen if we'll meet again...knowing me, probably not. (Bad, Trish.)
Dot2Dot is this coach service I found online through various recommendations. It's a point-to-point shuttle service that supposedly costs less than half of what a taxi would cost. I went up to the desk to confirm my reservation and was greet by two, quite nattily dressed, older Brits who called me sweetheart and darling, which is never a bad thing. Well, usually not a bad thing. The best dressed of the two (pin-striped dark pants, floral button-down shirt, solid vest, and patterned tie--somehow all came together) actually came over to the general waiting area (not just designated for Dot2Dot customers) and collected us individually and walked us out to the mini bus. He even told us little anecdotes as we walked, one sad one (meant to serve as a cautionary tale), I'll share with you--A young American couple flew into Gatwick airport. They were on their honeymoon. As they left the station, they spotted their coach across the street and stressed about the possibility of missing it, ran across without looking. A large bus caught them unawares and they were hit, run over, and caught in the wheels. The man died instantly and the wife died the next day. Yeah...that's a real downer, huh? His point--"We drive on the correct side of the road. Look both ways. Twice. And be careful, dahlin." Yeah. Anyhoo, back to the ride. Ended up sitting across from a woman from Houston, TX. Nice lady who works in the oil business...she was also blonde, had a thick drawl, and wore ill-fitting clothing. Oh stereotypes. She was also on a "holiday" visiting her friend for a few days. It was nice chatting with her as the 30 min ride turned into a little over an hour bcs of heinous lunch hour traffic. It would've been great if I didn't have the nasty habit of getting carsick. No worries--no upchuck-age involved, just lots of nausea that I, of course, kept to myself. Overall, the service lived up to its hype--comfortable, very easy to use, and while at about $40, it's not the cheapest way to get from the airport into town, for someone coming into a new country off of a long international flight, it was well worth the convenience. I highly recommend them if you're ever in the area.
The hotel was a mix of the expected and unexpected. The Shaftesbury Metropolis London Hyde Park (link) is a little misleading in its name. Sounds very grand, yes? It's set in a row house--one in a long long line of row houses that goes for several blocks of just hotels, guest houses and b&bs. Sort of weird. After much research on tripadvisor and other websites, I chose it for its close proximity to several tube stations and positive reviews and pics online. The lobby is super modern--the walls are black and white stripes and there are pops of orange and blue everywhere. The sofas are cleanlined and bright orange. There's also a huge amoeba-shaped orange light fixture. The ceiling is painted midnight blue and dotted with tiny "star" lights. There's also a couple computers, a gigantic flatscreen tv and lounge area. I'm told there's a gym (a what?) and a restaurant as well. My room was on the 3rd (top) floor and the place is like a maze. From the elevator, a sign pointed me up a short flight of stairs and through a door. From the door I had to turn left down a very short corrider and go down a short flight of stairs down another very short corridor to my room at the end. The room is small (but I expected this) but not quite as bad as I thought it would be...but maybe this is bcs I got a double bed instead of a single (twin) bed. It's traditional but modern so I guess the right term would be "Transitional". Dark woods, gilded mirrors, padded upholstered headboard, printed curtains and bronze sheers. There were a couple nightstands, a little desk and chair (more like a vanity area), a clothing cupboard (closet and shelves) and a little corner station with a hidden microwave, mini fridge, tea kettle, and fresh flowers--a nice surprise. A flatscreen LCS tv also made me feel quite at home. lol. The bathroom is also teeny (again expected) but super cute. The shower is glassed in with a hand-held shower head and the sink is one of those free-standing bowl pedestal sinks. There's about 4 inches of counter space around, but a couple small shelves save the bathroom from being totally inconvenient. Note to self and other travelers, next time bring a hooked toiletry bag--way more convenient. Might have to pick one up. The bed is soft but bcs I'm so used to my pillow-top, I think it's really comfortable. There's a bunch of construction outside my window, but honestly, after living in NY, it's not really a bother. But I suppose I will know tomorrow whether that kind feeling lasts...
For dinner, I met Tita Ina (Mom's brother's wife's former sister-in-law....did you follow that?). She came and met me at the hotel and we walked to a Spanish place she liked in the area (Paddington). After walking in circles a few times, we stopped and asked a waiter and a man on the street if they knew of it. Little did we know, we had just starting talking to Crazy, personified. The waiter simply said no and then Crazy (gray hair, glasses, 50-ish, black leather jacket, salt-and-pepper chest hair trying to escape from his gray t-shirt) asked if we had an address and then interrupted our answer (no) by asking if I knew that he owned 19 hotels. No, I didn't know that. Then he would ask another question, roll his eyes at my Aunt (who was mildly terrified at this point, but still being polite), and then tell me another fun fact about himself....he's a millionaire, old-school gangster...so many things I can't even remember. Then, he grabbed my arm tightly and (of course, interrupting talking again) looks me in the eye and says, "I like you". Somewhere in his insanity he must've realized what that sounded like to a female, and he hastily said, "I mean....not like that but y'know let's get a pint or a coffee somewhere and talk, why don't we?" I politely said no (at this point, I don't even know what Tita Ina is thinking, but I'm sure it has to do with calling the police) and talked to him like he was a small child, explaining that I had to go to dinner w/ my Aunt. He seemed bewildered that I wouldn't accept his invite and repeated his list of attributes again (millionaire, gangster, hotel scion) and I removed my arm from his grasp, patted his arm and said, "I have to go now but I will most certainly tell everyone I know that I met a true gangster, millionaire, hotel owner. Bye" and walked away with my Aunt. She seemed bewildered by the whole experience and simply said something along the lines of it being good that I'm from NY and know how to handle myself. As we walked, Crazy continued to another restaurant where he started telling more unsuspecting diners of his many charms. Eventually, we found out that the place we were after was closed, so we ended up walking around, reading menus, finally deciding on a non-descript Italian place. (Turns out Tita Ina is not so adventurous when it comes to food.) We shared calamari fritti and insalata tricolore (avocado, tomato and mozzarella drizzled in olive oil, salt and pepper) and she ordered something with prawns and I decided to embrace my first official meal of vacation (I forgot to eat lunch) and got the always satisfying, artery-clogging Spaghetti a la Carbonara. After a tiramisu finale and lots and lots of family gossip-sharing, we returned to the hotel. Tita dropped me off at the lobby with my promise of meeting up again complete with family photos (via computer) to illustrate gossip.
Overall, a satisfying first day. Tomorrow, I hope to get on the Big Bus Tour for an overview of the sites. Hope it doesn't rain....
The Plane Ride was horrible. About 7.5 hours of pure pain from Newark to Heathrow. I smartly (or so I thought at the time) booked an exit row seat. I love exit row seats--lots of leg room, you can get up to go to the bathroom easily if you need to, no kids allowed in the aisle--it's great. One problem--you can't recline your seat. I don't know if this is an issue if you're the last exit row, but I, alas, was not. Not reclining is not a problem for say a 2, or even 4 hour trip, but 7.5 hours? No ma'am! In the immortal words of the ever-classy, Khia: "My neck, my back (lick it)...". I ached all over and there was not much I could do. I did meet a nice Filipino (of course) from Virginia Beach (double of course) who was very friendly (triple of course, know to be known as "o.c."), a couple seats over from me. We became airport buddies at Heathrow and it was sort of nice to talk to someone in line at Customs and to wait at baggage with. We exchanged info but it remains to be seen if we'll meet again...knowing me, probably not. (Bad, Trish.)
Dot2Dot is this coach service I found online through various recommendations. It's a point-to-point shuttle service that supposedly costs less than half of what a taxi would cost. I went up to the desk to confirm my reservation and was greet by two, quite nattily dressed, older Brits who called me sweetheart and darling, which is never a bad thing. Well, usually not a bad thing. The best dressed of the two (pin-striped dark pants, floral button-down shirt, solid vest, and patterned tie--somehow all came together) actually came over to the general waiting area (not just designated for Dot2Dot customers) and collected us individually and walked us out to the mini bus. He even told us little anecdotes as we walked, one sad one (meant to serve as a cautionary tale), I'll share with you--A young American couple flew into Gatwick airport. They were on their honeymoon. As they left the station, they spotted their coach across the street and stressed about the possibility of missing it, ran across without looking. A large bus caught them unawares and they were hit, run over, and caught in the wheels. The man died instantly and the wife died the next day. Yeah...that's a real downer, huh? His point--"We drive on the correct side of the road. Look both ways. Twice. And be careful, dahlin." Yeah. Anyhoo, back to the ride. Ended up sitting across from a woman from Houston, TX. Nice lady who works in the oil business...she was also blonde, had a thick drawl, and wore ill-fitting clothing. Oh stereotypes. She was also on a "holiday" visiting her friend for a few days. It was nice chatting with her as the 30 min ride turned into a little over an hour bcs of heinous lunch hour traffic. It would've been great if I didn't have the nasty habit of getting carsick. No worries--no upchuck-age involved, just lots of nausea that I, of course, kept to myself. Overall, the service lived up to its hype--comfortable, very easy to use, and while at about $40, it's not the cheapest way to get from the airport into town, for someone coming into a new country off of a long international flight, it was well worth the convenience. I highly recommend them if you're ever in the area.
The hotel was a mix of the expected and unexpected. The Shaftesbury Metropolis London Hyde Park (link) is a little misleading in its name. Sounds very grand, yes? It's set in a row house--one in a long long line of row houses that goes for several blocks of just hotels, guest houses and b&bs. Sort of weird. After much research on tripadvisor and other websites, I chose it for its close proximity to several tube stations and positive reviews and pics online. The lobby is super modern--the walls are black and white stripes and there are pops of orange and blue everywhere. The sofas are cleanlined and bright orange. There's also a huge amoeba-shaped orange light fixture. The ceiling is painted midnight blue and dotted with tiny "star" lights. There's also a couple computers, a gigantic flatscreen tv and lounge area. I'm told there's a gym (a what?) and a restaurant as well. My room was on the 3rd (top) floor and the place is like a maze. From the elevator, a sign pointed me up a short flight of stairs and through a door. From the door I had to turn left down a very short corrider and go down a short flight of stairs down another very short corridor to my room at the end. The room is small (but I expected this) but not quite as bad as I thought it would be...but maybe this is bcs I got a double bed instead of a single (twin) bed. It's traditional but modern so I guess the right term would be "Transitional". Dark woods, gilded mirrors, padded upholstered headboard, printed curtains and bronze sheers. There were a couple nightstands, a little desk and chair (more like a vanity area), a clothing cupboard (closet and shelves) and a little corner station with a hidden microwave, mini fridge, tea kettle, and fresh flowers--a nice surprise. A flatscreen LCS tv also made me feel quite at home. lol. The bathroom is also teeny (again expected) but super cute. The shower is glassed in with a hand-held shower head and the sink is one of those free-standing bowl pedestal sinks. There's about 4 inches of counter space around, but a couple small shelves save the bathroom from being totally inconvenient. Note to self and other travelers, next time bring a hooked toiletry bag--way more convenient. Might have to pick one up. The bed is soft but bcs I'm so used to my pillow-top, I think it's really comfortable. There's a bunch of construction outside my window, but honestly, after living in NY, it's not really a bother. But I suppose I will know tomorrow whether that kind feeling lasts...
For dinner, I met Tita Ina (Mom's brother's wife's former sister-in-law....did you follow that?). She came and met me at the hotel and we walked to a Spanish place she liked in the area (Paddington). After walking in circles a few times, we stopped and asked a waiter and a man on the street if they knew of it. Little did we know, we had just starting talking to Crazy, personified. The waiter simply said no and then Crazy (gray hair, glasses, 50-ish, black leather jacket, salt-and-pepper chest hair trying to escape from his gray t-shirt) asked if we had an address and then interrupted our answer (no) by asking if I knew that he owned 19 hotels. No, I didn't know that. Then he would ask another question, roll his eyes at my Aunt (who was mildly terrified at this point, but still being polite), and then tell me another fun fact about himself....he's a millionaire, old-school gangster...so many things I can't even remember. Then, he grabbed my arm tightly and (of course, interrupting talking again) looks me in the eye and says, "I like you". Somewhere in his insanity he must've realized what that sounded like to a female, and he hastily said, "I mean....not like that but y'know let's get a pint or a coffee somewhere and talk, why don't we?" I politely said no (at this point, I don't even know what Tita Ina is thinking, but I'm sure it has to do with calling the police) and talked to him like he was a small child, explaining that I had to go to dinner w/ my Aunt. He seemed bewildered that I wouldn't accept his invite and repeated his list of attributes again (millionaire, gangster, hotel scion) and I removed my arm from his grasp, patted his arm and said, "I have to go now but I will most certainly tell everyone I know that I met a true gangster, millionaire, hotel owner. Bye" and walked away with my Aunt. She seemed bewildered by the whole experience and simply said something along the lines of it being good that I'm from NY and know how to handle myself. As we walked, Crazy continued to another restaurant where he started telling more unsuspecting diners of his many charms. Eventually, we found out that the place we were after was closed, so we ended up walking around, reading menus, finally deciding on a non-descript Italian place. (Turns out Tita Ina is not so adventurous when it comes to food.) We shared calamari fritti and insalata tricolore (avocado, tomato and mozzarella drizzled in olive oil, salt and pepper) and she ordered something with prawns and I decided to embrace my first official meal of vacation (I forgot to eat lunch) and got the always satisfying, artery-clogging Spaghetti a la Carbonara. After a tiramisu finale and lots and lots of family gossip-sharing, we returned to the hotel. Tita dropped me off at the lobby with my promise of meeting up again complete with family photos (via computer) to illustrate gossip.
Overall, a satisfying first day. Tomorrow, I hope to get on the Big Bus Tour for an overview of the sites. Hope it doesn't rain....
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