Scott and Eda's most excellent European Vacation Part One
If I could go back and give myself a big hug and thank you two weeks ago, I totally would. Monday Sept. 30, we rolled into the house about 9:30 pm, after 19 hours of travel. I didn't sleep on the plane home, so I would sleep the night through. I woke up Tuesday morning with six massages ahead of me. The house was clean, my work linens were folded and ready to go. Everything was ready for me to start my life up again. Thank Goddess! The two weeks in Europe were amazing, but I was a totally brain dead when I got back.
We left Monday Sept 16. I had totaled our car the Wednesday before we left. We got the car to the body shop on Thursday, I gave everyone the info they needed, and nothing was settled when we left Monday for Europe. I shrugged it off as we literally winged our way across the Atlantic for our ten year wedding anniversary, and what I was considering our 2nd honeymoon.
We flew on Virgin Atlantic to London. I sat next to the cutest girl in her 20s. She works at a vegan newsletter in the valley. She was flying home to renew her work visa and come back to Cali. I love meeting people who consider our little patch of the world as being the best in the world. We had a few hours of discussing how much we love living in LA county. I told her about my newly finished children's book, The Rats of Green Park. She was enthralled. She told me to quit trying to publish in the US, she gave me an email address to Curtis Brown, a publisher in London, and said her friend just got a book contract through them, and that they would LOVE my book since it is London-centric. Good flight-good people.
Scott was in a state at Heathrow, since we missed our one chance to have a ciggie after 11 hours. I ignored him ( as I often do when he is bitching:0) Our connecting flight was a nightmare. A jumbo jet mad-dogged our flight out of their gate, so after watching the screens, and hauling our 50lb big ass bag to the wrong terminal, and passing the flight crew for our flight at the gate, they told us to head back. The kicker is they directed us to a hallway instead of the tram to take us back to another terminal. So instead of us riding the tram back to the terminal we just left, I got to drag our big ass bag down a Stanley Kubrick style hallway under the airport while listening to Scott bitch a mile a minute about not getting his cigarette between flights. The hallways were concrete tubes with blue flickering lights.
We made the connecting flight and emerged in Paris. It was pissing down rain, and when I recovered our BAB (big ass bag), our clothes were soaked on one side from being in the rain on the luggage tram. Fuckers. My sexy big red coat had water stains along one side. Ewww. We got a cab to the hotel. Our cab driver was a gem. Super sweet. We made it to the hotel, took a deep breath, unpacked, then I took my sweet love (Scott) to a cafe down the street for dinner. We found a cute place called the Cafe de Triomphe. Aaah, red wine and food, my fave! We got our snails and garlic. I know, I know, foul little grey boogers covered in garlic herbs. Fuck you all, they tasted sublime! Scott got his Croque Madame. I'm still convinced he loves those because the eggs symbolize titties on the sandwich. My baby is a total breast man, you see why he adores me now... LOL
Next day, we didn't get our asses out of bed until 9am, and it took until 10:30am to get out of the hotel. I was frantic. I felt like we were missing Paris. We fumbled around the metro, went right when we should have gone left and got lost in the hospital district, Notorious for being the wrong side of town in any city in the world. You doubt this? I defy you to find any hospital district that is not in the shittiest part of ANY city. I was a little worried until Scott reminded me we live in one of the scariest cities/neighborhoods in the country. We are the people other people are frightened of. Compton is one of the few places that trump Long Beach in ghetto. And Paris sure ain't Compton. We rolled LB style and didn't worry. It was kinda cool. There were schools all around us. Seeing the local Parisians take their kidalids to school was actually very sweet. We ended up at the Mitterand square, where they have their world trade center. It was pretty impressive. We finally found the fucking Seine. I was kevetching the whole time.
"It's a huge fucking river through the middle of the city!! How are we missing it?!", I wailed.
We stumbled into a Pleine-Aire sculpture park we would have never found if we hadn't lost our way. Scott grabbed my hand, and we cuddled up together as we walked along enjoying the scenery. What an amazing husband I have. He is a fabulous lover of the sublime. We often would stop and lean into each other whispering our impressions of some artistic private moment. I don't think there is another person on this earth who I could share these perfect moments with. I love my sweet man.
The Parisian booksellers were just opening their green boxes as we strolled past. The Parisians do love their books. I admire them for the plethora of printed pages that still live on in the streets of Paris. I found a book of horse art that I wanted to buy for mom. I wish I had, but I thought about carrying it the whole day and decided against it. We took the Metro to Montemarte. We found a cute little cafe with wifi. Scott flirted with a darling German girl in her 20s looking for Sacre Couer. I googled it with my phone while they talked. It was perfect. We had hot coffee and conversation while it pissed down rain for about 30 mins. We exchanged hugs with our new little Kraut friend and headed for the Dali museum. We rode the funicular up to the museum. I love surrealist art, so the Dali museum was a spiritual moment for me. Beautiful, disturbing, and real in a way that only those who have had to retreat to the darkest part of their heads could appreciate. We booked it to the Orsay after. Everyone was so right about that place.
The Louvre is a beautiful grave for art. A huge storehouse of culture in an antiquated castle that was a requiem to the aristocracy of pre-revolutionary Europe. It is a eulogy of the romantic/enlightenment period. The Orsay is a revelation. A carnival of light and glass. And it was everything we wanted in museum at that moment. We saw Van Gogh's we hadn't seen before. Parfait!
That night we met up with Athene Mason, a friend of mine from Spa Sidney. We found a little cafe near the Cluny-Sorbonne exit named Le Twickenham. A French knock-off of a British pub. Could you just die? LOL.
We had wine and Pate. Scott had his Croque Madame(I told you, total titty man) and we(Athene and I) had roasted duck salad. Yuuuuum. A lovely evening was had by all.
The next day-Versailles Palace. Oh, how to describe Versailles? A complete fucking nightmare. Hello, cobblestone hell. We wanted to be THERE around 9am. We woke up at 9am. Shit. We were on the train by 10am. I figured 'to hell with it'. Where did we need to be? Umm, nowhere. My enthusiasm was definitely dampened by the absolute mob awaiting us. The trains weren't so bad, we bought tickets at the tourism board outside of the palace, thinking we were so bleeding smart. *snort* Fat Fucking Chance.
We ambled up to the gates like rock stars, thinking we were going to get through in two seconds. Bwhahahaha. Foolish children we were. That huge snaking line that covered the front drive of the castle full of people that did and didn't buy their tickets. To the end of it with you! Yep, every yokel has to clear security, ticket or no. Welcome to cobblestone hell. What is it about the human animal that makes us territorial while standing in line? There is no "Cutter, Cutter, Peanut Butter." It has degraded into "I will fucking CUT you if you even unknowingly step ahead of me. I've waited 45 mins to move 10 feet and I will make anyone's life who has not suffered this indignity with me a fucking passive-aggressive nightmare. Trust me on this."
So much for ambassador to the world...
I have to go get sexy for my good friend Anna's wedding. I will return and finish my story of the trials and tribulations of this part of the Obey family. Mwah! Gentle readers stay tuned!
We left Monday Sept 16. I had totaled our car the Wednesday before we left. We got the car to the body shop on Thursday, I gave everyone the info they needed, and nothing was settled when we left Monday for Europe. I shrugged it off as we literally winged our way across the Atlantic for our ten year wedding anniversary, and what I was considering our 2nd honeymoon.
We flew on Virgin Atlantic to London. I sat next to the cutest girl in her 20s. She works at a vegan newsletter in the valley. She was flying home to renew her work visa and come back to Cali. I love meeting people who consider our little patch of the world as being the best in the world. We had a few hours of discussing how much we love living in LA county. I told her about my newly finished children's book, The Rats of Green Park. She was enthralled. She told me to quit trying to publish in the US, she gave me an email address to Curtis Brown, a publisher in London, and said her friend just got a book contract through them, and that they would LOVE my book since it is London-centric. Good flight-good people.
Scott was in a state at Heathrow, since we missed our one chance to have a ciggie after 11 hours. I ignored him ( as I often do when he is bitching:0) Our connecting flight was a nightmare. A jumbo jet mad-dogged our flight out of their gate, so after watching the screens, and hauling our 50lb big ass bag to the wrong terminal, and passing the flight crew for our flight at the gate, they told us to head back. The kicker is they directed us to a hallway instead of the tram to take us back to another terminal. So instead of us riding the tram back to the terminal we just left, I got to drag our big ass bag down a Stanley Kubrick style hallway under the airport while listening to Scott bitch a mile a minute about not getting his cigarette between flights. The hallways were concrete tubes with blue flickering lights.
We made the connecting flight and emerged in Paris. It was pissing down rain, and when I recovered our BAB (big ass bag), our clothes were soaked on one side from being in the rain on the luggage tram. Fuckers. My sexy big red coat had water stains along one side. Ewww. We got a cab to the hotel. Our cab driver was a gem. Super sweet. We made it to the hotel, took a deep breath, unpacked, then I took my sweet love (Scott) to a cafe down the street for dinner. We found a cute place called the Cafe de Triomphe. Aaah, red wine and food, my fave! We got our snails and garlic. I know, I know, foul little grey boogers covered in garlic herbs. Fuck you all, they tasted sublime! Scott got his Croque Madame. I'm still convinced he loves those because the eggs symbolize titties on the sandwich. My baby is a total breast man, you see why he adores me now... LOL
Next day, we didn't get our asses out of bed until 9am, and it took until 10:30am to get out of the hotel. I was frantic. I felt like we were missing Paris. We fumbled around the metro, went right when we should have gone left and got lost in the hospital district, Notorious for being the wrong side of town in any city in the world. You doubt this? I defy you to find any hospital district that is not in the shittiest part of ANY city. I was a little worried until Scott reminded me we live in one of the scariest cities/neighborhoods in the country. We are the people other people are frightened of. Compton is one of the few places that trump Long Beach in ghetto. And Paris sure ain't Compton. We rolled LB style and didn't worry. It was kinda cool. There were schools all around us. Seeing the local Parisians take their kidalids to school was actually very sweet. We ended up at the Mitterand square, where they have their world trade center. It was pretty impressive. We finally found the fucking Seine. I was kevetching the whole time.
"It's a huge fucking river through the middle of the city!! How are we missing it?!", I wailed.
We stumbled into a Pleine-Aire sculpture park we would have never found if we hadn't lost our way. Scott grabbed my hand, and we cuddled up together as we walked along enjoying the scenery. What an amazing husband I have. He is a fabulous lover of the sublime. We often would stop and lean into each other whispering our impressions of some artistic private moment. I don't think there is another person on this earth who I could share these perfect moments with. I love my sweet man.
The Parisian booksellers were just opening their green boxes as we strolled past. The Parisians do love their books. I admire them for the plethora of printed pages that still live on in the streets of Paris. I found a book of horse art that I wanted to buy for mom. I wish I had, but I thought about carrying it the whole day and decided against it. We took the Metro to Montemarte. We found a cute little cafe with wifi. Scott flirted with a darling German girl in her 20s looking for Sacre Couer. I googled it with my phone while they talked. It was perfect. We had hot coffee and conversation while it pissed down rain for about 30 mins. We exchanged hugs with our new little Kraut friend and headed for the Dali museum. We rode the funicular up to the museum. I love surrealist art, so the Dali museum was a spiritual moment for me. Beautiful, disturbing, and real in a way that only those who have had to retreat to the darkest part of their heads could appreciate. We booked it to the Orsay after. Everyone was so right about that place.
The Louvre is a beautiful grave for art. A huge storehouse of culture in an antiquated castle that was a requiem to the aristocracy of pre-revolutionary Europe. It is a eulogy of the romantic/enlightenment period. The Orsay is a revelation. A carnival of light and glass. And it was everything we wanted in museum at that moment. We saw Van Gogh's we hadn't seen before. Parfait!
That night we met up with Athene Mason, a friend of mine from Spa Sidney. We found a little cafe near the Cluny-Sorbonne exit named Le Twickenham. A French knock-off of a British pub. Could you just die? LOL.
We had wine and Pate. Scott had his Croque Madame(I told you, total titty man) and we(Athene and I) had roasted duck salad. Yuuuuum. A lovely evening was had by all.
The next day-Versailles Palace. Oh, how to describe Versailles? A complete fucking nightmare. Hello, cobblestone hell. We wanted to be THERE around 9am. We woke up at 9am. Shit. We were on the train by 10am. I figured 'to hell with it'. Where did we need to be? Umm, nowhere. My enthusiasm was definitely dampened by the absolute mob awaiting us. The trains weren't so bad, we bought tickets at the tourism board outside of the palace, thinking we were so bleeding smart. *snort* Fat Fucking Chance.
We ambled up to the gates like rock stars, thinking we were going to get through in two seconds. Bwhahahaha. Foolish children we were. That huge snaking line that covered the front drive of the castle full of people that did and didn't buy their tickets. To the end of it with you! Yep, every yokel has to clear security, ticket or no. Welcome to cobblestone hell. What is it about the human animal that makes us territorial while standing in line? There is no "Cutter, Cutter, Peanut Butter." It has degraded into "I will fucking CUT you if you even unknowingly step ahead of me. I've waited 45 mins to move 10 feet and I will make anyone's life who has not suffered this indignity with me a fucking passive-aggressive nightmare. Trust me on this."
So much for ambassador to the world...
I have to go get sexy for my good friend Anna's wedding. I will return and finish my story of the trials and tribulations of this part of the Obey family. Mwah! Gentle readers stay tuned!
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