St. P City Tour, Shopping and “Giselle”

Monday was another good day. We left the hotel around 9:30am and set off with Olga and Valerie on a tour of the city. Of course, the first half hour of conversation was all about the police/money excitement from the night before.

We drove all around the city and Olga recapped the history of Russia for us while pointing out and stopping at all the sights. Correction: Olga TAUGHT me the history of Russia since I don't believe I ever learned it (that's what happens when your High School world history teacher makes you watch videos every day of his 5 year old son wrestling instead of teaching you anything). It's facinating (the history of Russia, not the wrestling...although I did wrestle a stuffed bear outside our hotel, I have the picture to prove it).

SO -- we did our city tour and then hit the shops. We are now loaded up with hand-painted Russian nesting dolls, amber jewelry, and vodka. Amazing how much we all spent in such a short period of time, but I'd say over half my Christmas shopping is done now.

After shopping, we dropped our bags at the hotel then went to see the interior of the Church of the Spilt Blood. It is called this because Tsar Alexander II was murdered on the site the church was built on (someone threw a bomb in his carriage). It's also known as the Church of the Ressurection. The inside of the church is completely covered in mosaics...it is super spectacular. Pretty new too, as the restoration took place in the 70s. But it's even more dazzling inside than it is outside, I can't wait to share the pictures.

Monday night, we went to see the ballet “Giselle” at the Hermitage Theatre, which is part of the Winter Palace where Catherine the Great lived. It was good. Perhaps not the best ballet in the world (the Mariinsky Ballet season does not start until Sept...that's the SERIOUS ballet).  But it was worth seeing just for the venue alone...it is a small, intimate theatre (it was in someone's home, after all) decorated with lovely sculptures of the 9 muses and Venus. The orchestra sits directly in front of the stage (not in a pit), so the whole thing feels a bit more informal and friendly. Not that I am a ballet snob (although Kim is since she has a masters degree in dance history and is a former ballerina), but there were a couple rough patches. The stage is very old and seemingly hollow, so it was never good when the whole cast was jumping around at the same time...a bit thunderous.  And some of the dancers were not exactly light on their feet when dancing solo. But the truly bad mistake was putting ballerinas on a scooter and pushing them across the stage to give the impression of floating (the whole second act takes place in a graveyard with a bunch of dead dancing brides-to-be. Happy, huh?) Everyone laughed...that was not a good move. But really, it was enjoyable and a lovely evening. But I do wonder if there isn't a mint to be made on a ballet done on entirely on scooters. I'm seeing a Broadway or Vegas show at $150 a ticket. Hey, it worked for “Starlight Express,” the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical done completely on roller skates! See, this is why I travel. I get inspiration for a million seriously great new ideas.

After the ballet, we went to a restaurant across from our hotel called DaVinci for a late dinner. More blinis and caviar and then bed. Olga comes at 9:30am each morning for our tours, which is a bit painful for me, so I have to force myself to bed at a reasonable hour....even if it is vacation.

Kim Meets the Russian Police. Or Whoever Comes to Collect Large Sums of Money from People Who Shouldn't Have It. Like Us.

No, I'm not trying to be funny. This is a true story. Yesterday, Kim needed to change some money, so our tour guide Olga said she knew a place with really good exchange rates.

I'll say.

Kim traded $600 USD and walked out with a stash of cash as thick as the Holy Bible. But being it was is rubles and she hadn't traded money yet nor had the faintest idea of the exchange rate, she didn't know anything was up. Plus, there was a dodgy-looking man standing a little too close, so she and Olga made a quick exit after getting the cash.

So we all get back to the hotel and start dividing up the money. And I'm like, “Holy crap that's a lot of money” -- because I had exchanged $400 the day before at the airport and my wad was nowhere near as big. I had gotten a little over 10,000 rubles for $400 and they had gotten something like 150,000 for $600. So the first thought was that I had gotten seriously ripped off when I exchanged. Then we got a calculator, did the math, checked the receipt and realised the exchange lady had mistaken the $600 to be exhanged for $6000. So Kim walked in with $600 and walked out with over $5000/150,000 rubles.

Then we got worried, because Kim had left her passport at the hotel that day so Olga changed the money on her passport under her name. And we didn't have her phone number, so we couldn't call her to tell her what had happened. It was evening, so we decided to put the cash in the safe in our room and would tell her in the morning when she met us for our tour and we would go straighten it out/give the money back.

We went out to dinner and then drinks, rolling back into the hotel around 12:30am. Once in the room, Kim and Margot get a call from reception saying that Olga is on the phone and that there is  a “situation.” They wouldn't put the call through to the room, they said Kim had to come down to reception to talk to her. So Kim goes down, gets on the phone and Olga tells her “the police” had come to her house looking for the money. The girl who traded it was there too, saying she had been working for 24 hours and “made a terrible mistake.” Kim told her she had the money and that we realised what had happened too late in the day, didn't have her number and were planning on giving it back in the morning once we saw her. Olga told her the police were coming to our hotel to get the money. Then, a large man standing next to Kim at the reception desk leans over and says “We're here.” Think that sort of scared the crap out of Kim. They had been waiting for us at the hotel and had been listening to her conversation on the phone with Olga the whole time, I guess not wanting  to blow his cover in the event Kim was planning to bolt with the cash (which again, for the record, she/we were NOT...we are honest good girls). The same exchange girl was there with him, very apologetic (poor thing, if she had already worked a 24 hour day, she must really have been exhausted at that point!) So Kim went up with a hotel escort, got the money and handed it over. (Being the smart woman she is, she also made them sign a handwritten  document that she made a copy of saying they had received the money from her.) They then went off with the money into the night. Certainly not something anyone  wants to repeat, but you can be certain we have had a crash course in counting our rubles and know well the ratio to the dollar. I think Kim's adrenaline also got a run for its money. Breakfast conversation this morning was very exciting. :)

From Russia With Love

Wow. Bet no one ever used that one before when coming here... So, I've started a week holiday in Russia and thanks to the modern marvel of the crackberry, I can blog remotely. Sweet, huh? We're visiting St. Petersburg and Moscow.

I'm travelling with my friends Margot and Kim (from London, same gals I go everywhere with)and Molly, who flew from NYC to join us (so she'll be the most tired with an 8 hour jetlag).

We arrived Saturday to St. Petersburg (formally known as Petrograd and Leningrad for short periods of time), which was once the capital of Russia. We left London around 10:30am and arrived here at 7pm last evening. We checked into our hotel (in the city center), got settled, and then took a  long stroll around the city center on our way to dinner.

St. Petersburg is a nice city. Peter I, who founded the city (hence its name) had a real love for the great cities of Europe of the time and their architecture, so St. P's was designed very much with a European sensibility in mind and it shows. Wide boulevards lined with grand buildings in varied shades of pastels and grays are criss-crossed by a series of wide canals and rivers (65ish to be exact), also lined  with attractive architecture. The canals surprise me -- I wasn't expecting to see so many here. However, St. P's is made up of about 44 little islands, which explains all the waterways.

We walked past the amazing Church of the Saviour on Spilt Blood. Ok, gross name, but gorgeous place. I can't attach pictures from the crackberry, but look it up online...you've likely seen pictures, but if not, it's exactly what you'd expect a Russian cathedral to look like...several onion-shaped domes in different vibrant colours (all made by Faberge), covered in all sorts of elaborate mosaics and designs. The domes DO look like soft-serve icecream cones with sprinkles and they DO make me want dessert.

Dinner was...interesting. We asked the hotel people where to go for typical national cuisine. And of course, being the clueless tourists we clearly look like, they sent us to a fitting venue. The restaurant was called Demidoff. The interior was cozy and posh and the waitstaff very friendly. It was pricey, but everything had English translations. The food was tasty (although so far I've noticed everything's a bit salty here). Then the gipsy band started. Dancers, singers, musicians. Oh my God, they were loud. There was a tap dancer too who I would say was a cross between a Broadway musical and Riverdance. At one point, we were all shushed by the lead gipsy woman so she could sing a very romantic ballad of love to a man at the table next to us. There was also a lovely tall blonde girl whose job it was to dance with all the male patrons. She was very busy. Especially with the table of 8 crazy loud and drunk Italians sitting next to us. They were a group of 4 men and 4 women all in their 50s and maybe 60s. When the gipsy band finished their second set, one of the Italian men went to the piano and started playing. Then, he and another one of the women started singing together (they were not very good singers, although the man on the piano played well.) They were dancing, they were laughing, they were doing shots, toasting and coming around to our table and the other two tables in the room to toast us (although they did not share their vodka). Our initial instinct was to be highly annoyed by them, but it just wasn't possible to maintain. They were too funny...we were all snickering by the end of the night.

The rounded vaulted cielings in the room made for some crazy acoustics, as I spent most the dinner distracted because I could hear the couple sitting across the room from us as if there was a microphone at their table pumped directly into my ear. Even with the band of gipsies and drunk Italians I could hear them. The guy was English and the girl was Russian. And let's just say I think he may have come to Russia on a shopping trip for a bride and was conducting the interview (he seemed very boring though, I hope she decided no). But I learned today that the women in Russia outnumber men 3-1, so it's understandable why a girl may need some outside options here.

We sampled some yummy vodkas, my favorite being a honey pepper variety. I like the little crystal glasses they serve it in. I think most of us had fish to eat, along with some yummy blinis with smoked sturgeon and black caviar.

We knew no one would have the time or energy to figure anything out for ourselves for this trip before we left (and hello, it's Russia, not a stroll through Paris where we can at least recognise the alphabet), so we let a travel agent specialising in Russia book everything for us. And boy was THAT a good move. Our tour guide in St. P's is named Olga. She and the driver (Valerie, although he is a man and I'm sure I spelled his name wrong) are really sweet. We have our own van and the small private tour we are getting is really great. I used to like figuring everything out for myself and making it all very hard so I could say what a resourceful traveller I am. Forget that dude -- having someone drive you around and tell you what's good to see is totally the right way to go. (Hmmm, perhaps I'll start travelling with my Grams on her senior club coach tours...)

Ok, I'm getting way off track here (and my thumbs are beginning to hurt on this thing). SO, Olga picked us up at 9:30 and we drove out to Catherine's Summer Palace, about a 25 minute drive out of St. P's. This was the summer retreat for Catherine I, wife of Peter I. Her original palace was far more modest than what's there now. But then again, Catherine's beginnings were modest. She is known as “Cinderella” because she was the laundry person for one of Peter's friends. Peter fell in love with her and married her making her the Tsarina of Russia. Nice real-life fairy tale, huh?!

Catherine I's daughter, Elizabeth I was NOT modest though. When the palace became hers, she basically had it torn down and rebuilt to a magnitude of complete  lavishness. Think a slightly  smaller version of Versailles (Peter was pals with Louis XIV of France, so it all makes sense). The whole place is bright blue and inside has 9 solid rooms of gold leaf and mirrors (um, she was a little vain too). It's over the top, and frankly, I think the main hall is more impressive than the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

Another standout attraction is the Amber Room. This is a restored version of the original, a room completely covered in mosaics of pure amber, giving the room a rich  golden effect. The original amber panels were lost to the world though when the Nazis invaded Russia in WWII, took over the palace to house soldiers, tore down all the amber and shipped it all to Germany. It hasn't been seen since (although the Germans did help pay for the room's restoration much, much later).  After the war, the almost completely gutted and looted palace fell into ruin. You should see the pictures of it...an empty crumbling ruin with no roof and snow covering everything inside...almost no trace of the glorious place it once was. But thankfully, the Russian government restored the palace and reopened it 3 years ago as part of St. P's 300 year anniversary celebration. They did an excellent job, the place is magnificent.

After Elizabeth, Catherine II (Catherine the Great) lived in the palace (she ruled the country for 34 years). Her son Paul I had a short reign as Tsar after Catherine died...but he was stangled to death by his adversaries soon after so he didn't have a very long run. His son, Alexander, them became Tsar (he was very popular).

After Catherine's Palace, we had a nice lunch nearby, then went to the summer palace of Paul I (Catherine the Great's son) and his wife Maria (they were good friends of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette). Though not as grand as Catherine's place, this palace is much warmer and more lovely inside, and it's filled with Catherine I's impressive collection of antique sculptures from the 1st and 2nd centuries -- they are scattered throughout. The restored wooden inlaid floors inside this palace are stunning with amazing patterns and colours. Both palaces have them, and you have to put covers over your shoes when you enter so as not to damage them. I've never seen craftsmanship like that before.

In addition to the gorgeous inlaid floors, there is also a porcelain bathroom set that Maria and Paul received as a gift that is incredible. I also took to a beautiful silver vanity and chaise lounge in the bedroom. There are also some impressive paintings in the palaces, including a Reubens in the Paul I palace.

Both palaces are surrounded by lush, beautiful gardens which we spent some time strolling through. It was a gorgeous sunny day, so it was nice to be out in the fresh air among the flowers and ponds and birds.

After the palace tours, we drove back to the city, took a little rest in our rooms and then went out for a walk. We came across river boat tours, so we jumped on one that was an hour long. We cruised up the river and down a couple canals, but it was a bit unpleasant, as we were sitting right in front of the speakers from a which a very loud tour was narrated...completely in Russian. We were all pretty much deaf by the time we got off the boat. But the scenery was at least nice.

After the boat tour, we went to dinner at a Greek place near our hotel. After that, we went to the very posh and swank Astoria hotel for a couple courses of vodka. I started with a Russian Imperial Standard and then had a Russian Imperial Platinum. Delish.

We got back to our hotel about 12:30am. I am in bed now, quite tired from a full day.

I really like Russia so far. The place has a cool vibe and is really a different experience. So far, the people are warm and friendly and it's all going well. Which is good, given that last week, there was a mafia-related bombing at a Moscow market, a Russian airliner crashed, and the day before we arrived, the largest wooden-domed cathedral in the city burned down. (We saw it today, very sad. Most of the church is still there, the dome is just completely gone.). But they say bad things happen in threes, so we should be good now and finished with all the bad stuff. Fingers crossed.

Flex Time

I just found out today, compliments of my colleague Steve, that my office operates under a flex time policy that says employees can come in anytime up to 10am as long as they work a full day. Which is GREAT because that means I haven't been an hour late for work every morning for the past year like I thought! (I was wondering why I never got any dirty looks.) This is particularly awesome because the American TV show "The O.C." is on in the mornings and I've gotten really addicted to it as I eat my cereal -- I absolutely HATE to tear myself away from it for silly old work. So now, thanks to this little flex time ditty, I can actually give myself a little more time to indulge with none of the guilt I've been unecessarily feeling. Sweeeeeet!

The Petersham Nurseries & Cafe

Today I uncovered a little bit of magic out in Richmond, a suburb of London. I met my friend Cristina who lives in nearby Chiswick, and we drove out to the Petersham Nurseries & Cafe, which I had read about in a recent issue of British Vogue. Vogue food writer and chef Skye Gyngell is the executive chef of the cafe, which is nestled in a nursery bursting with flowers, trees and herbs. The conservatory is filled with garden tables and chairs, mixed among exotic palm trees and plants on a natural red dirt floor. There is a long, wooden building alongside the greenhouses which houses the kitchen and a tea shoppe where you can pick up tea and cakes or shop from a variety of honeys, jams, oils and other assorted goodies.

The menu is developed daily based on what's growing in the nursery, garden or available at the market. Cristina and I started with a plate of lentils, heirloom tomatoes, red and white beets, fresh goat's cheese, olive oil and balsamic vinegar. For our main, we both had BBQ quail with salsa verde and white polenta. For dessert, I had a press pot of rich creamy coffee and we shared a heavenly fresh fig ice cream and raspberry icecream (all homemade). It was raining lightly (the staff need to wear wellies to work as you can imagine), but it certainly didn't spoil what was an enchanted lunch. The staff was welcoming and friendly. It's definitley not cheap, but well worth every bite...I can't wait to go back.

On the way out, I caught a glimpse of a little kitty asleep on top of a printer inside the office of the nursery. I went in and asked a gentleman working on the computer if I could pet her (she looks a lot like my Maggie back home in the U.S.). He said sure and told me her name is Mrs. Williamson -- so cute!!!

This all seems like the perfect business in my eyes. So, I have decided what I want to do with my life! One day, I will return home to St. Mary's County and build a nursery and cafe on my family's farm, modeled directly after the Petersham Nurseries here in England. I think it would go over incredibly well!

Isle of Wight, Home of the Stinging Nettle

Last weekend, my friends Margot, Kim, Stefanie and I took a little jaunt to the seaside town of Lymington in Southern England and spent a day hiking on the Isle of Wight (a half-hour ferry ride from Lymington Pier). Lymington is about an hour and a half train ride from London's Waterloo Station, making it a very easy weekend escape.

In Lymington, we stayed at the Angel Inn, a homey little tavern with a lively pub downstairs. Saturday morning, after breakfast at the Inn and a visit to Tesco where we picked up some granola bars, dried fruit and water, we boarded the ferry for the town of Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight. It's a really charming place...lots of coastal walks along the cliffs, quaint towns and pretty scenery. We hiked about 6 miles along the coast, on a trail through the brush that was at times precarious, to say the least (the path would occassionally disappear completely as we were in foliage over our heads and would shout to ensure we were all still together....sort of gave me the creeps like in an episode of "Lost") We occassionally came upon plateaus covered in heather, which was really beautiful, not to mention that these were higher spots where we also got magnificent views of the sea and scattered white sailboats.

We hiked from Yarmouth out to "The Needles" -- a collection of three jagged white rocks that reach out into the sea. About halfway along the hike, we stopped at a quaint seaside restaurant for lunch. That's the thing I love about England...you can hike in wilderness and not see another soul, yet still have places along the way to stop, eat a proper meal, and use a bathroom. That's my kind of hiking.

We also walked through a stretch of flat countryside where there were gorgeous golden fields of hay...one of my favourite things about the country here. It was on this particular stretch that I also discovered for my first (and hopefully last) time, stinging nettles. OUCH! Are they jellyfish, you ask? No. Stinging nettles look like MINT. But they are NOT mint. I thought I smelled mint (think they are from a similar family), looked down and yelled, "HEY GUYS -- LOOK! MINT!" While reaching down for a handful. OH. MY. GOD. Instant fire and pain. I snapped my hand back yelling something like, "OW OW OW OW !!! OWWW!!! OOOOOWWWWW!" I had no idea what had hit me. No one really seemed to care, Margot nonchalantly said, "Oh, stinging nettles." And I'm like, "What the hell is that? Do I die from it? Is it poisonous??? OWWWW!!!!!" Margot explained it would eventually subside, which it did, about 10 minutes later after much more griping (your hands get red with white bumps when you touch it). That was totally not fun. But now I know. I'm just happy the pain came quickly as a warning before I popped some into my mouth, which I was definitely planning to do. Somehow I do not think I'd fare well in wilderness survival. Poor Stef was wearing shorts so she caught a bit of the nettles too in the brush. But she didn't yell or complain. She clearly is more grown up than me and has a higher tolerance for pain.

Toward the end of the hike, we ended up at the famous "coloured sands," a stretch of cliffside that exposes many different shades of sand (if you take the painted dessert in America and put it vertical on a cliffside, this is what you get). The coloured sands overlook the sparkly green Alum Bay (there's also a glass factory nearby). From the rocky beach at the base of the coloured sands, we took a chairlift to the top of the cliff. I saw the chairlift and thought "Cool! Let's take the chairlift!" Then, about a quarter of the way up I began to have an anxiety attack and was pretty much clutching onto Margot and waiting for it to be over. I suddenly remembered one of the many reasons I hate sking -- the chairlifts. Though at least if you fall off a chairlift skiing, the snow below seems like a consolation. Jagged rocky cliffs do not. I was releived to hop off.

After the chairlift, we walked out to an old Battery directly overlooking the Needles. They were about to close, so we took a quick run through (I actually preferred the view of the Needles from the other side of the bay though versus immediately overhead of them.) By this point in the day, we were too tired to walk back, so we waited for a bus to take us back to Yarmouth.

When we got back into town, we caught the tail end of a local parade and then jumped on the ferry back to Lymington. It had been a really splendid day among the green foliage and sparkly water, and we were tired.

Saturday night we had a lovely dinner at Stanwell House, an Inn across the street from where we were staying. They have a comfy, pretty conservatory where we ate. After dinner, we walked down the street to a small bar and cafe called "Graze" where we had a drink. The cocktails there were impeccable. I had ordered an apple martini, then caught a glance of a girl sitting behind me with a pina colada bigger than my head (how totally retro and cool!!!)....so I quickly changed my order. And boy was it good. Splendid little place with a good vibe.

Sunday it was raining. So after our breakfast at the Inn, we took a brief stroll down the high street, then went back to the Stanwell House where the kind staff parked us in a large comfy corner with sofas and chairs and we relaxed there for a couple hours in the sunlight of the conservatory reading the paper, eating scones and english tea cakes and drinking tea. It was soooo nice and relaxing. Perfect lazy Sunday.

Around 3pm, we caught a train back to London (still raining), had dinner at Wagamama together (great Asian noodle chain in London, and my favorite Sunday evening spot) and then went our seperate ways. Good friends. Good weekend. Except those evil stinging nettles.

I'm Quite Proud of the Gays. Especially the Dutch Ones.

Last weekend I went to Amsterdam to visit my good friend Kate who recently moved there from Washington, DC (Kate and I go way back about 10 years when we met in DC and became fast friends). It happened to be Gay Pride weekend, so we spent Saturday on a boat on a canal with about 15 other people (some of whom Kate works with) watching the Gay Pride Parade, which takes place on boats crusing down the canal...gives all new meaning to the term "parade floats." The weather was gorgeous and the whole city was out. Heck, it was so packed, perhaps all of the Netherlands was there...the city was buzzing.

It's impressive how popular Gay Pride activities have become. So popular, actually, that all the straight people go too. It's a bit of an all-day love fest of peace and understanding -- as everyone gets a bit more in touch with their inner disco drag queen. What's not to love about that?? By the end of the evening, one of Kates friend's, Karen, had a huge sticker plastered on her chest that said "I'm Gay." (She's not.)

What I really like about Gay Pride "Dutch Style" is that the parade takes place on boats. The streets and bridges were lined with crowds watching the party go by. After watching the parade pass, all the boats (including ours) went out on the water for a two-three hour cruise, forming a traffic jam on the water full of people partying, dancing and having a generally crazy time. Adults, kids, pets...everyone was out enjoying the disco-thumping boats. I think my favourite parade boats were the "gay grannies" (exactly what it sounds like -- old, gay grandmas); the ING boat (corporations are impressively on-board with Gay Pride these days too) with a cast of smartly dressed IMG employees performing their own choreographed line dance to Dolly Parton's classic song "Working Nine to Five;" a set of topless, blue-painted mermaids with long golden braids; a boat of gay tennis players (most in skirts) dancing with rackets in hand; and the gay Brazilian boat. And of course, no Gay Pride Parade is complete without a slew of men in drag who have better bodies than me and most women I know. Whatever. I was just enjoying rocking out to all the Wham! and ABBA.

Our party cruise ended around 6pm-ish. By this time, the crowds had taken to the streets and everyone was out (no pun intended). Kate and I fought our way through the crowds, got dinner and then went to a cafe for a cappuccino around 8:30pm. We were sitting outside gabbing when two cute blonde guys came and joined us at our table with a pretty endearing pick-up scheme. It totally worked -- we ended up going with them to one of the main city squares for a giant party where everyone under 25 who lives in Holland (it seemed) was packed into a tight space dancing to a DJ playing blaring techo music. We had some more drinks (there were beer stands lining the streets) and danced with our new pals for a couple hours, then slipped off to meet up with some of Kate's friends at yet another outdoor party about 5 blocks away in another city square. This party had a band. We had some more drinks, hung out a bit more (I bought a fun light-up neon lei necklace), and we finally departed the scene around 1:30am. By this time, Kate and I were famished again, so we stopped into a busy Middle Eastern diner called The Pharoah something-or-other where we each got a plate of grilled chicken (we think it was chicken) and a giant side of french fries. nothing says "DIET" quite like that at 2am. Stomachs full, we stumbled home pretty tired. I had a splinter in my toe where I had wiped out on some wooden steps earlier and Kate and I both had a bizarre case of the spins. We are both clearly too old for this.

Saturday we took it easy...met Kate's friends for brunch at an Irish pub near the Dam (city center), then wandered over to tour the Rembrandt House. Rembrandt lived there for more than 20 years where he painted most of his famous works. The house contains many of his etchings and is still furnished/preserved in typical 17th-century style. After the tour, we wandered through a few galleries and antique shops, browsed the storefronts (as most places are closed there on Sundays), and then stopped into the lounge at the Hotel Americain and had a few cocktails as we watched the people go by. We wandered to another more residential square later that evening and had dinner outdoors at a very tasty Turkish cafe.

I flew back to London Monday morning and went straight into work. It's kind of nice...Kate and I are now the same distance away from each other (45 minute flight) as we were when I lived in NYC and she lived in DC. It's nice having an old friend from home so close...and fun that we are both having European adventures together. It's hard to beleive that the last time we were both in Amsterdam back in February, Kate had no clue she would be living there permanently in 4 short months. Funny how life works...

My Canterbury Tale

It seems some of my best-remembered and most content moments involve coffee. Cappuccino or espresso, to be exact. One such moment was in Italy a couple years ago, on a ferry from Sorrento to the island of Capri on a chilly but sunny November afternoon. I remember having my coat and scarf on, watching the island's rocky cliffs draw closer across the surface of choppy blue water, when a steward on the boat kindly brought me a demitasse of hot espresso with a small biscotti. The boat was practically empty, except my two friends I was with and a few other off-season travelers. I think that espresso may have been the best I ever had.

The most recent java moment was last Saturday as I found myself in a rowboat (what is it with the boats and coffee?), on a picture-perfect canal in Canterbury, around 6pm on a lovely warm and breezy summer evening. Warm cappuccino in hand, cute blonde guy rowing the boat telling me and one other passenger all sorts of interesting trivia about the town. It had me thinking that sometimes a simple singular day can feel like an entire holiday -- and this was one of those days. But then again, I think “holiday” is really just a state of mind.

I had woken up unusually early that morning and wasn't in the mood for my usual weekend lie-in. So I got myself ready and walked down to Charing Cross Station and jumped on a train to Canterbury, about a 1.5 hour train ride southeast of London. The trip out was really nice. Quiet. Lots of pretty English country and scenery to enjoy as it whizzed by. My favourite parts were the golden fields with perfect rolls of hay positioned throughout -- the sunlight reflecting off the newly shaved ground making it seem almost illuminated. The colours in England are really so vibrant and beautiful. Guess it's all the rain....anyway, very ethereal and otherworldly at times.

I arrived at Canterbury and made a beeline to the great cathedral. The thing that grabs you about Canterbury as you walk through the cobblestone streets is how old it is. There are still remnants of various ancient civilizations built upon each other...from the Roman walls to the medieval gates through which you enter the old city -- it's amazing to see it all still there, mixed among the modern town of double-decker busses and red phone booths.

The cathedral is a wonder of grey stone and stained glass. In AD 597, missionaries from Rome converted the king of Kent (the region where Canterbury is located) to Christianity. Augustine, leader of the mission, was consecrated as Archbishop and his cathedra (official seat) was established there. The Cathedral has been the home of Anglicanism and the seat of the Archbishop ever since. For a born and bred Episcopalian like myself, this is all very cool.

I spent three hours inside, it was mesmerising. The tomb of St. Thomas is in the church...Thomas Becket, the real-life man, was actually murdered in that very cathedral, and on the spot where he was killed, there is a Martyrdom to which people have made pilgrimages for hundreds of years to pray. The windows go up and on forever and ever, I tried to see as many as I could and read their stories. My particular favourites were the Tree of Jesse window in the Jesus Chapel; a modern window made from old glass depicting St. Thomas; four windows by Hungarian refugee and artist Ervin Bossanyi themed around peace and salvation; The Christopher Whall windows depicting the Nativity, the Agony in the Garden, and the Resurrection; a jewel-like window depicting medieval pilgrims on the road to Canterbury placed immediately overhead an old Roman sarcophagus which is the tomb of Archbishop Hubert Walter; and a small window showing Mary fleeing Egypt with the baby Jesus on a donkey. There were about 50 other windows that had me captivated as well, but I have a feeling to go on about them may cause this entry to get boring fast ("too late" you say?).

There is a wonderfully atmospheric and expansive crypt below the cathedral, with one particular chapel that I loved, called St. Gabriel's Chapel, with a smattering of the remnants of 12th-century wall paintings as well as a Romanesque column. Also a main attraction is the elaborately ornate "Black Prince's Tomb," the burial spot for Edward, Prince of Wales (d. 1376). The tomb depicts him resting in all his splendid armour. There is also a glass case holding his funeral achievements.

The Cathedral boasts peacefully lovely Cloisters surrounding a grassy green. Around the Cloisters there is the large Chapter House (c.1300) with a gorgeous intricate vaulted oak ceiling. This is where Margaret Thatcher and French President Francois Mitterand signed the Channel Tunnel treaty in 1984. During the old days of the monastery, the Chapter House is where the Prior would read out the rules of St. Benedict (there is also an impressive Chapter House off the Cloisters of Westminster Abbey).

The cathedral grounds include the ruins of the old monestary -- its gothic arches, windows and gateways still hauntingly beautiful. There is a well-kept garden in the back perfect for quiet respite. The whole place is a tranquil and layered jumble of stone, glass, colour, art, ruins and a spirit of magnificent beauty.

I left the Cathedral and headed to the very dated Canterbury Tales exhibition (Canterbury is, of course, the subject of Geoffrey Chaucer’s many stories as told by pilgrims and travelers as they made their journeys to Canterbury). This was just downright creepy. Anyone who has read my post about my visit to the Polish salt mine knows I DO NOT like scary fake mannequin people. And the Canterbury Tales exhibit is FULL of them. And it's dark. And to make matters worse, I was alone on the tour -- it was like a haunted house! When you enter, they give you an audio headset and you walk your way through a very dark, musty building -- entering room after room after room where you stand or sit among scary fake mannequins that have not been dusted since 1952. At some points, the audio tour was warped, making it a garbled freak show. It took every bit of nerve and guts I had not to run screaming from the building. After 40 minutes in fright land, I was safely out the back door and into the light of day. I can't tell you much of anything about the Tales I heard, I was too busy focusing my breathing and trying not having a panic attack.

After the scary Canterbury Tales, I wandered around and did a little browsing in the shops. Then I stopped in a Vietnamese Bistro and had a light bite and wrote some postcards. I did some more shopping (stumbled across a neat little health food market where I bought tea) and then thought I might make my way to the train station around 6pm to go home. But while crossing a small bridge, I came across the rowboat tours and the (cute) guy trying to get people on them, so I signed right up. There was a 15-minute wait, so that's when I went into the coffee shop next door and got the cappuccino which I took on the boat with me. The boat ride lasted about 40 minutes down small, lush green waterways surrounded by old stone buildings and gardens. We went under old stone bridges so low that we had to duck with our heads practically in our laps so as not to knock ourselves out.

It was heavenly out, and our guide was interesting and witty. He gave us great little tidbits about the town....like how the French Huguenots settled in Canterbury after fleeing persecution in the Channel Islands, setting themselves up as master weavers (the Cathedral still offers Huguenot services in French at 3pm on the weekends); how many buildings in England feature bricked-up windows from a time when Prime Minister William Pitt (the youngest Prime Minister in England’s history I beleive) implemented the "window tax" that charged citizens for each window they had in their home (so you could tell people’s economic status by looking at a house and seeing who could afford windows); and how there was an old flour mill at the end of the canal that burned to the ground. What's interesting about this is that there is an old pub next door (The Miller's Arms) that also caught on fire, and apparently the firemen had to choose between saving the mill or the pub. The pub is still standing -- although I'm not sure how people could afford a beer at the pub after losing their job at the mill…

After the boat ride, I walked around some back streets of the town, following the old Roman wall and eventually ending up at the Catholic Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury, where I sat in the small garden full of flowers and read my book for awhile as a Saturday evening service took place inside. Then, walking back toward the train station, right outside the medieval gate, I stopped for dinner in a nice little Mexican restaurant.

The train ride back was nice. I was tired and happy as I watched an elaborate pink and periwinkle sunset morph over the fields until darkness fell and we pulled into the city.

Some days here in England are really, really good. Most days, life is good. Especially if there’s a cappuccino involved.