Category: Travel (Page 14 of 14)

Stop and See the Rainbow

June 4, 2008 / Katie L. Carroll

They weather was ripe for a rainbow. It had been like that for days, bursts of sun interrupting the rain showers. After work, I sat in the couch by the front window and read, but I was also spying. After awhile I glanced out the back sliding doors. The rain was coming down, but the sun was shining too. I turned and looked out the front window again.

“There it is!” I yelled. My husband, who was sitting on the other couch, asked, “What?” I think I had startled him. “The rainbow,” I said like he should have known that’s what I had been waiting for all day. It was a good one, very bright. I stared for a few moments and went to find my camera. We had just gotten back from London (I promise this post has a London connection) and it wasn’t in its usual spot. When I finally found it, I returned to the window to discover the rainbow had already started to fade, but I snapped the picture anyway.

I was kind of disappointed that it didn’t last longer. And I had missed part of it while looking for my camera to get a picture of it so I could remember it. (Okay, here’s where the London connection comes in.) Now this made me think of my trip to London. I kept seeing people–okay, tourists–hauling their video cameras around everywhere. Now I’m all for taking pictures on vacations and at family functions and such, but I think some people miss the whole point of taking pictures or video.

You take them to remember the trip, but the important part is the trip. I think some tourists spend their whole vacations behind the lens. How much are they really experiencing? And who’s gonna watch all those videos? It’s like that video of your wedding. No one really wants to watch it–admit it, you don’t even want to watch yourself get married again–and it’s never really as good as the real thing. Sometimes I just want to go up to those tourists and yell, “Put the camera down! Start experiencing life!” For good measure, though, here’s one of my own pictures from London. Please note that it’s of Tower Bridge…not London Bridge (which is actually quite boring).

London Part 3: My Secret Scandinavian Side

June 2, 2008 / Katie L. Carroll

My most recent visit to London seems to have brought out the Scandinavian side of me, which is funny because I didn’t even know I was Scandinavian. Just to be sure I looked it up. It turns out Scandinavia refers to Norway, Sweden, and Denmark and more recently can include Finland and Iceland (who knew?). I know I have Irish, English, and German heritage; there’s possibly some Scandinavian thrown in there, but it’s definitely not present in large doses.

On the airplane ride over to London, my seatmate asked if I had Scandinavian roots. Now he knew I was from America, so there was no thinking that I was actually from Scandinavia myself. Later on during my trip, I was in this little souvenir shop and the cashier asked if I was Scandinavian. I don’t think I’ve ever been mistaken for a Scandinavian before, so for it to happen twice in the same week was strange.

It is possible the cashier in the souvenir shop was flirting with me (who can blame him there?). It was easy for him to tell I wasn’t from London. Aside from the sneakers (a dead give-away that I’m not from London because women from the city wear the most uncomfortable-looking shoes imaginable), I think the mere fact that I was in that shop meant I couldn’t possibly be from London. Still, why Scandinavian?

I think it might be my blond eyelashes and eyebrows. I don’t think it’s my hair because while I used to be a real towhead, my hair is more dark blond now. (Notice I didn’t say it’s dirty blond–some jealous brunette must have thought of that term! How rude to imply that I don’t wash my hair!)

When I told the cashier I was from America, he said, “Maybe your grandfather is from there?” Well, not really, but who I am to burst his bubble? I just said, “In America, we’re all a little bit of everything.” He replied, “That’s nice. Everyone is equal that way.” If only that was the truth, but there was no reason for me to destroy his idealism. I simply smiled and thanked him for his help. At least someone, somewhere believes in the great words of the Declaration of Independence.

London Part 2: Not Getting Tea

May 29, 2008 / Katie L. Carroll

One thing about visiting London that always excites me is knowing that tea is the norm. (I know it doesn’t take much to excite me…really people, it’s about the little things in life.) I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker; I love the smell of it, not so much the taste. When you order tea at most restaurants in America, the teacups are more appropriate for my three-year-old niece than for a grown adult and the water is less than hot. They know how to serve it in London: boiling hot water, a variety of tea bags for the picking, full-sized mugs, and natural sugar–none of that fake sweetener for me, thank you very much.

I never thought it would be difficult to get tea in London. My husband didn’t have any trouble. Every morning that he went to breakfast alone (he was alone because I hadn’t arrived in London yet…not because I don’t like eating with him!), the waitress offered him tea as soon as he was seated. Every morning I ate with him, we made our selections from the buffet, prepared toast, returned to the table, and ate half our food. And still, no tea!

On a bit of a diversion, continental breakfast is definitely worth it if you ever stay in London. Even if the hotel charges a little extra for the privilege, pay it. There’s hot food (admittedly the runny eggs, the weird boiled-tomato thing, and the sausage that doesn’t really taste like sausage are a little scary), Danishes, toast, cereal, cut fruit, whole fruit, juice, milk….you get the point. And there’s always the opportunity to take an extra roll and banana for later. Just be a little more discreet about it than one lady I saw. She had her big plastic bag right on top of the table and was shoveling in the food.

Back to the issue at hand. It wasn’t as if the waiters weren’t diligent about serving tea; they went to every other table about every five minutes. I must look too young and too American to be much of a tea drinker. Appearances can be deceiving. Give me some tea already! Eventually, I would have to ask and they would fill my cup with delicious, piping hot tea. I wonder if it would have tasted so good if I didn’t have to wait.

London Part 1: A Clogged Ear is My Barrier Language

May 27, 2008 / Katie L. Carroll

As an American who had never been out of the country before, London was a great first international city to visit. There’s a ton to do, the Tube is super easy to navigate, and they speak my language…well sort of. (Admittedly this story is from my first visit to London, which was last year. The trip I just got back from was my second trip. I just thought it was fitting to include this as my first travel entry.)

Now in my defense, I have “lousy sinuses” (as my doctor so scientifically described them) that tend to get backed up when I’ve been on a plane, especially when that plane ride is about seven hours long. Add to this only a few hours of plane sleep in a 24-hour period, and that was my state as I walked into the hotel in London.

A man stood at a desk. I looked at him, hoping to be able to check-in and fall into a nice comfy bed as soon as possible. He said something that sounded like, “Et on ou.” I stared at him stupidly. “Excuse me?” I said. “Et on ou,” he said with more emphasis on the syllables. Unfortunately I had no idea what those syllables meant, so more emphasis didn’t really help me.

“Excuse me?” I asked again. “Et on ou,” he said again. I was thinking Clearly I’m a stupid American, who can’t understand a word you’re saying. What sort of tongue are you speaking anyway? Open your mouth and enunciate, you fool. I, of course, didn’t say any of this and just stared at him with eyes that could only be saying, “Why oh why can’t I just check-in and fall into bed?”

My husband proceeded to usher me through a second set of doors. It took about three steps for me to have a revelation. The man was at the concierge desk and wanted us to move “Straight on through” to the check-in desk. Duh! So much for speaking the same language!