to tea or not to tea?

it was on the london bucket list. we're methodically crossing-off our wish list to make sure we don't miss out on anything.  so today, in this gorgeous sunny weather, i walked to kensington palace and dined on finger sandwiches and scones. tea should be called rice. it's bland, boring and needs lots of additives to it to make it palatable. lucky for me, i had tea sans tea, (that's laurel's rose and hibiscus above) with an extra serving of orange scone - which was everything tea should be: tasty, creamy, jammy, sweet, carby goodness.  the orangery is a gorgeous venue, with a beautiful view and i was fortunate to have good company (who didn't care that i skipped on the tea and doubled up on the scones) 

up next: 

london bike tour

hampton court 

serpentine row boats 

a concert (preferably outdoors) 

tower of london  

p.s. THE EGANS ARE HERE! THE EGANS ARE HERE!! 

three.

married for 3. 

together for 5. (almost)

best friends forever. 

and ever.

and ever. 

and ever. 

(i think you get the point) 

and ever. 

and ever.

and ever.

and ever. 

and ever.

and these are just from our first year dating! 

last night we saw kevin spacey in shakespeare's Richard III at the old vic. 

loved. 

we've become quite the pair of thespians.

also loved in london: 

lord of the flies @ regents outdoor theatre 

jersey boys 

les mis 

twelfth night @ the national theatre 

mike wallace.

have i told you this story?

about the 16-year-old braces-clad, prom-dress-wearing, version of myself that sat next to an elderly man at a pricey new york restaurant  and asked him if he worked for CBS? (it was a CBS pre-Tony award event) he responded with a slight hint of offense in his tone: "i'm mike wallace." OOPS. good thing he was besties with GBH - (Gordon B. Hinckley) - it gave us a lot to talk about.

take two...
today, i ran up to the second floor to teach my sunday school lesson. (which by the way, is the greatest calling ever. i kind of love it. and my front row supporters. i digress...) i know the regulars mostly by name, and noticed some obvious visitors. we get TONS of those in the summer. so i decided to make them feel welcome.

"where are you from? (vegas)
what are you doing here? (......work.....)
welcome to london!"

they seemed, maybe a little less clean cut and i wanted to be sure they felt welcome. so i walked over to my "vegas friends" as i casually referred to them when i asked them to answer a question. read a quote. and participate in general.

turns out my new "vegas friends" are kind of awesome. i didn't recognize them, but everyone hipper than me did. they even showed me on their super hip ipads after.  (hello SAM'S TOWN?)  maybe you've heard of brandon flowers? just because he's all over my ipod doesn't mean i knew what he LOOKED like, or expected him to be 8 rows in front of me. 

the killers had a show in hyde park, and the lead singer decided to stop by before rocking out.

ugh. 

blew that one. 

maybe he found it refreshing?

rock bottom

clearly, i've hit rock bottom.

in an email from my sister:

"Can you believe you are one of those people who forwards cat videos? " 

but if you saw this cat video - and loved cuddling AND cats - wouldn't you send it around?  

it kills me. (stick with it at least 'til 36 seconds)

 

she kills me too. 

and if you really want to laugh / feel like a terrible person - watch THIS video! 

and to solidify this rock bottom status, keep your eyes out for more animal photos with cheesy captions, you are loved and must send to 15 people, and inspirational quotes with photos of nature emails - coming  to an inbox near you! 

Italian Adventures Part 3: R(h)ome

it didn't hit me until we landed BACK in london, that this trip would likely be my last to italy for the foreseeable future. touchdown = immediate melancholy. (followed by a day of mouth-stuffing, pajama-wearing mourning. oh, the pain of first-world problems!)

i just love it.
the way i love luci cat.
the way i love blue blanky.
and the way i love stellie buttons.

everything in rome is delightful.
luciano at the front desk is delightful.
pizza al taglio is delightful.
the breeze that breaks through the hot sun is delightful.
giuseppe in the breakfast room is delightful.
trastevere is delightful.
strolling through parks and napping on benches in delightful.
pistachio e cioccolato is delightful.
the cars, the scooters, the round abouts, the fountains, the buildings, the accents, the gritty streets, the ancient ruins, the lively music ... it's all delightful.

so we ended our trip meandering around the city in sheer delight. we even clocked a 12+ mile day bouncing from pizzerias and piazzas to ancient ruins and historical buildings.
i got my fix.
go get yours.

giolitti's.

trastevere.

antonio's. 

villa doria. 

bici baci. 

la florida pizzeria.

make a wish.

official.

rock over london.
rock on new york.

Italian Adventures Part 2: Cinque Terre

Thank you Rick Steves.  Apparently these five little coastal towns were an undiscovered spot until the guidebook guru happened upon them.  Since his discovery, thousands (and I mean THOUSANDS) of Americans pour into these villages each year. I'm a traveling hypocrite: an American and a tourist, who doesn't want to see A SINGLE American tourist when I travel. We managed to avoid most of the crowds. There was so much we loved about Cinque Terre - like the hiking! 

Don't be intimidated by the camel-back packing, boot-wearing hardcores. We did the sentiero rosso (more challenging red path) in keds. And though you might curse my name all the way up 1200+ feet of stairs, you'll be glad you did it when you get to the top and are meandering among mountain-top villages, ancient abandoned homes and manicured vineyards. 

We crossed paths with Sergio hiking from Manarola to Corniglia. (you MUST do this!) Though he was returning from a Sunday morning fruit-finding excursion, he seemed more than happy to snap a quick photo. After chatting about where we lived, how adorable he was, and what he'd been up to that morning he reached right into that basket (chocked full of oregano, basil and fresh fruit) and handed us some delicious apricots. Italians will rob you blind and give you the shirt off their backs.  Anyway, they were delicious.

he's adorable, right? 

We loved eating.
Every night at Trattoria dal Billy - this is what Italian food is meant to be. Fresh ingredients, simple preparation, no fuss and unbelievable flavors.  I'm still dreaming about my sea bass. The view wasn't bad either.

We loved adventure.
After conquering an accidental 5-mile excurion in sandals the day before, we were feeling REALLY adventurous. We decided to take our chances finding Guvano, the locals-only, clothing-optional, "secret" beach.  With nothing but vague instructions - "take a narrow staircase, ring the bell at the industrial looking gate..." - we set off. Everyone I spoke to seemed very protective of this "little slice of beach heaven." (thank you NYTimes for the blatant HYPERBOLE). The first response: do you have a flashlight? the water is too rough today. it's dirty.  But we continued undaunted. Then again: do you have a flashlight? it's difficult to get there.
In retrospect, important questions like:
why would we need a flashlight?
do you have one we could borrow?
what do you mean by dirty?
would have been appropriate follow ups. We just assumed this brotherhood of locals was set on protecting their magical place. Why would we let them discourage us? We're American tourists and "we can do anything!!!" (at least the Senegalese think, right RS?) So we pressed on.

"On" took us to an abandoned train tunnel, where the need for a flashlight became readily apparent after we round the first bend. Dripping water makes loud echoing THUMPS. Utter darkness induces silent sobs (HELLO worst case scenarios. my mind is going wild... angry homeless people, sink holes to the center of the earth we could slip into, oncoming trains we'd never see...) The screeches and rumblings of speeding trains in adjacent tunnels send chills up my spine. After 15 long black minutes, we see the light at the end of the tunnel. Our pace quickens. I fight the urge to sprint. Mainly because I have one hand on Kate's shoulder and the other around Matt's waist in a death grip and I'm not willing to let go. (remember, I slept with a lamp on until high school.)  At this point, a curious pair of headlights is speeding toward us from behind and I'm sure we're going to die on these abandoned tracks, meters shy of our destination. Matt does his best to lie - "It's just a flashlight" he says. We emerge as the headlights catch up to us. Two unkempt rastafari yell "ciao ragazzi" and all that leftover death-defying adrenaline explodes - I sob. As our eyes adjust to our surroundings and we explore Guvano, it becomes very clear that "clothing optional" actually means "rastafari nudist colony." I guess I didn't learn those nuances on study abroad. After trying to find a nice location to take in some sun (in suits), awkwardly stepping over jagged rocks and naked bodies, then carrying on a conversation with a very tan, very naked middle-aged man who offered to show us a spot on the beach, we retreated.  And instead of risking my life in the tunnel reprise, I negotiated* a price for our safe return in those speeding headlights - a scooter truck.

Worth every penny.

 Those real friends of ours from Part 1, well, they were real sports about this one too.
(*agreed to whatever they asked of me)

Italy via iPhone

  

rome.

Italian Adventures Part 1: Real Friends

We're back from a wonderful trip to Italy with a quick stop in Pisa (you don't need more), Cinque Terre and Rome. The original plan included a jaunt down to the Amalfi Coast, but Matt was invited to final rounds for a job we really hope he gets.  We cancelled Sorrento to fly back early so he could be there.

Italy is my favorite place on the planet. I was literally overcome with sadness when we landed in London. (insert eye roll here. how bad could london really be? it's not bad. it's just not italy)

Slow walkers.
Fast talkers.
Wonderful food.
Terrible smells.
Kind people.
Angry drivers.
Loud cities.
Quiet side streets.
Old buildings.
It's just magical.
After 4 years of not speaking, my language skills were in better condition than expected. Being able to communicate when you travel makes a HUGE difference - where's the best pizza, how do we get here, what's in your basket (oh, apricots? we'd love some!!!), what happened to all the cats?- I wish every country spoke Italian.

There's so much to share about our trip: dinners on the cliffs of Manarola with ocean views, accidentally hiking WAY too many miles, terrifying abandoned train tunnels that lead to secret beaches, watching the sun set over the Vatican after a charming dinner in Trastevere, a very casual conversation with an entirely nude man ...
have I mentioned I love Italy?

We were fortunate enough to embark on this adventure with our friends Kate & Tim. 
(Notting Hill neighbors, worked with in Manhattan, economist husbands, parallel lives)

(our pisa slumber party) 

In the 90s there was a friendship advertising campaign, well now that i think about it,  it really was about drunk driving: "friends don't let friends drive drunk." Our Italian adventures have proved that real friends don't mind when you book a 2-start hotel with a 5-star price tag.  They don't mind when the beds are so small that you have to push them together in order to make room for everyone. They don't mind when you sob in a pitch black tunnel as worst-case scenarios run through your mind. They don't mind when you suggest a quick walk that ends up being a 5 mile mostly-uphill hike through the mountains in sandals. They don't mind that the hike forces you to pee in the woods. They don't mind when you taste their gelato. Or make them take photos of you. Or eat off their dinner plate.

Friends don't let friends go to Italy alone!