DJ in the USA

"As I write this I'm thinking how my time there may just end up being the best years of my life, in a way. I wouldn't trade what's going on now and I'll never go back (I prefer to remember it the way it was) but it was sweet. If my life now is like a good meatloaf sandwich - solid, wholesome productive and satisfying - life then was a plum - sweet, good for you in a different way, and gone in 5 minutes."
--Paul Bollyky, MD



My closest medical school friend sent me that email about a month after I arrived in Oxford, and even then I could tell that when the time finally came for me to come home again it was going to be a dramatic change. When I set foot on American soil for the first time in Logan Airport, I wasn't struck so much by how Boston had changed as I was how I had changed as a result of leaving everything behind for six months. I could fill several volumes with the impact the experience has had on me both personally and professionally. It is almost like I'm a different person.

I could go on explaining what it feels like to be home again, but I know that I don't have to because anyone who's reading this has experienced exactly what that bittersweet emotion is like. Maybe it was after you left home for the first time to head off for college. Maybe it was after losing a loved one who had lived a long and good life. Maybe it was after reaching the final episode of Band of Brothers and listening to Major Winters talk about the heroes he served with in the 101st. Or maybe it was after moving on from a relationship that had lasted longer than most. Or for those of you who actually made it to page 1018, maybe it sounds something like this:

At last the three companions turned away, and never again looking back they rode slowly homewards; and they spoke no word to one another until they came back to the Shire, but each had great comfort in his friends on the long grey road.

At last they rode over the downs and took the East Road, and then Merry and Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing again as they went. But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.

He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.

And with that I conclude my career as a blogger. With the return of American cell phone service, the busy schedule of surgical residency, and the private nature of my major life decisions that are about to take place with the interview season approaching, I will have to return to the old school approach to keeping in touch. If anything truly earth shattering takes place, I'll try to post it on www.myspace.com/davidlyle. Until then, I'll look forward to chatting with you all in person!

Reykjavik

"We come from the land of the ice and snow, From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow."
--Led Zeppelin



Many of you will be surprised to see a post from this location showing up on my blog. Well let me tell you that nobody is more surprised by this than I am. When I booked my return flight with the travel office, I was primarily focused on two things: spending Christmas with my family and making it back in time for work on the 27th. So when they emailed me the itinerary, I compulsively checked both of these details several times. I verified the airport, the terminal, the time of departure, the airport of arrival (my car is actually near Dulles at the moment), the time of arrival…there was no question that this was going to be a smooth trip. So when I arrived for a layover in Reykjavik, I pulled out the email with my flight information to see how much time I had to make my connection. You can imagine my horror when I discovered that the answer to that question was somewhere in the neighborhood of 17 hours. I noticed that my 2 bags had also turned up on the conveyor belt (weighing approximately 75 kg), so I asked one of the Icelandair representatives for some advice on the best course of action. She explained that the last bus was leaving immediately for downtown Reykjavik and that there was a good chance I would be able to find a hotel down there somewhere once I got there. This might sound like a no brainer, but I honestly had to give it some thought. If I missed my flight, I would undoubtedly face serious consequences back home since so many people were depending on me being back to work by 6 am on the 27th. If I stayed at the airport, though, I would be heading back to work having already pulled an all-nighter in addition to the jet-lag which was about to ensue. I knew from past experience that I could only carry my bags about 100 yards without falling over. So here I was after midnight on Christmas in the middle of Iceland, and thinking that in the worst-case scenario I would be stranded in the middle of the tundra and get eaten by polar bears or something.

I got on the bus. When I arrived at the only hotel with any vacancies, I learned that the price would be about 8,000 IKR. That seems like a lot of money, and at this point I still have no idea how much I paid for a night’s sleep and a warm shower, but after getting a quick tour of Reykjavik I’m back at the airport where they have a very sketchy wireless service. So far it looks like my flight to Boston will be on time…

Renhold

"But the fact is, Greg, with the knowledge you've been given, you are now on the inside of what I like to call... 'the Byrnes family circle of trust.' I keep nothing from you, you keep nothing from me... and round and round we go."
--Robert DeNiro


It’s definitely true what they say about how there’s no place like home for the holidays. While I will probably always consider that house off Rockford Road in Plymouth, Minnesota to be my home, I have to say that this year it was a special treat to spend the holiday in the home of my ancestors visiting my relatives in Renhold. The All Saints Church where my family has worshiped for at least six generations was decorated beautifully, and although there wasn’t any snow the lights on the trees all over town looked like something from a Hallmark card. Since many of our American Christmas traditions originate in England, it was a lot of fun to actually experience the holiday the way it was meant to be celebrated. No matter how long I live, I will never forget my relatives bringing out the figgy pudding, watching the Queen’s Christmas address, taking communion in the style of my great great great grandfather, and opening gifts with my English relatives—I was given a wonderful present this year: a book called “1000 Places to See Before You Die.” After all the traveling I had done in the last six months I thought I would be able to check off quite a few of them. Not so. I only managed to hit about 10% of the places in the UK, and have not even made it to the one place in my home state that is featured in the book—the Boundary Waters. I suppose the only thing that would have made it a better Christmas would have been getting to see the other three members of the Joyce family “Circle of Trust.” I guess that will just have to wait for next year…

Austria

"I drive a hybrid. Tipper and I got a Lexus hybrid. And we have a couple of Priuses in the family with our children. And I encourage people to make environmentally conscious choices because we all have to solve this climate crisis."
--Al Gore



We made it to St. Anton's, only to find out that it has been over 1500 years since it was this warm in the alps. We decided to give it a go anyway and were severely disappointed to find a base of 0 inches with just about the only snow being man made. I quickly discovered how dangerous it could be to ski under these conditions, when I got the bright idea to head off the trail on what appeared to be some nice powder. Before long, I had descended below the level of the trail and it started looking like a long hike to get out of it. I was just about to take off my skis when I thought to myself: "Wait a minute. I'm rental boy #2. I can do this!" (Sorry for those of you who weren't in Salt Lake in 1998 and have no idea what I'm talking about at this point). To make a long story short, the folks at the ski rental office were very forgiving and didn't even charge me extra for the large chunks that I took out of the bottom of my skis as I was scraping across the gravel.

After one day of that nonsense, we decided enough was enough and got in the car and headed for Innsbruck and Salzberg. At this point, we had also met up with my friend Jackie, who had joined Sam and I on our very first trip to Slovenia and Hungary. It was the perfect bookend for what has been a whirlwind 6 months. We're in Salzberg now, which of course brings back numerous memories of our last trip here 18 years ago when we were accompanied by Beatrice Storch, who later became a Joyce family icon as our nanny. Trixie left an unmistakable imprint on each of our lives. I'll never forget how she reacted after proofreading my 3rd grade school report on Austria. In discussing Austrian religion, I commented: "92% of Austrians are Catholic. The rest are prostitutes." I honestly had no idea what a protestant was at the time, any more than I understood the significance of what I had actually written. Trixie also taught me many German words which I have now completely forgotten, as well as the difference between a eucharist and a uterus (which I have retained after four years of medical school). Sadly, she joined the peace corps or the Air Force Special Ops, I can't remember which, and we haven't heard from her since.

In any case, tonight we went up to Berchtesgaden, which was unbelievably my first Band of Brothers site visit. So much for my intentions of seeing every battlefield of the 101st during my six months here. Amazing how fast time flies. The view from the Eagle's Nest easily rivals the goldmine in Montana for the most beautiful scenery in the world--especially with the Christmas lights and bells ringing in the town below.

Germany

"Cherish them. Both of mine are dead. Well, my dad's not dead, but in a home, so good as."
--David Brent



Having completed my rotation in Oxford, I now have exactly one week before I return to the nightmare that awaits me in Baltimore, where I will be returning to the Cameron service within 8 hours of landing in Dulles, followed by three long months at "Guantanimo" Bayview Hospital. I am absolutely thrilled to be enjoying this last trek through the continent with the two travel companions from whom I have learned everything I know about living a life of adventure: Lyle and Tina. After doing lunch and a quick tour around South Kensington, we headed to the airport to launch off for Munich.





Upon arriving in Munich, we were met by my good friend Sam, whom you will already know quite well if you have been reading this blog. Since this is officially my last European adventure with Sam, I have to take a minute and get a little choked up about what an awesome opportunity it has been to enjoy his company on nearly every one of my journeys during the last six months. If you don't know Sam, I can only put it in perspective for you by telling you that even Frodo Baggins didn't have a friend who would always bring an extra rain jacket for him, just in case it started to storm during their hike through Mordor. Many tales will be told for years to come around the campfire at the XZ about some of the close shaves we've seen over the past few months, and if you want to get his perspective on things, just go to klipfontein.blogspot.com and you can read all about it.



We set out first thing Sunday morning for Nuremberg, where we beheld the world's most spectacular Christmas market. It turns out that Christmas was practically invented over here, with traditions such as the Christmas tree, advent calendar, "Silent Night," and those little wooden pyramid things that spin around when you light the candles all tracing their origins to Germany. The food was better than the best funnel cakes and footlongs you ever ate at the Minnesota State Fair, and the music has been brilliant--particularly the Bach performance we watched inside the main cathedral.



After getting our fill, we moved on to Rothenburg, where we spent the night and enjoyed more Christmas festivities early this morning. We then took the "Romantic Road" to Fussen, where we will spend the night before touring King Ludwig's and Neuschwanstein castles in the morning to round out the German leg.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

"Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fire-side and his quiet home!"
--Charles Dickens
The Pickwick Papers, 1836



In England there are 12 Days of Christmas, and this year I was fortunate to be able to spend half of them with my friend Christie, who came to visit from Dallas. Having a visitor over was a great excuse to take one last spin around my favourite stomping grounds before bringing this song of mine in three-quarter time to a conclusion with the coming of the New Year.

Dinner parties have become a Thursday night tradition with my friends at the JR, and the SEU ball at Trinity College was the dinner party to end all dinner parties. It was the last time when all of the house officers would be together before all of us went our seperate ways, so I could think of no better way to see everyone off than at a black tie Oxford high table dinner. The food was simply magnificent.

Friday I made my last pilgrimmage to Stratford Upon Avon to see the Winter's Tale at the Swan. Standing right next to the RSC actors on the stage was definitely a new way to experience theatre, and I enjoyed every minute of it--even if the bear did look a little phony.

Having failed to secure broadway tickets for Saturday night, I was a little nervous that we would end up getting standing room obstructed view tickets for Dirty Dancing. As it turned out, we miraculously scored returns tickets for Sound of Music, which is huge over here right now. The lead role was cast in a reality BBC show called "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" with Andrew Lloyd Webber serving as one of the judges. The production was as good as anything I've seen in New York, and our seats weren't too bad either--10 rows directly behind Tony Blair.

Sunday we did the London walking tour and then hit Harrods for some holiday shopping. Met up with some friends at the All Souls carol service.

Monday we went ice skating at the Somerset House, where they had turned the courtyard into a rink with a big Christmas tree at one end. I was very impressed when Christie started busting out the Dorothy Hamill moves after reportedly having only been ice skating four times in her life. Even more impressive was when she followed that with a spot on Bonnie Blair impersonation.

Tuesday we drove the "Romantic Road" that winds through the Cotswolds. Unfortunately several factors worked against my expectations for this venue, including the fact that it was dark as pitch, pouring rain, I was driving a Fiat Brava that is now missing part of the drivers' side bumper, and my iPod doesn't contain any Barry White.

Tunisia

"I have something here for you. Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it. He feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade like your father did. It's your father's lightsaber. This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight. Not as clumsy or as random as a blaster, but an elegant weapon for a more civilized age. For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times, before the Empire."
--Obi Wan Kenobi



This past weekend I met up with Sam and Greg in Tunis. We arrived at the airport late Wednesday night and crashed at Greg's place. As I got off the plane, I realized that this was my first time inside a country that doesn't use the real alphabet. Lucky for Sam and I, Greg is all but fluent in Arabic. As a matter of fact, at one point in the trip he even went so far as to explain to our desert guide the process whereby American scrub nurses perform instrument and sponge counts after performing a circumcision on an adult patient. But I'm getting way ahead of myself...

We got up early Thursday and set out immediately for the south. We drove all day, stopping only for lunch and a quick viewing of the Roman Colosseum in El Djem. By dinner time, we had arrived in Matmata which is just north of Tatooine. We spent the night in the Hotel Sidi Driss, which you will recognize in the photo above as THE Lars homestead. Yes, my friends, for 19 dinar you can sleep in Luke Skywalker's actual bedroom. The place hasn't changed a bit since 1977, and you can almost just imagine our excitement to be eating dinner at the same table where Aunt Beru said: "Luke's just not a farmer, Owen. He has too much of his father in him" to which Uncle Owen replied: "That's what I'm afraid of." When you're sleeping over at Luke Skywalker's house, you almost can't help but relive all the immortal whiny lines of Mark Hamill. For example, it is impossible to tell my sister Laura that something is impossible without her replying: "It's not impossible. I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home. They're not much bigger than two meters." And let me tell you that when you're sleeping in a moisture farm, saying to your buddies: "But I was going to go into Tashi station to pick up some power converters!" never stops being funny no matter how many times you quote it.

We broke out Friday morning and joined a caravan headed south to the Sahara. We arrived in an oasis where the campsite was located, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and immediately saddled up for a desert camel ride out among the sand dunes. After dismounting to explore some Roman ruins in the middle of the desert, we rode back to camp with the sun setting behind us. Our plans to call it an early night were interrupted by a slightly inebriated member of the staff who showed up in our tent and invited us to join him as he built a campfire out in the middle of the desert. With the moon full enough to read by, the stars only partially obscured by several cloud formations, and the embers of the fire crackling in front of us, I couldn't help feeling like I might as well be on a different planet. Things were so different from anything we have back home.



Saturday morning we had made plans to see the sunrise on horseback, and watching the mist clear off the sand dunes was no disappointment. Our guide had promised us that if we rented the three Arabians from him, he would give us free rein (so to speak) to take the animals as fast as we felt comfortable. We were thrilled at the prospect of galloping through the Sahara on horseback, until it became clear that these animals only knew one speed and none of us knew how to say "spurs" in French or Arabic. Fortunately, once we were turned back toward the camp at the end of the ride they managed to kick it out of low gear briefly. Saturday night we made our way back to Tunis and enjoyed a birthday party for the five-year-old daughter of one of Greg's friends.

Rugby

"We back it up."
--Shannon Sharpe



I have to confess that if there's one thing I miss about America, it's the sports. It's the only area of life in which the European version bears no resemblance to the stuff I was born and raised on. At no time has this been more obvious than Thanksgiving weekend. Instead of watching Romo score 5 TD's in Irving, I found myself in High Wycombe trying to understand the contest that was going on between the Leicester Tigers and the London Wasps. Rugby is great, but all I could think about the whole time is what it would be like to actually field an American team for the World Cup. I mean can you imagine?

If I were coach I would start the game with only three players on the field: Ray Lewis, Champ Bailey, and Vinatieri. After the first half, it would be a pretty even game with Vinatieri hammering drop goals one right after the other from midfield and the defense containing their 11 opponents apart from one or two scores. By the start of the second half, I would bring out the "B" squad: Terry Bradshaw, The Mailman, OJ Simpson (just for the controversy of it), Kathy Ireland, the fat kid from "Old School," Jake the Snake (the wrestler, not the former starting Denver QB) and John Kerry. Things would start to get a little rough for Team America, and the fans would be starting to get nervous and start heckling me. I'd think about calling up Mike Richardson from the bench but would hold off, knowing that the mastermind Parcells-approved plan was about to unfold. And then with 5 minutes left in the game, I'd unleash American athletecism at full strength. LT. TO. Randy Moss. Deion Sanders. Sha Sha. Romanowski. Chris Carter. Emmit Smith. And of course: John Elway. After running up the score by triple digits, the world would be reminded once again of the immortal words of Ricky Bobby: "If you ain't first, you're last."

Wales

Q: It's the insurance damage waiver for your beautiful new car. Now, will you need collision coverage?
James Bond: Yes.
Q: Fire?
James Bond: Probably.
Q: Property destruction?
James Bond: Definitely.
Q: Personal Injury?
James Bond: I hope not, but accidents do happen.
Q: They frequently do with you.
James Bond: Well, that takes care of the normal wear-and-tear. Is there any other protection I need?
Q: Only from me 007, unless you bring that car back in pristine order.



It's hard to believe that my time in Great Britain is winding down already. With less than a month to go at my job, I decided to make a shotgun trip into North Wales to do some hiking and site seeing. It was another reminder of how awesome Europe is in that you can take a day trip and find yourself in a completely different set of surroundings. Unlike the rolling hills of the English countryside, Betws-y-Coed is covered in peaks and rivers that resemble the way you would imagine Rohan. In fact, it turns out that instead of English, the Welsh actually speak Elf. In the early 1300's, Wales represented the Wild West of the United Kingdom. In order to bring the population under English control, Edward I built a number of castles which survive today.

The only downside to visiting Wales is that it's about a 4 hour drive from my flat. Rationalizing that traveling from Oxfordshire is much easier than from Baltimore, MD, I decided it was worth it to spend an entire day riding in my car to visit a place I might not have an opportunity to see again for a long time. Now that winter is here, though, it starts getting dark at like 3 in the afternoon. So by 8:00 pm when I was nearly home, it was pitch black outside. They don't believe in street lights over here, and with the cloud cover there wasn't much starlight to navigate by. Within 10 miles of home, I was pulling onto a stretch of about 20 roundabouts. Roundabouts are no big deal if you know which way you're going. But in this rapid fire sequence of one right after another, I had to rely on the road signs to confirm that I was going the right way. As I was exiting one of the roundabouts, a van pulled next to me and obstructed my view of the sign. Just as I slowed down enough to see that the sign didn't say "Oxford" on it, I made a snap decision to swerve right and continue around to the next exit. It was at that same moment that the driver behind me decided to fly past me on my right. When I pulled over, I noticed that the right bumper of my car was torn to shreds and there was a clear liquid running out onto the ground. After exchanging insurance details, I naturally did what anyone would do in that situation. I got back in my car and decided to see if it would get me home without a major catastrophe. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when I tested the windshield washer fluid and found that it was empty. In retrospect, I guess it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It's always just when you think you've got a new skill mastered that you have a major incident, and my English driving skills are clearly no exception.

Guy Fawkes Day

"Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I see of no reason why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot."



This morning I drove up to London to participate in the celebration of Guy Fawkes day. This is Britian's version of the 4th of July with respect to fireworks, bonfires, and big parties and it commemorates the day in 1605 when God is said to have protected King James I from a conspiracy by a bunch of terrorists who were intent on blowing up Parliment. James, who was the son of Mary Queen of Scots, took the throne after Elizabeth I died without leaving a direct heir. Since the 8,000 Catholics living in England at that time weren't treated very nicely by Elizabeth, they were hopeful that the son of a fellow Catholic would give them a better shake after uniting the kingdoms of England and Scotland under one crown. When that didn't happen, Guy Fawkes and four other conspirators decided to take matters into their own hands, assasinate all the protestant rulers and place a Catholic queen on the throne. As it turned out, one of the MP's got word of the plot and Guy Fawkes was captured, tortured, hanged, drawn and quartered, and then had his head placed on display on London bridge. This wasn't thought to be enough of a retribution, so they made a national holiday out of the event. Every year, Guy Fawkes figures are placed at the top of bonfires in order to celebrate the manner in which this criminal was brought to justice. Until about 100 years ago, as part of the celebration they would tie the Guy Fawkes doll to a cat so that it would scream as it burned, making the whole experience slightly more realistic. Whether it was due to the advent of pyrotecnics or PETA I'm not really sure, but this tradition was eventually deemed unnecessary. I have to say this whole experience has given me a whole new appreciation for the British. While they're celebrating history's most successful experience with anti-terrorism, we in America are releasing movies like "V for Vendetta" which glorify the events of Nov 5 in such a way that I think we're meant to go and sign up for Al Qaeda by the time the film is over.

Rome

"I've seen much of the rest of the world. It is brutal and cruel and dark, Rome is the light."
--Maximus Decimus Meridius



With only two and a half days in Rome, we had to carefully budget our time in order to make it to all of the critically important sites this city has to offer. Naturally, we spent the first afternoon at the "Time Elevator" theme ride. Since I went to public school, history was not a mandatory offering. Nevertheless, I somehow made it through Mr. Hendricks' Area Studies class with an A, recovering from an embarrassing incident in which I was asked in front of the whole class what Lenin's first name was. I still maintain that "Love me do" had as much if not more of an impact on Western Civilization as the Communist regime in Russia. The Time Elevator was just the thing I needed to brush up on my Roman History and prepare me for the sights of the next couple days. Like any good documentary, it contained lots of fictional narrator type characters for comic relief and to keep you interested and entertained. I could tell that all the other members of the audience (most of whom were about 5 years old) appreciated this as much as I did. After getting a good introduction to Roman history, we proceeded to hammer out the Vatican, Colosseum, Forum, Rostrum, Senate, Mamartine Prison, Pantheon, Temple of Julius Caesar, and the Arch of Constantine. It was quite an education. For example, after his "grand exit" from St. Peters, the Holy Father was whisked away in a vehicle known as the Pope-mobile. I'm not making this up. Can you please tell me why no one has capitalized on this theme for a Bruce Willis movie complete with its own line of action figures? "Your eminence, the jihadists are angry with the remarks in your speech. We must flee. To the Pope-mobile!!" Then they would have the Snoop-Dogg soundtrack playing as he rappels down from the tower into the vehicle, which would be a slightly modified jet turbine version of the H2.

Florence

"I never wanted this for you. I work my whole life - I don't apologize - to take care of my family, and I refused to be a fool, dancing on the string held by all those bigshots. I don't apologize - that's my life - but I thought that, that when it was your time, that you would be the one to hold the string. Senator Corleone; Governor Corleone. Well, it wasn't enough time, Michael. It wasn't enough time."
--Vito



I don't know what you've heard, but the David surpasses all expectations and hype. I'm an art idiot, but this sculpture even took my breath away. But probably the highlight of the Florence leg was a little restaurant you won't read about in Rick Steves called "Il Latini." Unable to make reservations, we arrived to find a mob scene outside the front door of this establishment. It became clear rather quickly that there would not be anyone taking our names or handing us a little buzzer like you get at the Olive Garden, so I did my best Johnny Fontaine impersonation and walked to the front of the group like they should have been expecting us. Within seconds we were sitting down and embarking on a 7 course meal that involved several dishes I had never even heard of. During the evening, my Italian vocabulary tripled (meaning I could now say three words) as we conversed with the locals in this incredible joint.

Cinque Terre

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands."
--Psalm 19:1



After taking in the tower, we boarded a train for Europe's ultimate back door--Cinque Terre. This group of five towns hovers on the cliffs overlooking the blue waters of the Ligurian sea just south of Portofino. Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore--you have to see them to believe them. As was once reported in the LA Times: "The Cinque Terre is one of those places people tend to read about once and then dream about forever." I still haven't woken up from the dream. It was in one of these tiny villages that I really got to experience my first dose of Italian cuisine. Unsure of what to order, I recalled my brother's preference for Gnocci every time we ate in Little Italy after his travels in Europe. Let me tell you that Amicci's will never even come close to the real thing, baby. Our 2 days in the Italian riviera were probably as close to heaven as I've been in this life, but they were over in a flash.

Pisa

"You can only lean against that which resists.”
--Indian Proverb



Without a doubt, the climax of my European adventures occurred during the last week and a half as I traveled through Italy with Houston friends Sam and Leslie. We caught a flight out of London Stansted at the butt crack of dawn headed for Pisa. As we were standing in the "queue" waiting to get on the flight, Leslie whispered to me that we were in the company of greatness. I quickly glanced over my shoulder, did a double take, and realized that she was right--one of our fellow Ryan Air passengers was a bona fide celebrity. It's always difficult to know how to conduct yourself in this kind of situation. You figure these guys get so sick and tired of signing autographs and not being able to go anywhere without being mobbed by people that you don't want to add to the problem just for the cheap thrill of saying you met a celebrity. Obviously the thing to do is come up with some sort of clever line to acknowledge your appreciation of the person without totally getting in their business. For some reason, I've always found that difficult. I think it has to do with the nature of the celebrities I've come into contact over the years. I mean, what are you supposed to say to people like...

John Elway (pre Super Bowl victories). "Hey John, this could be the year. All you guys have to do is put away Jacksonville!"
Tom Landry (post Jimmy Johnson Super Bowl victories). "Dude, just think what YOU could have done with Troy Aikman and Neon Deion!"
Mike Dukakis. "What's happenin' governor? Hey, is it true the Greek translation of your last name is MONDALE??"
John Kerry. "Oh my gosh! It's John Kerry!! My stomach is doing flip flops!!!"

So you can understand the context when I contemplated my options for confronting Andy Serkis...
1. Hey Andy, do you know if there's a meal on this flight? Spoilin' nice fish. Give it to us raw and w-r-r-riggling; you keep nasty chips!
2. Gotta love these early morning flights. Master should be resting, Master needs to keep up his strength.
3. Did that guy stop you and ask for your passport? He wants the precious. Always he is looking for it. And the precious is wanting to go back to him... But we mustn't let him have it.
4. I don't know about you but I'm ready to leave England with this cold weather rolling in. I want to leave now and never come back! What? Leave now and never come back! {brief silence} We told him to go away... and away he goes! Gone, gone, gone!

Ultimately, we decided not to approach him. This was primarily based on the fact that we couldn't come up with his last name and were divided on the issue of whether he would prefer to be addressed as Gollum or Smeagol. I of course immediately wished that Daniel was along on the trip. I'd have loved to see Andy approach him and be like: "Orlando, what in the heck are you doing flying Ryan Air?"

1066

"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself."
--John Stuart Mill



One consequence of spending three decades in formal education is that you inevitably wind up in a lecture asking yourself: "Who in the world could possibly give a rat's crap about this stuff?" Such was the case in my medical school genetics course when they started talking about sonic hedgehog and I realized much to my disappointment that the word "sega" was not to be introduced in the discussion at any point. In contrast, there have been other times when I sat back and marveled at what I was being taught, thinking: "I don't care what profession you're in, this stuff is completely relevant." This was my college experience with the many Military Arts and Sciences courses I was required to take. Consequently, I don't think there will ever be a day when I'll grow weary of seeing and learning about the battle sights that shaped history. After being blown away by Bunker Hill and Gettysburg, you can imagine my excitement at traveling to a continent that offers Agincourt, Waterloo, and of course Normandy.

So it was that on the exact date of the 940th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings that I found myself in East Sussex watching a reenactment of the decisive victory in the Norman conquest of England. It was during this conflict that William the Conqueror defeated King Harold II and remains the last time that England was occupied by a foreign power. This was my first time watching a reenactment, and I have to admit that in retrospect I actually prefer viewing the empty field and letting my imagination run wild. Call me a perfectionist, but I maintain that the fight scene in the 19swhmarmaea {covering mouth with hand} Robbinsdale Armstrong High School production of "Shane 2: The Revenge of the Shane" was superior in every aspect. Granted, I may be a little biased having directed and starred in that film. Don't worry if you haven't seen it, we never released it on video...that's how you develop a cult following. Anyway, I think what was really missing from this reenactment was some closeups of the blood and gore that was surely a major element in the struggle. I'm thinking next year we put up massive projection screens encircling the battlefield and then have about a dozen soldiers wearing helmet cams. The climax of the battle would come when we see one of the Norman knights ride up to Harold and swing his axe just below his helmet cam. The next thing we would see is his head falling off (from the first-person perspective) back and to the left...back and to the left. I realize that this may not be entirely historically accurate, but for the sake of the children in the audience I think we should give them something to remember. To clarify, they haven't asked me to do the writing for this but the ideas just keep popping...

Paris

"Back home everyone said I didn't have any talent. They might be saying the same thing over here but it sounds better in French."
--Gene Kelly as Jerry Mulligan



Last week I made a snap decision to catch the Eurostar with my friend Aaron and spend the weekend in Paris. We were greeted by spectacular weather and after taking in the world's finest artwork at the Louvre, strolling down the Rue de Cler, visiting Napoleon's tomb, and pondering the brilliance of "The Thinker," we were finally on our way back to the hotel to pick up our things and wrap up a much needed break from the cloudy England weather. That's when the adventure began.

I had been looking all weekend for a specific bank that I could withdraw funds from and not pay the $5 fee. As we were nearing the Arc de Triumphe, Aaron noticed the ATM I had been looking for, and I quickly shoved in my card and entered my PIN. It was at this moment that the Americans at the ATM next to me warned me to watch out for three children that were lingering around--they were pickpockets. Thankful for the heads up, I quickly protected my man purse that contained in excess of $1000 in electronics. I asked them nicely to back off, and in response they proceeded to swarm on me, covering up the ATM screen as if trying to get me to purchase a magazine they were holding up. At first I wasn't too concerned. Being from Baltimore, I actually have a great deal of experience with all varieties of crime. In fact, the last time I was in Paris I remember watching as my mom performed a Chuck Norris Power Ranger round kick to bring down a failed pickpocket attempt by a young man that took my dad's wallet. Given the evolving nature of the situation, I followed rule #1: generate attention. In my USAFA freshman-hazing voice, I began yelling many things to the children in French. Unfortunately, my command of the language is a little weak, so the children didn't seem to get the picture when I sounded off: JE VOUDRAIS ALLER AU SALLE DE BAINS!!!!! (OK, it wasn't quite that bad but pretty close). At this point, I canceled out my transaction, grabbed my ATM card, and Aaron and I both evacuated the scene. It was just at this moment that three large men appeared and aggressively approached me, stating that these children had stolen my money. Being 100% certain that I had cancelled the ATM transaction and being absolutely convinced that these guys were part of the scam, I bolted. That's when things got confusing. Instead of letting me run (which is the textbook response that is taught to criminals in entry level courses) they pursued me. I ducked down into the Metro, thinking that my odds of finding a law enforcement professional or government worker to sound the alarm were greatest in this setting. They converged on me, threw me against the wall, whipped out their billy clubs and pointed at a concealed pistol. At the same time, they pulled out badges that were around their necks that said "Police" on them and looked very similar to the ones I saw recently at Walmart in the "5 and under" section. During the next 15 minutes, they proceeded to say things about the United States of America that are not fit to print on this blog. At this moment it was obvious that these guys were members of Al Qaeda... Or they were French... One of the men began making threats, saying that if I tried to go anywhere he would beat me Rodney King style. Several times I was threatened with an arrest. Obviously none of this behavior matched the kind of conduct I would expect from a law enforcement professional, particularly since I had done nothing but allegedly leaving behind some money at an ATM. Aaron immediately called one of our friends in London, got the number for the US Embassy, and we began to sort things out. It was obvious where things were headed. They were going to pull up in a car and ask us to get in and go to the station to file a report on the kids. Having a close friend who almost died after getting in a car after being held at gunpoint, I wasn't very enthusiastic about this option. As long as it was an obvious police vehicle driven by a uniformed officer, however, there was nothing to worry about. Right. So when an unmarked van showed up driven by a guy in civilian clothes with an eyebrow ring and smoking a cigarette, I wasn't exactly supremely confident that these guys were legit. We insisted on speaking with a uniformed officer, much to the disgust of the three men. Our friend at the Embassy began walking towards the scene, communicating with us on his cell. Finally, amidst some heated threats one of the men brought in some uniformed officers who assured us that everything was OK. After we got in the car, the driver (who I think was Captain Bezu Fache) peeled off down the Champs Elysses nearly colliding with another vehicle at several points during the journey. Evidently in Paris transporting two Americans and three ten-year-olds to the police station in order to spend the next 3 hours filling out paperwork qualifies as an emergency situation worthy of placing pedestrian lives at risk. We finally made it to the station, filed the report, and recovered the money. After missing our return train and rescheduling for several hours later, Aaron and I took time to thank God for protecting us. We also expressed our sincerest appreciation to the French officers who had helped bring these young criminals to justice. I'm guessing this was their first experience with the concept of gratitude, so hopefully next time we have to liberate their country from Germany they too will remember to say "Thanks!"

Slavery

"If you can't say anything nice, you shouldn't say anything at all."
--Fontina (a.k.a. Mom)

This weekend I had to cancel my plans in order to spend Saturday in the hospital covering for one of the Registrars who called in sick. This concludes my blog entry.

London

"No person can be said to know London. The most that anyone can claim is that he knows something of it."
--Oliver Wendell Holmes



This past weekend Sam and I decided to absorb as much of London as we could in a 48 hour period. We hopped on a double decker tour bus in the city that invented such vehicles and made our rounds. The two-hour ride was a fresh reminder of what a remarkable city this is. There is literally something for everyone here. If you like history, you can visit the Tower of London, now over a millennium old, where Henry VIII offed a couple of wives and Richard III disposed of several heirs to the throne. If you like theatre, Shakespeare's globe has daily performances of some of the world's greatest works. If you like fashion, there's Saville Row. If you like military monuments, there's the Wellington arch to commemorate a fairly significant victory over the French. If you like music, you can listen for the song of a nightingale in Barkley Square. If you like literature, you can walk along the same paths traveled by Oliver Twist. If you're interested in medicine, you can visit the hospital where the profession of nursing was born. If you like adventure, you can look for James Bond at MI6. If you like politics, you can stand in the speakers' corner in Hyde park and listen to the latest ideas. If law enforcement is your interest, there's nothing like Scotland Yard. If you enjoy being terrified, I recommend the Jack the Ripper tour. If you like chick movies, they've all been filmed here (so I'm told). And if you like to worship, there's really nowhere like Westminster Abbey. Truly an international city, I managed to have dinner this weekend with people from Australia, Japan, Singapore, Holland, England, Boston, Kansas City, and Michigan. I have to confess, the more time I spend here the more I feel the need to retract my long-held belief that New York is the city by which all others are measured. In fact, I'm pretty sure they even have more Broadway shows here than on Broadway itself.

Bath

"A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment."
--Jane Austen



Bath has been described as Britain's version of Hollywood 200 years ago. Walking around the well preserved neoclassical architecture, it's easy to imagine what life would have been like here during the Georgian era. This week the city was celebrating the life of one of its most famous citizens, serving as host to the Jane Austen Festival. Austen is wildly popular amongst the women of England. In a recent survey, Fitzwilliam Darcy topped the list of fictional characters the women of the UK would most like to date, beating out Superman and James Bond. This week's venue is essentially the world's largest Est-Fest. Example. This Saturday's Schedule...

10am-1130am: A Very Private Public Breakfast. Sample the delights of an eighteenth century public breakfast just as Jane Austen did...There will be a talk on the recipes of the time and tableware used.
11am-1230pm: Jane Austen's Bath Walking Tour
1230pm-1pm: Costume photography. Turn yourself into Lizzie Bennet or Mr. Darcy! Take a photo in Georgian costume in an elegant Regency setting.
2pm-3pm: Powder and Prejudice. An illustrated talk on Regency beauty, in preparation for tonight's ball.
7:30pm-9:30pm: Grand Regency Ball and Supper. We request the pleasure of your company for an evening of music, dancing, cards, and a traditional Regency Supper at the magnificent Georgian Guildhall in Bath.

After walking into the Jane Austen center I started having flashbacks to my first day in senior French class back in high school. I was the only dude in sight. Just like Jay Cutler studying the videotape on New England's defence in preparation for Sunday's game, I regarded this as an opportunity to educate myself on the female psyche. After about an hour, I started to get a pretty good read on the situation--all I have to do is stare at their mouths and wrinkle my nose, and I turn out to be a big sweetheart. Lock it up!

Blenheim Palace

"Although present on that occasion, I have no clear recollection of the events leading up to it."

--Sir Winston Churchill on his birth at Blenheim Palace



Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet up with my second cousins' family in Oxfordshire. They were visiting from Colorado, and it was no accident that they happened to be at Blenheim Palace for the afternoon. You see, there are certain things that just go along with being a guy in my family--like enjoying German Chocolate Cake for your Birthday. I can honestly say that I independently arrived at an obsession with the British politician and Nobel Prize Laureate. It was only later that I realized that my grandpa shared my view that FDR got way too much credit for the way WWII turned out and that one of my English relatives actually drives a Rolls that once belonged to the former Prime Minister.

Ever since I was a child, I remember being fascinated with politics. I can still vividly remember the inauguration of Ronald Reagan, even though I was only five when it happened. And there is no question that the last 25 years have seen some of the world's most talented political leaders. If you have any doubt about this fact, just turn on the television next time Tony Blair is giving a speech on Terrorism. But I have to say that in order to find anyone who was born and raised(as I now realize after visiting Blenheim) with the kind of mastery and skill of Winston Churchill, you have to go back to the book of 2 Samuel.

His sense of humor and ability to weild the English language with perfection are simply astounding. It is unlikely that the world will ever produce another like him. I don't think the guy ever said anything that wasn't quotable, but here are a few of my favorites:

"History will be kind to me for I intend to write it."
"If you're going through hell, keep going."
"Any man who is under 30, and is not a liberal, has no heart; and any man who is over 30, and is not a conservative, has no brains."
"We make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give."
"Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm."

Blenheim Palace remained an important part of Churchill's life throughout its duration. In addition to being born at Blenheim, it was there that he proposed to Miss Clementine Hozier in the summer of 1908 in the gardens at the Temple of Diana overlooking the lake. I'm not sure what he said to her on that occasion, but standing in the place on a beautiful September afternoon, it's hard to imagine any girl telling him "no."