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."

Switzerland

"Ooh--all the men in the midst of a table d'hote heard: Sit ze zuu bah zo zee oh. Men drinking jacks with the foam afloat heard: Zee be be bo see se aye."

--The Lonely Goatherd (as performed by Harry Connick Jr.)



For those of you who have already been to Gimmelwald, there's not much I can tell you that will add to what you already know. As far as I can tell, the place hasn't changed at all since it was discovered by America. For those of you that have never been, it's probably impossible for me to describe in words what this place is like. The best I can do is tell you that it is Europe's version of the XZ.

For instance, any great hidden gem (XZ being no exception) has to be all but inaccessible. Otherwise it would quickly be overrun with tourists. If you thought the 16 hour car ride from Minneapolis was brutal, get a load of what you have to do to make it up to Gimmelwald. My starting point was Oxford, England. So right off the bat I had the advantage of being across the ocean when I got in my car to drive to the park and ride. After fighting traffic and waiting about an hour for a bus, I finally made it to Gatwick within about 2.5 hours. After waiting for another 2 hours in the security line, I boarded my flight and arrived in Geneva within another hour and a half. By this time, it was so late on Friday that I met up with Sam at the hostel in Geneva in order to get a night's sleep before venturing out early the next morning. From Geneva we caught a train up to Interlaken. This took about four hours of switching multiple different trains. Finally, we switched on to the Interlaken Ost-Lauterbrunnen train and enjoyed the breath-taking views of the Swiss alps. From Lauterbrunnen, there's a bus that you have to take up to Stechelberg. After you arrive in that small village, there's only two ways to reach Gimmelwald: a four hour hike or a gondola. We opted for the latter and arrived in time to enjoy a beautiful hike up towards the Schilthorn (site of the 007 film "In Her Majesty's Secret Service).

Upon returning to the Mountain Hostel after our hike, we were greeted by about 30-40 people between the ages of 18 and 30, predominantly from the Pacific Northwest. After establishing how many people we could fit in the hot tub, we sat down for some cards and I enjoyed getting my butt kicked in a game of hearts. The following morning we were disappointed to wake up to a torrential downpour. Fortunately, the hostel was equipped with an upright piano and a handful of the girls staying there knew the words to Edelweiss and the music of Les Mis, so we managed to keep ourselves entertained until the weather cleared. We then ventured out through the misty mountains to Trummelbach Falls, where we climbed through several caves which contained the 5,200 gallons of water that pours out from the falls every second.

The Family

"Why land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts."
--Gerald O'Hara
Gone With the Wind



In what has now become a Joyce familiy tradition, this past weekend I made my pilgrimage to the town of Renhold, England. Mapquest doesn't exist in Europe, so during the last 10 or 15 miles I was guided almost entirely from my own memory. It was my third trip to the Joyce estate, but somehow I can still remember the details of what it looked like even from my first visit in the fourth grade. Although the farmland that makes up the property is very similar to what you might find in Atlantic, Iowa (home of my great great grandfather) or Plainview Nebraska (where the past three generations lived), the unmistakable feature of Renhold is the chapel which has stood at its center since the 13th century. It was at the top of this building that I remember being told as a child to look out as far as I could see, and when I couldn't see any further, that's where the family's property ended. After meeting up with my relatives, I went with Sarah (distant cousin) over to the church tower where they were getting ready to ring the chapel bells for a wedding. In England, it is a tradition that church bells are always rung by hand (something that has been automated in the rest of the world). From the bell tower, I was able to peer through the dirty glass of a window that overlooked the chapel. As I watched the bride and groom taking their vows, I realized that for the past several hundred years the Joyce men had been giving away their daughters in this very spot. In fact, Sarah was the most recent woman to be married in just this way. Of course the thought crossed my mind that with destination weddings becoming so popular there is a pretty good chance she won't be the last. For this reason, I have started praying that my first child will be a masculine child. After the ceremony we climbed down and walked around the grounds that surround the church. After passing by a dozen gravestones with the name "Joyce" on them, we finally came upon the place where my great great great grandparents are buried. Explaining to you how it came about that four of their five boys ended up finding their way to America is a story that will have to wait for another blog.

In the meantime, I spent Sunday morning on a punting tour of Cambridge University (very close to Bedford where my relatives live). My tour guide was an Itallian named Calo whose English was as bad as his driving, but we had a good time anyway and only managed to take out one other vessel filled with elderly tourists at ramming speed. The weather was absolutely magnificent, so I decided it would be a good opportunity to head into London in order to experience "The Globe." Antony and Cleopatra was playing, and I have to say it lived up to all my expectations (even if the live snake was a little disappointing). Standing with my arms resting on the stage, I came within one inch of getting a face full of Ceasar's wine as he fell over in a drunken stupor. The RSC has truly mastered the art of show business in this venue, and I don't think I'll ever see anything quite like it again for the rest of my life.

Norway

This past weekend I caught a flight to Stavanger to visit my friend Sam. We caught a ferry Saturday morning heading up the Lysefjorden towards Lysebotn. Don't worry, I don't understand what I just typed either. In Scandanavia, it's not as easy to translate the language as in other parts of Europe. I'm used to being able to detect similarities with the English counterparts, but I've found that with words like Fartt and Slutt that rule of thumb doesn't apply. But I digress... Heading up the fjord, we witnessed some incredible views of the cliffs thousands of feet above us. The most noteworthy of these was pulpit rock--a large flat diving board shaped schist (ask Sam if you want to know more about the metamorphic features of this rock) where people congregate to peer over the edge at the chasm below. Unbelievable. We finally reached the end of the Fjord and decided to look around for a shop that might be selling maps. As it turned out, there was only one shop open that was selling some type of outdoors equipment. Curious, I peeked in the window and recognized the familiar shape of parachute rigs hanging on the wall. In disbelief, I proceeded to venture into the shop where there was a list of prices for lessons and rentals. I'm not making this up. Base jumping is LEGAL in Norway. After further inquiry, I discovered that I am currently about 100 freefall airplane jumps shy of being eligible for the course.

We then proceeded to venture up about 30 switchbacks until we reached the base of the hike toward Kjeragbolten. This four hour hike quickly found a place on my High Fidelity Top Five Hikes list for reasons that will become clear if you continue reading. The hike combined the verticle incline of Square Butte, the longevity of Baldy (almost), and the adventure of the Ice Caves. After nearly rapelling down several rock faces, hurdling over chasms that were about a foot wide and 1000 feet down, and stopping to pet the sheep along the way, we made it to the last plateau before reaching the summit. As we were chatting it up with some of the locals who passed us on their way down, we learned that there were some jumpers preparing for liftoff just a short distance ahead. We quiickly scampered to the top, exhausted from the journey but determined to get there in time. Finally, we scurried over the last boulder and stopped in our tracks. There in front of us was a kid that couldn't have been more than 17, perched on the edge of the cliff. The look of sheer terror and fear in his eyes was something I had never witnessed, even during my years as a jumpmaster. As I reached down for my camera, he leaned forward, stretched out his arms, and was gone. Several seconds later we could hear the distinctive sound of opening shock. He was followed by four more jumpers. As we were waiting for the last two guys to make their tandem plunge, one of them encouraged us to come stand next to the place where they would be jumping off. Turns out you can get better pictures if you're actually hanging over the edge of the cliff. During the 20 minutes we spent waiting for them to dive, Sam and I asked about 10,000 questions about base jumping. Finally, our new friend announced that he would be doing a gainer. Specifically, this one would be a "Jesus Gainer." This of course prompted the question: What is a Jesus Gainer? He replied: "A Jesus Gainer is when you slowly rotate backwards with your arms oustretched like Jesus...and hope that you don't meet him at the bottom."



After there were no more jumpers to talk with (all of them having taken the plunge) we made our way toward our target destination: Kjeragbolten. We were almost there when we noticed a group of people standing at the edge of the cliff across the Fjord from where we were climbing. Sure enough, within seconds three of them went airborne and we witnessed their entire free fall. I was convinced that one of them was going to ride it in until at the last second I caught the faint glimpse of his pilot chute from behind his rig. Finally, we kept pushing on until we reached our destination. There are some other details to the story, but since my mother might be reading this blog and I know she already has a pretty lengthy list of things to pray about, I'll just leave you with a picture.

Dublin

"Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age."
--James Joyce

This past weekend I finally made it across the Irish Sea to Dublin. Although my air travel experiences could fill an entire blog, I will simply mention that I was very close to pulling a Ben Stiller at several points--I'm not raising my voice. THIS WOULD BE RAISING MY VOICE TO YOU, okay? I don't want to check my bag, okay? And, by the way, your airline? You SUCK at checking bags, okay, because I already did that once and you lost it, and then I had everything screwed up very badly for me, okay?

I was picked up from the airport by my Hopkins counterpart, Chris, who is paralleling my overseas experience at the Beaumont Hospital in Dublin. It was great to finally have a chance to reflect on my experiences abroad so far with the one person in the world who understands exactly what I've been going through. We exchanged horror stories from our first nights on take, and I was reminded of how lucky I am to have a classmate at Hopkins who is such a "brick" (or solid guy in American terms). If I stay at Hopkins for cardiothoracic, Chris and I will share the distinction of spending the 2008-2009 season as the "1109." (When you become a fellow, they strip you of your identity. Since "24601" was already taken, they had to come up with a new number for the paging system.)

I was delighted to learn that Chris's twin 3-year-old boys have the same favorite movie as me, and so I spent most of Saturday morning under the alias of "Darth Maul." After being chopped in half about 743 times by the two young Jedi, Chris and I took off for a tour of the city. We started out at the James Joyce Centre, where we arrived just in time to catch the walking tour. I have to digress for a minute and tell you that one of my goals has been to read all 100 of the top literary works of the 20th century during my lifetime. Since Laura challenged me with the list in 1999, I've made pretty good progress, but have always been intimidated by the book at the #1 spot: Ulysses. I always figured that until I could master Faulkner, I didn't have any business delving into the work of my distant relative. After this weekend, though, I can tell you that it is next on my list. The book was set in 1904 and was an attempt to paint a portrait that would allow the city to be reconstructed from the ground up just from the words in the text. The walking tour essentially followed the path of this odyssey, and despite my ignorance on the subject matter it was a fascinating stroll.

Our next stop was the Guiness factory--site of the best aerial view of the city. Of course to get to the top of the building you have to take the company tour. Even though I've tasted horse urine that was more appetizing than beer, I enjoyed learning about the business model that had propelled this company forward from a family run business to a multinational enterprise. Overlooking the city with Joyce quotes scrawled on the window glass to point out the major landmarks, people drinking Guiness all around me, and "With or Without You" playing in the background, I realized that you just can't get any more Irish than this.

We had dinner at the Johnnie Fox Pub, which is probably the most authentic joint in the UK. After a delicious 4 course meal, we were entertained by Hooley dancing, card tricks, and of course Celtic music. Although I don't have enough time to elaborate on all the details of the performance, I will say this: Probably the reason the Devil went down to Georgia is that he knew he couldn't cut it in Ireland.

Sunday I visited the Powerscourt estate in the Wicklow mountains. The land surrounding this monument rivals anything I have seen from Versailles to Busch Gardens in Florida. We also had the opportunity to hike around the waterfall, which is just a short car ride from the estate. Since I didn't have time to drive the ring of Kerry or peer over the cliffs of Mohr, I was thankful for this opportunity to see some of the beautiful scenery the country has to offer.

Stratford Upon Avon

Just declaim a few lines from "Othella"
And they think you're a heckuva fella.
If your blonde won't respond when you flatter 'er
Tell her what Tony told Cleopaterer,
And if still, to be shocked, she pretends well,
Just remind her that "All's Well That Ends Well."
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kowtow.

--Cole Porter

I had to make a slight change in my weekend plans Friday morning when reports from the BBC showed people lined up all the way to Birmingham trying to get on their outbound flights from London after the alert level was raised. Ryan Air, desperate to contain this chaos, was more than happy to postpone my flight to Dublin one week at no extra charge.

Having a ticket for four more attractions at Stratford to cash in on, I immediately made plans to return for a second dose of Shakespeare. This time I visited the Nash House/New Place. The building that remains is the former home of Shakespeare’s granddaughter. However, the site holds more significance as the grounds on which Shakespeare’s home once stood (before being torn down by one of its owners who didn’t want to pay taxes on it). The thing that impressed me the most about this visit was learning that at the age of 30, Shakespeare was a multimillionaire (by today’s standards) when he built the New Place. Of course it’s not the fact that he was wealthy at such an early age that impresses me. It’s the realization that this guy was probably younger than me when he penned verses like: “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!” I can pretty much guarantee that if you read all of my publications in their entirety you won’t come across anything that even remotely resembles this kind of beauty. And this in spite of the fact that I’ve probably spent twice as many years in school as Shakespeare did. Clearly the man was a genius.

I spent the remainder of the day enjoying two more performances by the Royal Shakespeare Company. There is truly nothing that can compare to hearing history’s best use of the English language read by members of the world’s most prestigious acting company (having produced the likes of Judi Dench, Kenneth Branagh, Dustin Hoffman, Ian McKellen, and Alan Rickman). I think the best part about Shakespeare is how real his characters are. When you go see a Hollywood production, what you usually get is a protagonist character played by someone like Kevin Costner whose character combines the charisma of Henry V, the sense of humor of Falstaff, the thoughtfulness of Hamlet, and the courage of Julius Ceasar. With Shakespeare, you see humanity revealed in its truest form. Henry VI is a character that portrays unquestioned moral virtue. But Shakespeare reminds us that in the real world, this quality is not a free pass for never-ending happiness. Queen Margaret (played spectacularly by Katy Stephens) is one of the clearest examples of evil that the stage has ever seen. But I can tell you that in comparison to some of the women I’ve dated, she’s pretty normal by today’s standards. It is this complexity that makes his work so brilliant and keeps me coming back for more.

Literary Legends

If you have ever learned how to read, it is impossible not to be impressed by the unparalleled depth of literary talent that has existed in England during the past 1500 years or so. As an English major drop-out, this was one of the things I looked forward to most about coming over here. When I lived in Boston, I used to think it was great that you could visit Walden Pond and Louisa May Alcott's house in the same afternoon. You can imagine the chills I get walking around Headington and realizing that I'm probably following the same path as some of the world's greatest writers. Although it's hard to know where to begin exploring with so many options to choose from, this weekend I decided to focus on the two personalities that have probably had the greatest influence on me: C.S. Lewis and the incomparable William Shakespeare.

I started out the morning in Oxford on a guided tour of C.S. Lewis's world, given by a man who was a childhood friend of Douglas Gresham (Lewis's stepson) and knew the Lewis family well. Our first stop was the Eagle and Child pub (a building I probably walked past 50 times before realizing its siginificance. This was of course the site where a group of 19 writers (including Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams) gathered every Tuesday morning between 1940 and 1963 for reading and criticism of their literary works.



As we were making our way around Oxford, our guide made several comments about how most people living around here don't have any idea who Lewis was. There is no shrine or memorial to any of the Inklings to be found in all of England. At first I found this unfathomable, until I realized that there is probably a good reason for it. As an alumnus of a school who graduated its first class in 1959, it's hard to appreciate the sheer magnitude of the contrubutions made here during the last 800+ years. As a case in point, we were just rounding the corner on our way up to Headington when our guide said, "Oh yeah--that building right there is the pathology lab where Fleming discovered penicillin."

We drove up to Headington and stopped the van to get out and walk around a quaint neighborhood that looked a lot like something you might read about in a storybook. As we came up to one of the houses, I noticed a plaque on the front that read: J.R.R. Tolkien Lived Here. I stepped back, took a deep breath, and smiled at the realization that this was as close as any human being has ever gotten to The Shire. It was at this point that our guide began telling stories of how he used to run around the Lewis residence (the Kilns) playing with Doug as a child. He started telling us about the gardener that was almost like a part of the family to them. It turned out this gentleman was the inspiration for the character Puddleglum--hands down the most fascinating character in the Chronicles of Narnia (actually Thornbutt the dwarf was a close second). Along with Lee (East of Eden--based off Steinbeck's housekeeper) and Tom Bombadil (Lord of the Rings--based off a children's toy), Puddleglum lives on as one of my favorite characters in all of fiction literature. I asked our guide about the liklihood that the wardrobe purchased by Wheaton College was the genuine article. Turns out it's a total fraud. The wardrobe existed only in Lewis's imagination. In fact, the idea originated one day as Lewis was visiting the Brasenose church in Oxford. He evidently didn't care for the preacher, and in order to avoid greeting him after the service, Lewis exited the church from the opposite side of the sanctuary. There were several coats obstructing the passage to the back door, and after brushing past them Lewis found himself in the snow-covered ground of an Oxford winter. The lamp-post still survives in this location.

We then visited the Holy Trinity church, where Lewis and his brother worshiped for over 30 years. I sat down in the pew that he used to sit in and contemplated the fact that it was in this very spot that Lewis first got the idea for "The Screwtape Letters." We left the sanctuary and made our way to the cemetary outside the church--Lewis's final resting place. The inscription on his gravestone reads "Men must endure their going hence," which is of course taken from King Lear.

It was on this note that I departed from the Lewis tour and made my way up to Stratford Upon Avon to explore the world of William Shakespeare. It was already getting late by the time I arrived, so I only had time to see his birthplace. The small room where the Bard was born represents a Mecca for writers, having been visited by the likes of Emerson, Scott, Hawthorne, Dickens, and Mark Twain. After a brief visit, I headed back towards the theatres, where I had tickets for Henry VI. I can honestly tell you that I had no idea of what I was in for as I climbed the stairs to the gallery seating section of the Courtyard theatre. I had read Richard III and Henry V during one of my speech classes at the Academy, but I'll readily admit that I have always been confused by the history of the English Monarchs. Since it was only during the past week that I figured out that Prince Charles was next in line to the throne and that the War of the Roses was not just a Danny DeVito movie that I never saw, I was a little nervous about my ability to follow what was going on. I should also mention that this was Henry VI Part 3, and I can still remember how difficult it was to follow Die Hard 3 having not seen the first 2 at the time. As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. From the opening scene of the play, I was on the edge of my seat waiting to see what would happen next. The RSC does such an amazing job of bringing the story to life, that you don't really even need a program to follow it. In fact, in some ways it was even more fun that way. It wasn't until the end of the first Act that I realized that Gloucester (played by an actor who looked almost identical to a younger version of Ian McDiarmid) would later become Richard III and that I was actually watching a prequel to a show I had already seen and loved. I am now completely addicted and have vowed not to leave the UK without having watched the entire historical works on stage. At 5 quid, how can you NOT take advantage of this kind of opportunity?

Stonehenge

"In ancient times, hundreds of years before the dawn of history. There lived a strange race of people...the Druids. No one knows who they were, or what they were doing...but their legacy remains...hewn into the living rock of Stonehenge..."
--Spinal Tap



Today I decided that in spite of the numerous recommendations I was given to skip Stonehenge, I couldn't just not get in my car and drive the 45 minutes that it would take to see this amazing spectacle. As far as world famous tourist sights go, this one didn't disappoint. I would put it in the Mount Rushmore/Golden Gate category rather than the Mona Lisa/Liberty Bell category for living up to the hype. As you drive in after miles and miles of open fields and suddenly see this huge rock structure surrounded by hundreds of people, it is impossible not to ask yourself the question: how did the aliens build this thing?

I should tell you that I was quite surprised by the misinformation of the audio tour. While I appreciated their honesty in admitting that nobody really has any clue how the stones got there, they seemed to be a bit delusional about the facts related to this matter. From listening to their propaganda, you would almost think they believed those "myths" about ancient civilizations putting up this monument as some sort of calendar designed for pagan worship. Personally, I think that the "Merlin the Magician" hypothesis holds more credibility. Now I'm not saying that it isn't possible that some Precambrian society learned how to use the Force analogous to Yoda lifting Luke's spaceship out of the Degoba swamp in "Empire Strikes Back." However, I just don't feel that there is enough archeological evidence to support this kind of hypothesis. Let me offer you exhibit A: multiple cow pastures within a few hundred feet of the "slaughter stone." Clearly the aliens who landed here in Europe were relatives (or maybe even the same group) that touched down on Square Butte nearly 5 thousand years ago. Evidence would suggest that they probably used a slightly different type of spacecraft--the trench surrounding the rock structure implies a more conventional "flying saucer" design than the one employed in Montana.

Now I don't want you to get the wrong idea about things. It's not like I'm running around in my flat wearing a Jedi Cloak and wielding a light saber...well, I'm not carrying a light saber....It's just that I think we know enough from documented experiences of UFO sightings and even personal encounters with extra-terrestrials, that to propose any other explanation for this structure seems a little ridiculous. The real question is why they chose this part of England to stage their next invasion, and when do they plan to return? It is likely that we'll never know the answers to these mysteries.

Scotland

After completing my first week of "take," I was out of the hospital by 9am Friday with no weekend commitments. In a moment of spontaneity, I grabbed a few things, hopped in the car, and started following signs pointing to "The North." Before long, I had crossed over Hadrian's Wall and was on my way to Glasgow. This marked the first destination point on my journey through Europe that I would be returning to (aside from London), having visited Scotland extensively in middle school. The funny thing is that I really didn't remember very much from my previous trip, even though it wasn't that long ago (Yes I AM in denial about my age). After checking in to a student dormatory (one of the last available rooms in the city) I explored around the city and formulated a plan for the rest of the weekend.

I got up early Saturday and drove up to the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond, where I had breakfast and hiked around a little. Being in the foothills surrounding some of Scotland's lakes started making me feel a little homesick, since it closely resembled many of my favorite hikes in the Little Belts (yes I'm still eating my heart out about missing the ranch this year). For comic relief, I stopped at the Rob Roy visitor center for some of the most priceless amateur acting around. I'm serious, this was even better than the Ben Franklin Museum in Philly. I felt like I was watching a waterbed commercial or something. Anyway, I pressed on to Stirling where the castle and William Wallace monument could be seen towering above the trees. After touching up on a quick history lesson at the Wallace monument, I went down to the site of the Battle of Sterling Bridge and cued up my iPod to listen to the words of Scotland's Patron Saint (Mel Gibson): "Sons of Scotland! I am William Wallace...And I see a whole army of my country men, here, in defiance of tyranny. You've come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight?....Aye, fight and you may die, run, and you'll live... at least for a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, JUST ONE CHANCE, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take... OUR FREEDOM!" To round out my tour of Stirling, I went to the statue of Robert the Bruce and sight of the Battle of Bannockburn where Scotland ultimately achieved her independence.

By the time I got to Edinburgh that evening, there were no rooms left in the entire city. For the first time I had to pay the price for the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants approach to traveling. Fortunately, it was a small price to pay. Just an extra 10 pounds and on hour and a half of driving around aimlessly in a city that would have made a great location for a U2 concert. (Technically the streets DO have names, they just aren't written down on any signs anywhere). The Bed and Breakfast turned out to be 2 blocks from a beach (I went to a public high school so I haven't quite figured out the geography of how that one works out yet). I got to bed early and arrived the next morning at the Royal Museum and the Museum of Scotland for a quick tour before heading back to Oxford.