Blogsherpa | What Up, Vienna?

6Jul/101

paris, franzen style!

Alex was in Chicago for the week at a conference. What was a hip, happenin', globe-trottin' girl to do? Go to Paris for the weekend to see her old college buddy Zachary Franzen, naturally. (Go Badgers.)

We should win an award in holding-the-camera-yourself picture taking.

Now, I had never been to Paris. So I was really looking forward to wine, wine, cheese, wine, cheese and some more wine. However, my host Zach is a bit more of a Coke, Coke, McDonald's, Coke, McDonald's and some more Coke kind of a guy. In retrospect, perhaps, I should have set some more realistic expectations.

I got in earlyish on a Friday afternoon. For that evening, Zach had suggested going to a friend's restaurant to meet a couple people. Sounds good to me! However, we get to the restaurant and a couple of Zach's amis seemed to have multiplied to ten or so of them. And all of these Frenchies agreed upon two things: They liked to drink Heineken. And they really, really loved hamburgers. They loved hamburgers so much, in fact, that they ordered a hamburger for me. They said, "Why would you want wine and cheese and pate? This is the best hamburger in Paris!" Okay, mon frère, I is from a little place called the United States of WEKNOWBURGERS and, even though your country has some of the best goddamned food in the world, something being the so-called best hamburger in Paris, even if it is a 100% true statement, probably means very little. I should just end this paragraph here because you know how it ends. I didn't get wine, cheese or pate. I got a mediocre hamburger. I know you already guessed that. But I had to continue the paragraph so I could tell you everybody ate their burgers with knives and forks. MON DIEU!

The next morning, Zach already had plans to take part in something called the Beret and Baguette Bike Ride.

Zach getting all suited up for the big "Berets and Baguettes" bike ride around Paris today.

The startpoint of the ride was at the Eiffel Tower. I was sans bike so we picked me up a fancy CityBike right outside of our apartment. CityBikes are bike rentals you can find in many, many cities in Europe. The bikes are sometimes crappy but completely rideable when needed. It was a great early morning adventure to bike through the streets of Paris to the Eiffel Tower. When I got there I rewarded myself with pastry. Note the bereted boys in the background.

MMMMmmm. Nothing like a little pain au chocolat in front of the Eiffel Tower on a Saturday morning.

This bike wins.

After a couple hours of hanging out with the bereted and baguetted biking folks gathering for their ride, I was getting a bit antsy. It was almost 10am and I hadn't had a glass of wine yet! Thank god, my new best friend Chris showed up to remedy that. Well, this was really the first time we met but it was pretty much instant bestfrienditude. So I bid Zachary Franzen adieu, then Chris and I ventured off into the city to stir up some shit.

We started off on a mission to find me a hoodie as I made the mistake of dressing lightly for the chilly morning. Then, we got a tad sidetracked with some cafe coffee drinking and crepe eating. Next, our wanderings took us out amongst throngs of tourists. The famous Notre Dame Cathedral was just right across the way but the line to get in was a couple blocks long. So I was going to just have to be content with some nice exterior photos.

Christopher is happy to be amongst tourists in front of Notre Dame!

My new partner-in-crime Chris was not having that though as he decided to eff that line and cut in front of everybody. Even though it seems kind of dickish, it actually is a very European thing to do to completely eschew a line. I have been cut in front of many a time waiting in line for something. Rather, I have elbowchecked many a person trying to cut in line in front of me many a time. Nobody elbowchecked us though and we strode right on through. Suckas.

Shhhh. There is a man in a robe talking about stuff.

Well, Chris is a man-about-town and he, unfortunately, had to leave me to do some of his requisite about-towning. He pointed me in the direction of a worthwhile walking-around area and we parted ways. At this point, it was just before lunchtime and I really needed to make up for the burger fiasco from the night previous. I came upon a pretty nice little area with tiny streets lined with bistros. I would tell you what this area was called, but my gin-soaked memory fails me. Now, choosing a restaurant for what is your only lunch for your short Parisian weekend involves a lot of discerning assessment. After circling a good five block radius, I got really good foodie vibes from a certain establishment. The prix fixe menu looked promising and the decor was nice and didn't seem forced. It was suspiciously empty however that turned out to be just because it was a little early yet. Just after I was seated and working on my wine and olives, the place started to really fill up. I spent the next two hours there eating and drinking. To start, I had the aforementioned olives, then some amazing house-made pate and onion confit, followed by sausage and pommes frites, and finished off with this insane chestnut chocolate pudding whipped cream concoction. It was so fantastic that after every bite of food and drink of wine, I just wanted to high five somebody.

Excuse the olive pits, please.

Merlot, pommes frites, pork sausage and some crazy good mustardy lemony buttery sauce.

Chestnut custard, chocolate and cream for dessert. Ridiculous good.

I met up with Zachary later that day and we spent the rest of our evening rabblerousing our hearts out. We hit a houseparty thrown by another American ex-pat where I met more Americans than I have in my entire time in Vienna. Chris was also in attendance as well as another one of my new Parisian homeboys, Kyle. After hours of imbibing on the things kids worldwide imbibe upon at house parties such as this one, we caught the last Metro train home and called it a night.

Yeah, get those back teeth real good, Kyle.

The next morning, before we had to Le Metro it to the airport, Zach and I tried to get in a bit more sightseeing in the few hours we had left. We killed two birds with one stone and headed over to the Champs-Élysées which conveniently ends with the Arc de Triomphe.

Someone significant standing in front of something significant.

By the skin of our teeth, we made it to Charles De Gaulle in time for my flight. For a few moments, it seemed like Volcano Eyjafjallajokull aka Volcano I'manasshole was looking to keep me in gay Paree for one more night. Every single other flight to Vienna had been cancelled up to that point. I could not have that. When I am in the direction of leaving somewhere, I want to keep heading in that direction. Thankfully, Mr. Volcano decided to do me a solid and allowed my plane clearance to take off.

Au Revoir, France!

Tagged as: airplane, airport, bicycle, blogsherpa, culture, drinking, food, france, friends, paris, sightseeing, travel, trips, weather, zach franzen 1 Comment

1May/107

i need a raincheck, england (part two)

And the saga continues. So after my weak few days in London, we finally headed off to Alex's first stop in his two-stop world lecture tour, The John Innes Center at the East Anglia University in Norwich. We opted to take a cab to the train station just to reserve my movin' around energy for the potentially gruelfest of a train ride. And much like the plane ride, I built it up so much in my head to be so terrifically uncomfortable, that it was actually quite tolerable. Granted, I took some awesome PRESCRIBED drugs before the trip. And on the train ride, I partook in my new favorite British OTC drug, cheese and onion potato ~~chips~~ crisps. I was bananas about those things. You know what, eff bananas. From now on, when I like things, I am CHEESEANDONIONCRISPS for them!

Passing through the town of Diss.

It is really a shame that I was such a cripple (oh, lighten up) for this whole trip. I vacillated from five minutes of "This discomfort is completely manageable!" to "I will never ever get better ever again." And when you have back problems, everybody wants to tell you some dire tale of lifelong chronic pain. Even when that tale is told with a British accent, it is not cute. Here's a tip for all the people of the world: Somebody's very present tale of woe is not your segue to tell any story other than one that ends in puppy dogs, rainbows and chocolate bars. Please retweet.

We took a taxicab from the train station to the inn where we were staying. It was pretty super duper. The property had an attached garden. Before we departed the next day, we decided to take a saunter through it. We had already brought our bags down so we asked the innkeeper if she would watch them at the front desk while we took a walk. She obliged ,however, she then inquired as to whether we had any sort of problem with frogs. "Frogs? No, not really. I like frogs," I said. Then we actually went to the garden and realized she had omitted a detail in her strange frog warning. These frogs was doing it. Or as my mother as a child used to describe cows mating, "Oh, look. That cow is giving the other cow a piggy-back ride!" And I welcome the clarification we're guaranteed to receive in the comments from said mother.

Frog-catching makes my people happy.

You have to go to Norwich, England to get yourself in this type of awesomeness.

The rest of this day involved a cab ride back to the train station, train to London, long cab ride to another train station in London, train to Warwick and then a car ride to our B&B in Stratford-upon-Avon. This was a day that all the drugs in the world could not save. When we got to the second train station in London, I was pretty much ready to call 999. Somehow by the grace of Vicodin, I made it all the way to Stratford.

We were there for two nights. I know I'm sounding like a whiney broken record, but I didn't really do anything of substance for those few days. Stratford is known for being the home (and death) of Shakespeare. When we originally made plans to stay here, we were going to do all the requisite touristing about town. The next night, we did make the short walk into the town center for some dinner which involved a walk by Shakespeare's alleged birth house. Had I been a bit more mobile, I would probably have hit the theater there to see a play and then also gone to see Stonehenge which is supposedly a bus ride away and partaken in a bit more of the scenery at a pub or three. However, whine, whine, complain, complain, woe is me, I didn't do any of those things because my back is a jerk.

Before we took off the next morning, we had our last deserved breakfast which is, in name, 50% of the agreed deal. And I felt that because breakfast was included, I had to partake in everything that was offered to me. This involved a nice appetizer of a bowl of granola with milk. Followed by a full English breakfast and a pitcher of fresh orange juice. The B&B lady visited with us a little as she brought us our heavy plates filled with scrambled eggs, sausages, rashers of bacon, cooked tomatoes, mushrooms and toast. I don't remember what I said but knowing me it was some sort of kiss-ass compliment about how much I love English breakfasts. She then responded with a diatribe how the British are the only ones that do cooked breakfasts. On and on, she went. Now, I do love English breakfasts because I do love breakfasting, however, she has obviously never heard of the American institution of IHOP. Call me when you have fruit-and-whipped-cream-topped-cheesecake-stuffed pancake stackers in your full English breakfast.

We took the train back into London. We had one more night there before leaving for Vienna. I had really hoped by this last night, I would have been recovered enough to take in a few sights. However, all the traveling about England really threw a wrench in my progress. So we just got a nice hotel room at the InterContinental in Mayfair and we stuffed our faces with BBC and room service. BBC America provides a nice sampling of what you can get but nowhere near the breadth and depth of what there is to be had at the source. Highlights were some hare-brained Andrew Lloyd Weber casting a production of Wizard of Oz American Idol-y show, this awesome game show Mastermind (?) and a marathon of this reality show to see who the could host the best dinner parties. It was all pretty great and made me a lot less sad I never got to try and make those guard guys at the palace place laugh.

Oh, no. We're staying across from the hall from the Beast!

Oh, no. We're staying across the hall from the Beast!

Don't worry, England. I'll be back. And I'm going to rip shit up properlike. Promise.

Tagged as: animals, blogsherpa, breakfast, drugs, england, food, hotel, london, norwich, pitfalls, sick, sightseeing, stratford-upon-avon, train, travel, warwick 7 Comments

10Apr/103

i need a raincheck, england (part one)

One week before I was to leave for London to meet Alex, on my way out the door of my apartment building to meet my trainer at the gym CRASHBANGBOOM my back went out. As I was crumpled on the ground in the lobby, I thought, "Wow, it is indeed like your back has done gone out. What an apt phrase that is!" I somehow managed to gather myself up enough to hobble up the stairs back to my apartment. After a grueling 24 hours, I got my hands on (read: prescribed by my doctor) some pain pills and muscle relaxers which brought me back to the land of the living. Now, I just had one week to recuperate before flying to London. That's possible, right? Right? Come to find out, no, it really is not.

Armed with my drugs (read: PRESCRIBED drugs) and a request for a wheelchair, I headed to LAX Saturday evening. Now, reserving a wheelchair was something I had never done before. And it was really surprisingly easy to do (just call your airline a few days before your flight), completely free (excluding a tip which is up to your discretion) and totally worthwhile. After checking in, I was directed to wait in a little cordoned off disabled person's corral where at about five minutes before my flight was about to board, I was picked up by my "driver." I don't want to say it was worth throwing out my back to have the opportunity to have an excuse to be wheelchaired at lightning speed through the airport in front of every line through secret doors directly to my seat on the plane, but it was definitely the silver lining of the week.

The flight was a Vicodin, Soma and a glass of white wine induced blur. And when we finally did get to London, my brain didn't even necessarily put together that my wheelchair reservation included a wheelchairing through Heathrow. It was a nice and welcome surprise. I was picked up by an Ali G sounding youngster who went above and beyond his duties. He whizzed me through the miles-long airport, through customs, got my luggage, brought me to an ATM, helped me purchase the right train ticket to get into London and dropped me off on the bench to wait for it. And he refused to take a tip which he greatly deserved. So Booyakasha and Respek to you, young man. Thank you.

I made my way to our hotel and crashed in the room. I was still in a pretty deep drug-fueled, jet-lagged travel coma when Alex arrived a few hours later. That night was uneventful. Some dinner was involved. More sleeping ensued. Let me just point out here that this was my first ever trip to London, England or anywhere in the United Kingdom for that matter. We had three days in London and I was still naively hopeful that I could get some touristy sightseeing checked off my list in the morning after a good night's sleep.

Double-decker bus. Check. Driving on the left side of the road. Check. Trafalgar Square in the background. Oh, you betcha. Check!

Double-decker bus. Check. Driving on the left side of the road. Check. Trafalgar Square in the background. Oh, yah, you betcha, we're in London!

Our hotel was really in a great location right on Trafalgar Square. Jetlag woke me up pretty early. When Alex roused, we made our way outside to go track down a nice full English breakfast. We surprisingly had a very difficult time finding a decent place to eat in our area. It was a bit before 8am and it seemed a lot of places weren't open yet. From this situation, one could surmise that London isn't as crazy about breakfast as we are in the States apparently. Finally, we had to settle on this chain that was right next to our hotel. I don't know if it was just an off day for this place, but they appeared to be opening their doors at the same time as they were receiving deliveries for the day and didn't seem to have any sort of back loading dock type entrance. So as we entered the restaurant, we were followed by carts of groceries. Unfortunately, it seemed that we beat the arrival of the potato truck so we were unable to have hash browns. We should have taken that as a warning sign for the quality that was to come. The breakfast was cold and blah. The coffee tasted like burnt dirt. However, I am smart enough not to judge the whole of England on this shitty franchise's version of their breakfast. Better breakfasts were to come.

After that bold jaunt through our temporary neighborhood, I spent the rest of the day convalescing in bed. However, that night we had reservations at Gordon Ramsey's Boxwood Cafe and I refused to miss it. It ended up being well worth it. We had their Monday Supper which was three courses with an amuse-bouche to start. I can't remember everything I had but I do remember I chose a Shepherd's Pie as the entree. The food was all fantastic. And my body managed to even keep it together until the middle of the second and third course. I popped some pills and carried on. I'm a star!

The sum of my sightseeing these three days were as follows: Seeing Buckingham palace on the way to the Gordon Ramsey restaurant. Well, let me say first Alex pointed the palace out to me and then a few blocks later, I see a fancy building and I ask the cab driver what it is and he answers, "Why, that's Buckingham Palace." This makes me wonder how much of what Alex says is really the truth. We also went to the National Musuem in Trafalgar Square. And we ate a great English breakfast in a crypt below a cathedral. That was pretty awesome. So that was it. The rest of my time I spent on the bed watching BBC which really ain't nothing to shake a stick at. BBC is great hotel TV watching.

We just went to a museum. We're so smart now!