A Smurf in Trafalgar Square

While I was in London last month I stopped at the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. I was in need of an art fix and was in heaven for a few hours while staring at the life sized paintings of landscapes and portraits. Some of these master artisans included Monet, Manet, Degas, Rembrandt, and Van Gogh. Of course there were many other masterpieces by artists I was unfamiliar with. Needless to say it was the refreshing bit of culture I needed.

Before going into the Gallery, I stood at the front entrance and looked out over Trafalgar. London is such a bustling and busy place that for a moment I just wanted to capture the ambience of it all - the musicians playing in the background, the constant traffic, the influx of people, etc. I stood there for about 5 minutes just soaking it all in and loving the moment. I decided to take a quick video to capture this part of Westminster just as I saw and loved it right then and there.

Later that night I was going through my pictures and videos when I came across this particular one. While I watched the video, I noticed for the first time a smurf in the frame. I did a double take and watched it again. I seemed to have captured him on film but not so much in real life. How did I miss that while I was there? Sadly I have no idea what he was doing or why he was there.

It turns out I'm incredibly un-observant. Who would have thought I'd see a smurf?

Posing with Statues

I've developed a funny little quirk when traveling, especially when it comes to art. I like to pose with statues. Why and how did this begin? I have no idea. It could be because I'm a true nerd at heart but mostly I think it's funny. Finding humor in it probably also relates to the whole being a nerd thing.

I prefer to think of it more as being quirky. It makes me feel better about myself.

My goal is always to get the picture taken when no one is looking, but there's usually ALWAYS someone looking.


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Yes, I feel like an idiot during the process but I get a kick out of how the pictures turn out. More often than not, those people watching usually end up posing with the same statue when I'm not looking.
 
As you can see I've done it in multiple locations. If you've never done it before, I dare you to try it out and see what happens. You just might be surprised.

On occasion I do make people traveling with me pose.

You have been warned.

I Heart Gelato

I have this insatiable addiction to gelato. I need a t-shirt that says "I Heart Gelato." It's amazing and habit forming. I knew I would like it when I first heard of it, and thought I'd tasted it in the states before my first trip to Italy. What was the big deal about it?

I knew nothing.

For those people who say they don't like gelato, there can only be two reasons for your opinion. The first is that you've never had REAL gelato, or you would never make such a blasphemous statement.


Option number two is that you frankly have no soul.

How can you not love gelato? Gelato compared to the best ice cream you can find in the states is like comparing whole milk to skim milk (gelato being the whole milk in this little analogy). It's one of the best inventions in food.

I can't remember the first flavor I ever got, but I remember I was in Florence Italy, strolling the fantastic streets among a crowd of tourists. It was silky, creamy, and unlike anything I'd ever tasted before. Within two blocks of walking my little cup was finished and licked clean.

A few blocks further and low and behold there was another gelateria. I turned to my travel companions and said, "it's a sign. We need more gelato."

While one of these companions laughed and said we were going to get along just fine the rest of the trip, our other companion thought it was strange as we'd just barely eaten some.

I honestly don't understand people like her. We Were in Italy eating the best ice cream in the world. We had a very limited time frame, there were tons of flavors that needed to be tasted, and the clock was ticking.



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My personal philosophy is that every time you see a gelateria it's a sign to stop and get a taste. It's only a minor detail to know that there is a gelateria on just about every corner. Plus you are buying it from streets that look like this.

Really?? And you are going to question why I stop for gelato often?

Granted, stopping every time you see a place is not always feasible for many reasons. But it's the principle behind it that matters!

With so many flavors to choose from the task of picking is very daunting. Don't be ashamed to take your time and think it through. You can also always ask to taste a flavor before you get it. The only problem with that - it doesn't really help to narrow down the selection.

Needless to say, my addiction to gelato began with that first trip and there was no going back. Nothing could ever compare. Fast forward a few years and a few more trips to Europe and I was in a European dry spell - meaning I just couldn't make a trip anytime in the near future. A friend of mine had given me a 1200 page Italian cook book and claimed it was the Italian Bible of cooking. I had skimmed through it, loved it, and then forgot about it. 2 years later I re-discovered it and started looking through recipes.

And then it happened.

I came to a section on desserts and ice creams. Low and behold there were recipes for IT - GELATO. My heart stopped and I froze where I was. Was this the REAL thing? The actual secret recipe I'd been dreaming of so I could have it every single day whenever I wanted regardless of the country I was in??? I didn't hesitate to call my friend who knew a thing or two about Italian cooking. She looked at her own copy of this 1200 page recipe book and looked through the dessert section.

She was silent.

I held my breath.

Yes, there was a good chance this was a real, true, gelato recipe. That was all I needed to hear. I barely had time to put on shoes as a flew out the door to Target, where I bought the last electric ice cream maker. 48 hours and 6 batches of gelato later I was swimming in my own little heaven. Was it as perfect as the Italian's make it? Of course not! I haven't spent a lifetime learning the tricks of it all.

But it was pretty darn good. In the 5 years since then, I've bought ice cream from a store less than a handful of times. I just can't go back. I'm tainted for life. Plus the more I make, the better I get at it. So far the most perfect batch I've made is fresh raspberry gelato. It only survived 48 hours. No, I didn't share.

Needless to say, with my recent trip to Italy my gelato obsession continued. The second stop after traveling for 30 hours was for a few scoops of my little heaven on earth. The first stop being pizza. Can you blame me?

After going through a post trip depression, a friend quickly perked me up by making me aware of the best event ever. And it happens to be coming to my town in May. I'm so there.

http://austin.culturemap.com/news/restaurants-bars/04-15-14-gelato-world-tour-at-republic-square-park/

Have You Seen My Shoe?

As part of my recent trip to Italy I'd planned to run a marathon in Rome (the reasoning for that somewhat insane decision is another story for another time). Terrified of something disastrous happening before the marathon, I decided to wear my running shoes on the trip over to ensure that I'd have the most important tool for this race. Anything else lost or damaged could be replaced much easier than finding and breaking in a brand new pair of running shoes in a 26.2 mile stint. The blisters would be unimaginable and I really didn't want to have that particular experience.

My nine hour flight to London began sitting in a middle seat sandwiched between two rather large men. With me being 6 feet tall there was already no leg room, but with these gentlemen on either side there was no extra inches anywhere around me. About an hour into the flight I decided to take off my shoes and give my feet a break (I had on clean socks so there were no smelly feet. Don't worry). The flight was fairly uneventful.

Ninety minutes away from landing I started gathering my things and planning the next international connection I'd have to make. I grabbed my right shoe and put it on, then reached down to grab the other one. I couldn't find it. Figuring it might have gotten pushed a little further than I could reach with my hand I used my bare foot to feel around for it. I found my purse but still no shoe.

Huh.

I continued using my foot to search underneath my own seat. I found a lovely sandal shoe and empty space. The man to my right was asleep, so I discreetly felt around his foot area as much as I could and came up empty. Okay. It must have moved around much more than I realized during the flight. I turned to the man on my left and asked if he happened to have my shoe under his seat. He smiled and felt around but found nothing.

Then this kind, and large, man got up from his seat and crouched on his hands and knees in the middle of the isle to look underneath our row, gathering the full attention of the people across the way and behind us.

So much for discretion.

Then to everyone watching he asked, "has anyone seen a shoe?"

Fantastic.

My face flamed red as more people leaned over to get a good look at me, then joined in looking underneath their seats for my running shoe. Of course they all turned up empty. A very kind British couple behind me searched diligently and apologized for not finding it. They suggested that when we landed we could look more efficiently. I thanked everyone for looking and felt like a total idiot.

Who loses a shoe on an airplane? Me, apparently. My perfect plan to avoid this exact catastrophe had failed miserably. How was it possible this was happening?

I waited as the flight continued on. The row in front of me was asleep with their seats reclined, but that had to be the only option as to where my shoe had gone. If my shoe had moved up that far, you'd think they would have noticed it sooner and pushed it back. I tried not to panic or jump to conclusions. One side of my brain couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this predicament. How in the world did I lose one running shoe on an airplane?

The other part of my brain jumped into survival mode of alternative options. I could go ahead and buy new running shoes, suck it up, and deal with the horrid blisters for weeks afterwards. Or I could potentially borrow my sister in law's running shoes (my brother currently lives overseas for his work). They'd still hurt and blister my feet, but maybe not as badly as new shoes would.

With thirty minutes of flight time left the row in front of me started preparing for landing. As soon as the man directly in front of me moved his seat forward I became Elastigirl and dived underneath. He'd gotten up which allowed my searching hands to avoid another awkward situation of coming into contact with his legs from below his seat. Can you imagine sitting in a chair and hands start knocking around your ankles from beneath it? I didn't need another embarrassing situation to talk my way out of when the first one wasn't resolved yet.

Finally, there it was - my lost running shoe. It had been pushed forward to the middle of his own isle far beyond the reach of my legs. Oh the relief. The man to the left of me chuckled as he watched me reappear from below with my shoe. I have my entertaining moments apparently.

The flight landed and people began shifting through overhead bins for luggage. The kind British woman behind me tapped my shoulder.

Her: We still can't find your shoe dear. I bet we can ask an attendant to help us look.

Me: I actually found it thank you. It had gotten pushed forward.

Her Husband: Oh good. We were worried about you having to walk off the plane barefoot.

Me: I had the same concern.

The moral I took away from this incident is simple: British people are so nice!

And God has a sense of humor when it comes to me and traveling.

Dopo Foto. Foto Dopo.

A few weeks ago I got back from a trip to Naples Italy. Italy is never a bad idea just in case you were wondering. As Naples is where pizza was invented the goal was to eat as much as we could stand in the week we were there. A very particular pizzeria was in the center of town that my friend Dave wanted to try called Sorbillo. It was near the University and was recommended as the place to go for the best pizza, but also for the true Napolitano experience. We arrived there at the busy dinner hour where the place was packed on the inside and outside tables. We sat, ordered from a really rude and snarky waiter, and waited for our pizza. After they came I noticed our waiter talking to another one and motioning towards our table. This second waiter came towards us and approached Dave.

"Dopo (in Italian means 'after')," he said while pointing to Dave's pizza. Then he pointed to the back of the restaurant where the kitchen was and said "foto." Then he repeated "dopo foto." We were confused. We caught on that he wanted a picture with Dave, but not sure why this random person out of nowhere was asking. When my sister in law, who speaks Italian, tried to ask why, his response was only "dopo foto. Foto dopo. Dopo foto."

Dave nodded his head to agree and again tried to ask why. The only response we got was "dopo foto. Foto dopo. Dopo foto." We gave up and ate our pizza chuckling. He really wanted a picture with Dave. Our guess was they thought he was someone famous, so we spent dinner speculating on who he could be.

We finished our food, paid (Naples by the way is a cash only city. Credit cards weren't accepted in most places) and made our way to the back to see about this picture. Dave took out his camera and the waiter motioned other workers to come over. Four came out of nowhere to pose with Dave. The waiter couldn't figure out how Dave's camera worked so chaos ensued with the Italians arguing over how it functioned.

This is all a highly entertaining spectacle, but I'm a little lost. If they wanted a picture with Dave so badly, why are they only using his camera and not their own? They finally got the camera to work and more waiters came pouring out of the tiny kitchen like clowns from a car. I have no idea how they all fit into that tiny space, but you didn't know they existed. They were so short they couldn't see over the countertop that walled off the kitchen area from the restaurant.

By the end Dave was surrounded by 8 of these Italian workers with 3 different cameras flashing pictures from all directions. My sister in law and I are of course laughing at this entire escapade. Keep in mind the restaurant is still packed with people. I look around to see the reaction our fiasco is causing and every eye is glued on Dave and these waiters, wondering who he is and should they ask for a picture too.

We gather this little photo session is finished by the cheering group of waiters, one of which asked Dave to shake his head of hair. Instead he flipped it behind his shoulder, grabbed his camera, and we made our dramatic exit. We still have no idea who they think Dave is.

So if you ever make it to Pizzeria Sorbillo look at the pictures on the wall. You just might see one of Dave and the waiters.

Oh, the pizza was great too. Is it really possible to have a bad pizza in Italy? If it is I wouldn't know. A bad pizza in Italy is still going to be amazing to me. The Naples style is different in that the crust is a little doughier in the middle as though it hasn't been cooked all the way through. It's actually really tasty despite how it may sound.

My pizza count for the week in Italy was 5. Just in case you were wondering.

How it Began

I always wanted to travel. In school history classes and other books I'd read I dreamed of visiting those famous landmarks and sights that exist all over the world. Wouldn't that be amazing? To see the Sistine Chapel, or Big Ben, or the great Wall of China.

But that's what other people did. As much as I wanted to go, it was never going to happen for me. I was born and raised in the same house, in the same town, and would grow up to be a sensible ordinary adult with a regular job and family. Nothing wrong with that. Traveling around the world was just a dream that most likely would stay that way. After all, you'd have to be rich to travel overseas.

But wouldn't it be great?

Then in High School my best friend went as a foreign exchange student for 6 months to New Zealand. Wow. I could never be that daring. Again, traveling is what other people did, not me. A few years later and she convinced me to get a passport. I mulled it over for a bit, then decided why not? I most likely wouldn't use it, or if I did it would be to someplace not too far like Canada, but why not have one just in case?

A funny thing happened once I got that passport. Unexpected opportunities started coming my way to use it. Before I knew it I was leaving the United States for the first time ever and going to Mexico. Then in the airport I got a stamp in my passport. That loud bang and a colored stamp that said MEXICO woke me up. I really liked that stamp. All those other blank pages in my passport now looked lonely. I had to get more stamps somehow. So the obsession began.

Maybe traveling wasn't just for everyone else. Maybe it could be for me too. As the years went by opportunities for traveling kept being placed in my path. Some AMAZING opportunities that led to fantastic experiences - funny, great, and disastrous. Ten countries later and my perspective has changed drastically. I'm not sitting around being envious of those people who get to travel the world (well, I still am. Especially when they go to places I haven't gotten to yet or can afford to go more often than I can).  I have become one of those people I always wanted to be.

This was the beginning of my traveling hobby. I never dreamed I'd see and do all that I have at this point in my life. I plan to share some funny anecdotes, some disastrous situations, some rambling thoughts, and my love of great food as well as upcoming trips and bucket list destinations. This purpose is to give you a smile and maybe make you laugh at the funny situations I end up in. If I can travel the world, then anyone can.

Current Country Count:

Mexico - twice
England - twice
France- twice
Spain - twice
Italy - three times
Ireland
Netherlands
Austria
Czech Republic
Germany