Bath*

Today, we took the train to the city of Bath, which is approximately 12 miles away from Bristol and takes exactly 12 minutes via the train. (They take the timing of trains very seriously here) I purchased our train tickets at 3:27 and somehow, by a stroke of luck, pedestrians who saw us barreling through and knew to jump out of the way, and a wee bit of frantic sprinting, we managed to make the 3:30 pm train to Bath.

After arriving in Bath at 3:42 pm exactly (again, they don't mess with the timing of the trains), we located the hotel and went to the old ruins of the Roman Baths which were built approximately 2000 years ago. The baths were really cool and it struck me how advanced the Romans were. A part of it also made me sad, because its the same old story of an overly decandant society which ultimately fell to its demise. In unrelated news, our dollars are trading about 2 to 1, which causes me a bit of mental anguish everytime I mentally double the price of something in my head.

We had both thrown our bathing suits in our bags, but apparently, you can't actually bathe in the Baths anymore. The only thing that you can do is look at them. There are even signs which caution not to stick your hands in the water, or slip on the rocks into the water, but I couldn't resist dipping my hand into the slimy green mess that was the water to see how hot it was. To be honest, the water was so warm, the stonework so pretty, and the whole area so incredably impressive, and it was so miserable and cold out, I had a very strong desire to throw on my swimsuit and languish in the steaming hot spring water.

I resisted the urge and found refuge in a pub where I had fish and chips for dinner and a nice big beer. I'm hoping the rest of the trip won't be this cold and rainy.

Stonehenge*

Yesterday, I took a tour with Mad Max out to Stonehenge. Now, various people I had met along the trip so far had less than rave reviews about Stonehenge, however I thought it was AWESOME. It was so cool to see! I mean, you can't really argue with the coolness factor of something that was constructed over 5000 years ago, now can you?

Anyway, after that, the tour bus took us through the English countryside, where I saw the actual Salsbury Hill (think Peter Gabriel), and a little village called Lacock, which is part of the English National Trust. The village has four streets and 180 people live there. As part of a living history of England, it's oftentimes used for movies - parts of Harry Potter and Sense and Sensibility were filmed there.

This afternoon we head over to Bath, then back to London, and after that to Dublin for a few days, and then its back home.

Ghost*

After an extremely sleepless night, I am pretty convinced that our hotel in bristol is haunted. To start, it is a very old looking building that looks as if though ghosts would like to hang around. In addition to that, the following occurred....

at 1 am, we heard the sound of water running in the bathroom
at 3 am, the fire alarm in just our room went off and then turned off 2 minutes later
at 4.30 am, the television turned itself on

Freaky, huh?

I am starting to think that some ghosts from the Tower of London may have followed me here.

Cheerio*

Greetings from Merry Olde England! We made it here safely after a long daytime flight. Granted we've only spent one day here, but I have some initial observations to post:

- It's really hard not to giggle at 11 pm when you get on the tube after a long long flight and they announce, ' This is the picadilly line to cockfosters. Please mind the gap '
- They love them some Princess Diana at Kensignton Gardens and Palace
- Chorzio is sort of gross
- Traveling in a foriegn country where they speak the same language as you is unBELIVEably easier than traveling in one where they don't.

Yesterday was pretty much spent in Hyde Park - we wandered around to Speakers Corner, the Rose Garden, and then did Kensignton Palace and Gardens as well. There was a side trip / dragging to Harrods (don't think my travel buddy was all that excited about going to a big department store), and then we went to a pub and watched the 'football' match and had some dinner with his cousin. In an unrelated very odd note, his cousin's girlfriend was born in williamsville, went to OU, lived in Columbus, then DC and now lives in England. (is this a sign I of where I will be going next??)

All in all not a bad start to the trip. Today, we see the Tower of London and then catch a train to Bristol. There has also been a slight program change... after really thinking about it and realizing that we spent pretty much an entire day in Hyde Park and that there is a lot more in London that we haven't even hit up yet, Iceland isn't really looking like it's in the cards considering that nothing has been booked at all. We've decided to subsitute it for a closer island nation that begins with 'I' instead.....

Charity

I consider myself to be a relatively charitable person. In the past four years, I've lit the night, I've slung beers for kidneys, I've taken pride in America, I handed out gifts at a cancer gala, and relayed for life among others.

Anyway, despite all of my charitable activities, I've decided that it's time that I really start giving back to a metro area which has already taken so much. This is why I am proud to announce the:

KIMBERLY BICYCLE AWAY FOUNDATION FOR HOPE

That's right. For the past three years, one bicycle that was in my possession, bought by my hard earned money has been generously "donated" to a self serving individual in the DC metro area. As with the previous two years, once again, my own generosity surprised me, when I returned to my apartment to discover that the 2007 recipient had come to claim their bicycle and ride it off into the bowels of southeast, southwest, northeast, northwest, Virginia, or Maryland.

I'm sure that my bicycle went to a very deserving man/woman/child who needed a diamond back hybrid to ride/sell for crack money/dump/give as a gift understands that despite the initial resistance to losing my THIRD bicycle to this area, that deep down inside, I am a truly charitable person. I like to think that the subsequent screaming, crying, swearing, and overwhelming urge to kick a small puppy was only because I truly wanted them to know what sort of a sacrifice I was making for them to enjoy "my" bicycle.

And I'm sure that they didn't mind all my hysterical "don't buy this bike if you see it" postings on Craigslist were only in hopes that they would identify themselves to me, so that I could contact properly tell them how much I appreciated the fact that they didn't wait for me to give away the bike, but rather came and "claimed" it themselves, making my charity very efficient.

Anyway, I'm sure that some of you have seen this Washington Post article. It turns out that many of us out there operate these sort of "charities" with our generosity level varying from year to year. I'm thinking if we all band together in some way, we can really make a difference for the poor/privledged/down on their luck/random punks/crackheads in this area who have the moral flexibility to understand that things that don't belong to them, actually on some level, do belong to them, as evidenced by my charitable "givings" in 2005, 2006, and now, 2007.

Ps. If the 2007 recipient is reading this, can you at least write me a receipt to include as a charitable deduction in my taxes? Why don't you come right back to where you "picked up" the bike and I can truly express my feelings for you?

Rescued*

The year was 1992. My family was in the midst of our traditional summer vacation to Lakeside on Lake Erie. Lakeside, the exact locale of said vacation, was a quaint, remote town approximately one-half hour from the famous roller-coaster mecca of Cedar Point.

We stayed in a cottage near the Lake and when not playing a mean game of shuffleboard, the majority of our time was spent in, on, and around the water. And by “water,” I mean the water on the left side of the dock. The dock darted out about 100-yards into the Lake, and all of the children swimming about the left side of the dock were being monitored by lifeguards as well as frenzied parents.

And that’s fun for awhile. But every now and again, you need a little adventure. You need excitement. You need, well, freedom.

So, my younger sister, our two friends, and I embarked on what will be referred to as the Great Escape of 1992. We went to the local tour shop and each purchased a black innertube to set sail on (gasp!) the right side of the dock. We headed on over to the Lake and when we approached the dock, we made a sharp right turn toward the rocks. We scurried on down the rocks until we hit water and with our innertubes afloat, away we went. When we approached the end of the dock, we kept on floating. Now we were twice the length of the dock out into Lake Erie and oblivious to the speed boats flying by our preteen bodies. Yet we keep on trucking. Where, we don’t know, but one thing is for certain, nobody knew we were gone.

So we thought.

As we continued to float, a familiar boat rapidly approached us, and offered a ride back to the rocks. But what is independent about that? Besides, at the ripe age of 12, I knew better than to take a ride from strangers. Especially if it was an enormous boat full of men twice my age. Wearing nothing but swim trunks. Well, turns out the boat looked familiar because the side of it broadcasted the U.S. Coast Guard.

Well, we paddled our proud selves back to the rocks, Coast Guard en route. And the closer we came to the rocks, the more we recognized the familiar faces awaiting our arrival on the rocks. Our parents. And cousins. And aunts. And uncles. And sister. And not a one shared the same look of excitement that we exhibited. In fact, their faces revealed more of a look of fear. Of disapproval. Of “I hope you enjoyed this day because it may be your last.” We made our way up the rocks, greeted my parents, and before welcoming us back to land, my father slashed our tires.

And of our numerous family vacations throughout my 20-something years, that memory is one of the most vivid.

Fast forward to September 2007. My sisters, their husbands, and one of my best friends from college (Ece) are vacationing down in Turks and Caicos. And slowly but surely, history repeated itself. Keeping active on the beach, Ece and I had swam, snorkled, and kayaked on Day 1. But we had approached the time to venture out to Sea (the Caribbean Sea, that is) on a catamaran. And similar to my experience in 1992, my family members were keeping a close eye on me.

Only this time, with a camera. See for yourself:

Ece: Let's take an afternoon trip on the catamaran!

Me: Great idea! Have you ever been?

Ece: No, but I took sailing lessons last summer in Chicago.

Me: Besides, it seems like it's common sense. (Just like tubing in Lake Erie, no?)

Younger sis: Uh oh. Do you see what is going on down there?

Older sis: Oh no. Here we go again.

Both: HUSBANDS!

Me: Oh no. Look who they've sent for us.

Ece: Time to take it up a notch.

Both: Muh-wah-ah-ah.

And the sea was angry that day.....

And just like 1992, the rescue boat comes after us. And just like 1992, when it approached us, we calmly told him we had everything under control.