All About the Five Day Weekend

Early tomorrow morning I set out for Edinburgh, Scotland via King's Cross Station. When you live in London, everything in your life revolves around Tube stops: I eat breakfast at Paddington, attend lectures at Barbican, visit friends at High Street Kensington, work out at Mile End, worship at West Brompton, use the library at Russell Square, people-watch at Hyde Park Corner, and sightsee at Piccadilly Circus (and that just scratches the surface of 'Zone 1'... there are 10 concentric Zones). Of course, the part about attending lectures is only theoretical at the moment since classes don't start until next week. Oh, and in case you didn't already resent me, here's my class schedule:

Wednesday
10:00-12:00 Global Policy & Economics of Intellectual Property
12:00-14:00 Law of Finance & Foreign Investment
14:00-16:00 Intellectual Property in the Digital Millenium

Thursday
14:00-16:00 External Relations Law of the European Union
18:00-20:00 Legal Aspects of International Finance

Yeah, that's right... FIVE DAY WEEKEND! I must admit to feeling a little guilty about having such a light schedule, but then I remember sleeping in the ChE building during senior design project, and I realize how much I deserve this. Hey, I've done my bit for King and Country and one more semester Stateside would have been the end of me. I'm afraid I'll be incommunicado over this FIVE DAY WEEKEND while traveling through Scotland. It's hard to lug around a laptop in Loch Ness and the Isle of Skye, so I'll have a lot of posting to do when I return from my FIVE DAY WEEKEND. Grace and Peace ya'll.

Honi soit qui mal y pense

I arrived at Lilian Penson Hall on Sunday, an international graduate student dorm one block south of Paddington Station (where Mr. and Mrs. Brown found the Teddy from Darkest Peru with the Marmalade fetish) and two blocks north of Hyde Park. The accommodations are more ghetto than Jester (I know Travis, I didn’t think it was possible either), but it’s warm and ‘cheap’, which is more than you can hope for in London. The view is quite nice (above photo) and you can see one of the tiny community gardens that exist in between blocks. And check out the picture of Hyde Park below. It’s the biggest urban green space I’ve every seen, and I’m sure I’ll be enjoying a lot of quiet time there.



Monday we caught the tube to Barbican station, where Queen Mary’s Charterhouse Square campus can be found. You can see the guardhouse to my college below. Orientation lasted most of the day, with professors describing their course offerings and expectations for the term. I was hoping for a Professor Snape (I love that guy), but alas, everyone was extremely nice and accommodating. Shucks.



Today QM organized a coach trip to Windsor Castle outside of London, one of the official residences of the Queen. The royal standard wasn’t raised over the castle, so the Queen must have been elsewhere today. You can see some exterior shots below, but I’m afraid the ‘no photo’ policy was strictly enforced indoors. All over the castle, and St. George’s chapel, you’ll find emblems of the Order of the Garter, the oldest British Order of Chivalry, started by Edward III in 1348. The motto of this order is “Honi soit qui mal y pense.” The obscure phrase may mean “evil is as evil thinks” or perhaps “shame on him who thinks this evil” – whatever it means, I think we can all agree that grown men wearing diamond-encrusted garters is pretty silly.





St. George’s chapel is the final resting place of ten British monarchs, and home to some of the most amazing woodcarving I’ve ever seen. Henry VIII, husband to VI wives, was buried here with his second wife Anne Boleyn… wasn’t she executed by Henry for infidelity? I guess their daughter Elizabeth had something to do with the mutual interment. Classes don’t start until next week, so a group of us are planning a trip to Scotland. As usual, I’ll keep you posted. Peace out.

Sprechen Sie Englisch?

It’s amazing how far you can get in Germany with nothing but the above phrase and a warm smile. I tried extending my stay in beer city, but unfortunately there were no vacancies in Shangri-La, so we stowed our luggage at the train station and enjoyed one more day in Bavaria. We thought the Deutsche Museum might be a fun place to visit since Shane and I are both recovering engineers – the museum is the German version of the Smithsonian, but in typical German fashion, it’s dedicated solely to engineering and technology. Any museum that requires the removal of watches and rings because of possible electrical discharge has got to be cool.



I’m an extremely tactile learner (just ask my Grandma who once threatened to ‘throw me in the dumpster’ for always playing with her belongings), so this button-laden museum was pure joy. If I had come here as a kid, the kinematic equations would have been second nature and I might actually understand the Right Hand Rule instead of viewing all of electro-magnetism as ‘magic.’ I’d probably have grand unification worked out by now. Oh well, the world got another lawyer. The one disappointing moment was in the Hall of Weights and Measures where I hopped on the scale and discovered that my stupid body had converted EVERY stupid beer calorie into stupid fat. If metabolic efficiency were sexy, I’d be batting the girls away with a stick. Just hook me up to the grid and I’ll power the City of Austin for a day on nothing more than an altoid (a fortnight on a lifesaver). The above photo was taken in the mammoth Hall of Mining, when I decided to make an otherwise boring display a little more ‘interactive.’ What does “Verboten!” mean anyway?



I really wanted to visit Prague, but I couldn’t justify the long and costly trip for just one day in the Czech Republic. I’ve decided that this will be a Western European semester, and Eastern Europe will have to wait for another trip… besides, this will give the East some time to de-ghettofy itself before I visit. We caught an afternoon train back to Salzburg and found the city shrouded in a cold rain. Shane hates the weather, but I really love it – for some reason miserable weather suits my personality. The next day we visited the houses and museums dedicated to Herr. Mozart. I knew nothing of Mozart outside of what I gleamed from watching “Amadeus”, so this was a very cultural moment for me. After listening to one beautifully woven composition I found it unbelievable that this piece was written by Wolfgang at age six. Photos of the Mozart residence were strictly verboten, but seeing as how the guards were few in number and all octogenarians (gee, I wonder how ‘The Scream’ got stolen), I thought one non-flash photo couldn’t hurt.



We had planned on seeing the countryside, but thankfully the weather kept us in the old city. We just walked around the winding alleyways from shop to shop. It was awesome. You can see one of the many Austrian candy stores in the above photo. Hey Julie Jennings, you know how I’ve stolen a lot of your chocolates in the past? Well, let’s just say come Christmas time, you’re going to forgive me. We leave for London in the morning, so I’ll say gute nacht ya’ll.

Actung Baby!

Traveling Europe with Shane Nelson is a lot like seeing Europe on a fast moving bullet train. The guy makes Rick Steves look like a sloth with poor organizational skills. It’s nice being organized for a change though. We darted from subway to subway (Shane’s sense of direction boggles the mind), finally emerging onto Marienplatz (above photo) at 11:59a – the huge clock tower is full of mechanical figurines that put on a show at noon, complete with whirling dancers and jousting knights. I think Shane wants to see all of Europe this term… and I mean ALL of Europe. Hopefully I can convince him to slow down and smell die rosen.



We visited many more churches in the old city surrounding Marienplatz. You can see a picture of St. Peter’s above. I really wish I could post a video sometimes, as pictures fail to take in the magnitude and grandeur of what you’re seeing. Still, I’m glad for digicams and blogs, else I wouldn’t be able to share any of this. Elsewhere in Munich, we visited the Residence, or city palace that housed the Dukes and Kings of Bavaria. Below you’ll find Shane waiting in one of the many antechambers leading to the throne room. It’s good to be the King. Ever since childhood I’ve known that I wasn’t suited for the age of pluralistic democracy… I should have lived in the age of Kings.



After a morning in the ‘zenter’ it was off once more to Oktoberfest! Without a reservation it can be pretty hard to find a seat in one of the beer palaces, but if you find some elderly patrons and watch over them like circling vultures, they’ll eventually retire for the evening and you can swoop in for their seats. We sat next to Hans and Frans (second photo below, can’t remember their actual names) who became our drinking buddies for the evening. They explained all of the drinking songs to us and many of the customs, so we could fit in amongst the Germans. These guys were in officer training school, and while you can’t tell from the photo, they’re both about 7 feet tall. I for one am glad Germany is an ally, ‘cause these fellows could crush my skull with their bare hands (and I have a gargantuan cranium, so that’s saying a lot).





After one bier I became sleepy again. Since this was Oktoberfest, and the hotel was within walking distance, I decided to push through the sleepy-barrier and see what happened after drinking two biers. I took the following photo while dancing on a table singing, at the top of my lungs, “Hey baby… ooh… ahh… I want to know, will you be my girl.” It wasn’t just me – the Germans loved that song. I have a theory about intoxication: it removes social inhibitions, things you’d do if you had the courage (I guess I’ve always wanted to dance on tabletops), but the moral inhibitions remain. Of course, I won’t push through the 2-bier barrier to find out if my theory holds.



All of a sudden I had an overwhelming urge to call my mom. Whenever I’ve done something I know she wouldn’t approve of, I’ve always told her immediately (not sure why). Besides, I didn’t want to drink anymore and staying in a bierhaus while not drinking is like wearing a Hawaiian shirt to a wedding – it’s poor taste and everyone sees it. So I said ‘goodbye’ to Shane and found a phone booth where I could tell my mum, “Hey Mom, it’s Matt, I’m calling from Germany, and I think I’m drunk.” Of course, we had a very nice coherent conversation, so I wasn’t that intoxicated. Mom tried to convince me not to discuss this episode in the blog (she said, “The McWhirters are reading this” at which I laughed because the McWhirters would probably be glad I was loosening up a bit!), but I’ll keep no secrets from you. And please don’t worry Grandma, we’re leaving Munich tomorrow afternoon, so there won’t be any more Oktoberfest for me. Gute Nacht.

Oktoberfest ist Himmel

Germany. Land formerly ruled by fascists, now run by engineers (fascism of a different sort). As soon as Shane and I checked into the hotel, we headed off to the Oktoberfest grounds. The original Oktoberfest started as a wedding celebration in 1810 and steadily grew to become the ultimate beer-lover’s festival. It really is a Germanic vision of paradise (though I’m quite sure paradise would have less smoke and more reasonable prices). There are about twelve huge beer brewers in Munich and each sponsors its own elaborately decorated tent. Inside you’ll find cold pints poured from oak barrels and traditional Bavarian food – all brought to your table by women Shane and I fondly refer to as “beer wenches” (I’m sure there’s an appropriate German description, but that’s the first thing that popped into our heads when we saw them). When it comes to snapping photographs, I take a Japanese dozen every hour, making it really hard to pick only a few. So with much regret, here’s just one of the beer houses:



After visiting numerous tents we settled on Hafbrauhaus, a beer tent full of foreigners known for its rowdy drinking games. Over the course of the afternoon I managed to finish one bier before feeling sleepy (my law school friends already know about my low tolerance… I think my liver is still trying to figure out what to do with alcohol). Shane ridiculed my getting sleepy and suggested that going on amusement rides might wake me up (the fair grounds are a cross between Six Flags and the Texas State Fair). Near Hafbrauhaus we found some bumper cars and I dared Shane to ride the one adorned with the American Flag. After he accepted the challenge I jumped into the People’s Republic of Chinamobile and proceeded to completely destroy the American Hegemony (Shane claims he couldn’t figure out the steering mechanism). Here’s a picture of Shane right before I humiliated him:



After walking around for a long time, we came to a thrill ride called “freefall” where victims are strapped in and rocketed up and down a huge pole towering over the fairgrounds. I explained to Shane that, while I love acceleration, I don’t do thrill rides, let alone with a stomach full of beer and wienerschnitzel. Before I knew what had happened, he bought me a ticket and I was standing in line. From previous posts you know that acceleration has always been a spiritual experience for me – but this was like leaving the cleft in the rock and staring directly into the face of God. Most thrilling was reaching the top, thinking you’d fall at the customary 9.8 meters per second squared, only to find that the German engineers wanted you to plummet towards terra firma at a much higher rate. I now know what a ballistic missile feels like. Let’s hope the Germans stick to thrill rides and luxury automobiles… we really don’t want these people designing weapons. After the ride I walked by a phone booth and saw these ladies making a phone call. Normally, beer wenches show enough cleavage to make Elvira blush (something to do with bigger tips), and I could hardly post their picture on an otherwise PG blog. But here were a couple of beer wenches modestly dressed in the cold weather, so I stared at them until I achieved eye-contact and snapped this photo:



We finished off the first day in Munich by making our final round of the beerhauses. The following photo was taken at a really surreal moment. As we entered the hall 3,000 sloshed Germans were singing, “Take me home, country roads” – I never knew West Virginia held such a special place in Bavarian hearts.



I’m just really glad we have more days in Munich. I love you Germany. Gute Nacht ya’ll.

There are no Kangaroos in Austria

The best part about sightseeing in Europe is that you can do most of it on foot, and aimlessly wandering about (the ‘Jennings method’), is extremely fun. The cheapest food available comes from little stands along the way, the only downside being that there are no benches or tables at which to eat the bits of meat and cheese, so you end up walking 10 hours a day. Of course the trick is to never take your shoes off until you’re ready to sleep for the night, since you won’t be able to get them back on again. You can see the Salzburg cathedral in the above photo. Consecrated by the Bishop Virgil in 774 (it’s weird writing three-digit dates), an aerial bombardment destroyed the dome in WWII. It really amazes me how quickly Europe was rebuilt and wrongs forgotten, but as with all war, you can still feel a lingering sadness for all that was lost.



On a much lighter note, check out the Austrian taxi system in the old city. It’s like I’m walking around in a fairy tale. I’ll have to remember this place when I have daughters – Salzburg would be the perfect father-daughter trip. And I’ve decided to start a new Jennings family tradition. For every language my kids reach total fluency in (I will accept an AP score of ‘5’ and possibly ‘4’ if I’m feeling merciful), they’ll receive a trip to a languaphonic country of their choosing (this will of course be subject to budgetary constraints, and if times get tough I reserve the right to ship them off to Nuevo Laredo on a Greyhound bus to brush up on their Spanish). I’m not sure why I’ve always wanted to have a bunch of kids, but it wouldn’t surprise me if “The Sound of Music” had some influence – just watch the movie and tell me you don’t want a Gretel of your own!



Tuesday afternoon I decided to walk from steeple to steeple visiting all the churches of Salzburg. It made me a little sad seeing these churches turned into religious museums. Instead of pastors and priests, professors and preservationists showed groups around the churches and there were always opportunities to buy souveniric trash (I didn’t find anything I could ‘fashion into a whip’ and besides, I have no prophecy to fulfill). The last church I visited (see above photo) was the Evangelical Christ Church, and I could see a men’s Bible study underway when I peered through the education annex. I wanted so badly to join them, but I feared it would only be a distraction. One day…



Do you recognize the above photo? It’s a great place to hide from Nazis, or just wayward young Austrians like Rolf. Later that day, I decided to climb to the fortress overlooking the city, but just before reaching the summit, the guard tower demanded a toll before proceeding, so I turned around and decided to climb the next mountain instead. Ironic that castles and fortresses used to collect tolls along the river – I guess the more things change… At the top of the next mountain was this extremely posh hotel built in the 13th century:



I really wanted to explore the building, but it was heavily fortified and the parking lot full of sports cars suggested I was outclassed. So I zipped up my jacket (my ‘formal’ look) and told the receptionist that my parents might be visiting the city soon, and I was scouting ahead to find appropriate accommodations (not a lie mind you, my parents ‘might’ also walk through their closet wardrobe and visit Caire Paravel on the shores of Narnia – everything has a finite probability). She gave me a tour and said that my parents might enjoy the two day vacationer’s package including dinner in the ‘world’s smallest restaurant’ (a single table in the tower), a jacuzzi full of rose petals and a helicopter tour of the region, all for just 2,000 euros. Later that night, I headed back to the YoHo hostel and called it a night. I’m staying in a room with an Aussie, a Brit, and a Mexican – I’ve been trying to think of a joke incorporating all of us, but the possibilities are so numerous that I just can’t settle on one. The typical hostel patron has dreadlocked hair, is traveling Europe with an instrument and a desire to ‘find’ themselves, smells of stale beer and acrid pot smoke, and hates, I mean hates President Bush (behold your supporters John Kerry!). Whenever I’m asked about the President, I say that the country is divided and the current political atmosphere frustrates me. I then quickly ask them questions about their country, home, and friends. In this way I’ve managed to befriend most of the hostellers while revealing little about myself (the easiest way to manipulate people is to keep them talking). My roommates kept staggering in every 30 minutes to talk about American foreign policy and some incredible new drink special I had to check out. Eventually, the Mexican ran in at 1:30a to tell us that girls had started making out in the common room, all my roomies ran downstairs, and I was finally able to get some sleep.



This morning I hooked up with Shane. Traveling alone has its benefits, but it can get awfully lonely sometimes, so I’m really glad to see Mr. Nelson. We’re on the morning train to Munich and have been catching up on our travels thus far. I downloaded over 400 photos from Shane’s camera, but since it has four times as many mega pixels as mine, the files are gigantic and I’ll only post one. Above you’ll see Neuschwanstein, it’s probably the most famous castle in the world outside of Orlando. Wish ya’ll could be here with me. Grace and Peace.

My Kingdom for a Compass

Hello from Salzburg, home to Mozart and the Van Trapp Family Singers (actually, this is only the man's "childhood home" and the Van Trapps fled to Vermont as soon as they got the chance... but for the tourism bureau, all that glitters is gold). Last night I flew in so incredibly late (9:00p) that the airport, and indeed most of the city, was shut down. I was just going to head into Salzburg on foot when the girl next to me struck up a conversation with one of the Austrians on our flight. Her name was Casey, an American from Missouri, and since she didn't have a place to stay or speak a lick of German, she wanted to know if this man could give her a ride. I joined in and this total stranger agreed to drive us to a hotel (what a nice guy - thank you Jakob, wherever you are!). You can see the family-run hotel I stayed at last night in the the above photo.



Ya'll would laugh your heads off if you could see me navigate my way through the city. I'm the idiot who slowly rotates the map 360 degrees hoping that some new alignment will make more sense. And I actually tried to find "Einbahn" street on the map before realizing that I was staring at a "one-way" sign. Of course, it's better than actually planning your trip before hand - this way everything is a surprise, and circumstances never throw off your plan (since you haven't got one). I already played in the fountains of Mirabellgarten (above photo), a beautiful city park where, if you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything. There are actually "Sound of Music" tours you can take, but I've stayed away from them for three reasons: (1) they cost money, (2) I didn't come here to see Americans, and (3) I know every scene from the movie forwards and backwards already - I prefer to discover the sights myself. And no Matt Hill, having memorized the "Sound of Music" doesn't make me gay. Growing up we had very few VHS videos (seriously, I think we had 8) and it was either that or "The History of Manned Space Flight" (three guesses which one Blake always watched). And please stop referring to me as a "metrosexual"... I much prefer the term "heterofabulous."



Here's the alley where I'm writing this post. I used my lunch money to buy Internet time, so I hope you enjoyed it. Peace Out ya'll.

Fjords At Last!

Brace yourself for a long post - it seems the interweb hasn't yet reached the fjords of Norway and we have a lot of catching up to do. I was really overwhelmed by the beauty, majesty, and grandeur of the countryside. In the above photo, I was experiencing an awe-induced seizure and will do my best to recount the events of the past couple of days without blacking out. Texas, you know I love you baby, but you're just plain ugly in comparison.



We drove from Bergen to Alexander's ancestral village of Urnes (pop. 40); normally a four hour trip. However, with the goat traffic jams and all the stops at scenic vistas and historic towns along the way, it took us eight hours to reach the cabin. I think the most fun part of the trip was traveling through the tunnels. Southwestern Norway has a myriad of tunnels cutting through mountainous outcroppings. In fact, we drove through the longest car tunnel in the world (almost 20 miles!). The engineers hoped to reduce driver fatigue (and claustrophobia I imagine) by creating blue luminous caverns every few miles. I leaned out of the tiny Eurocar and risked my life to get a photo for you, dear reader. To the bat cave!



You know how someone can be mortally wounded, and yet feel no pain? It's because they're in shock, the electrical impulses have shorted out their brains, and they simply can't process the mangled limb dangling at their side. Well, I feel the same way. My limbs are in tact, but the beauty... oh, the beauty. Every few minutes Madeline directs my attention to another spectacular waterfall or mountain range and all I can muster is "wow, would you look at that." Madeline suggested that I bring pictures of Houston next time and refer to them periodically to reset my nervous system. Here's a waterfall we stopped at along the road. The picture just doesn't do it justice...



Just before catching lunch in Voss, we stopped for a photo-op. If I ever do get around to building a monolithic spire, I think this will be the spot. Why did the Vikings ever leave on raiding parties anyway? The women are beautiful, the food delicious, and the views idyllic. Whenever I ask Madeline, she just rolls her eyes and says, "you haven't been here in the winter." True, the leaves are already changing color and the summer is long past. I guess if humans could learn to hibernate like bears, then Norway would be just about perfect.



I wasn't really sure what the family cabin would look like. We saw a lot of shanties with sod-covered roofs along the way, so I was delighted to find a deluxe three-story structure straight out of an IKEA catalogue. You can see the village of Solvorn through the window (a short ferry ride across Lusterfjord). We enjoyed a wonderful dinner, with lots of wine, and played Trivial Pursuit afterwards. You have to give Alexander credit, he came somewhat close to beating me. Alex reminds me a lot of my brother Blake (especially when losing board games to me), so it's been fun hanging out with him.



The next morning we hiked the mountains from Urnes. We stopped along the way to see a stave church, which is actually listed as a UNESCO site. The structure was built in 1070 (that's 934 years old!) and symbolizes a shift from the ancient Norse pagan culture to Christian modernity. Just look at the wood carvings on the north entrance - this is so Rohan! Paal-Hauge, a famous Norwegian poet, penned these words about this very church: "Someone came here, shouldering a man's load of visions, spread them out over the walls and pillars, gaping beasts angel's wings, dragons out under the knife hand the brush, tendrils of ochre, red, grey, white, a sinuous short way from paradise to damnation." I stole the last bit from Lonely Planet.





The church isn't used for services any more, though you can still get married there for a small fee. Madeline has the whole service planned out - her family will stay in Solvorn, across the fjord, while Alexander's family stays in their ancestral village. Then, on the big day, the bridal party will cross the fjord in a rented Viking ship and they'll be married in the stave church (Alexander says he'll be running the other direction). We hiked along the mountain trail for most of the morning and saw some spectacular sights. It should be remembered that all these fjords were created by glacial movement and glaciers still rest at higher elevations. This picture was taken on our hike. This is fresh glacier water pouring down the mountain - you can drink straight from the stream without fear of contamination. Wow, would you look at that...



We traveled a long ways after that and there are many more stories to tell, but I guess I'll reserve them for myself. No sense in bogging down the blog. I only left Austin six days ago... I need to pace myself. Besides, it's 1:30am here and I have a morning flight to Salzburg. Grace and Peace.

Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams

Madeline talked to her folks and heard that Houston is experiencing a brutal heat wave right now. Wow, that must really suck. It seems that Bergen is also experiencing a heat wave of sorts since the air outside is a sweltering 55 F. Through all my long years I have come to associate chilly weather and sweater-wearing as signs of Christmas, so all I can say is Feliz Navidad ya'll. Friday Madeline and I went into the town 'sentrum' to tour old Bergen, the capital of Norway in the 12th century (before those pesky fleas wiped out 70% of the population in 1349). The above photo is of one of the countless seafood-merchant stands on the Torget, a waterfront fish market. We bought a jar of caviar and a big block of smoked salmon, which we ate later that day as an afternoon snack (my first taste of caviar). We explored countless cobblestone streets lined with timber-clad houses, and after a warm spot of tea, decided to take the tram up one of the seven mountains surrounding Bergen.



As you can see from the photo, Bergen is the Seattle of Norway as it rains about 275 days each year. The mountain top was a public park with trails to explore, so we set out on an amazing hike. The great thing about rain in such a mountainous region is that waterfalls are as common in Norway as cowards in Sweden (I've come to understand that Norwegians are extremely patriotic - they joined the Allies in resisting the Nazis and joined NATO to counter the Soviet threat, while the Swedes remained neutral during both conflicts. The collegial rivalry between the countries is really fun to watch. I think Sweden should just shut up and get over its fjord envy). Check out this waterfall on the trail:



Norway has a very unique mythology, what with Vikings and trolls. Little boys grow up wanting to be Vikings just as their American counterparts dream of being cowboys. Of course, cowboys actually had a skill they employed for the benefit of society (someone had to help those little doggies get along), whereas the Vikings just raped and pillaged. I probably sound a little bitter about the Vikings, but every time my beard grows out more than an inch, the hair turns bright red and I'm reminded that these Nordic terrorists ravaged one of my ancestors. So I refuse to post a picture celebrating their infamy. Here's one of a troll instead:



Trolls are great, and I for one think parents need to invent more scary monster stories to keep their kids in line. Trolls sprang rather naturally from all of the gnarled and knotted trees here. I can only imagine being lost in the woods of Norway after dark... And yes Tacu, my Norwegian adventure is a whole lot better than the Baton Death March of Papua New Guinea. But before you think this is paradise, I should inform you that the sales tax is 24%, all liquor sales are controlled by and conducted through local government-run establishments (with additional alcohol fees levied), and the roads are monitored by photo-radar devices that send automated traffic tickets to your home whenever you exceed the posted speed limit (I think I can hear Nikoliev reaching for his Glock). Can you imagine that sort of thing in Texas? Revolutions have been started over less... much less... Still, it’s better than Sweden.

Hello from Rivendale

You know the stereotype about Scandinavians all being beautiful people? Well, though it pains me to admit my genetic inferiority, I have to say that it's true. I feel like I'm staying with the Elves, which would be nice if not for the fact that I fill the role of Gimli, Son of Gloin... Of course, being "short" and chubby makes me sort of exotic here, so I do have an advantage of sorts. Madeline (or "mad dog" as her lacrosse friends used to say) is an old friend from chemical engineering and I took a statistical analysis class with Alexander the Norwegian. It was then that I suggested he meet Mad Dog, since she spoke his language and traveled to Norway as a high schooler. They hooked up and my successful career as matchmaker began and ended. The above picture was taken from their balcony. I've wanted to visit Norway ever since reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in junior high and learning of Slarty Bartfast's "fiddly bits" along the coast (that's fjords for the sci-fi illiterate among you... and no Kyle, "fjord" is not slang for a really attractive woman, though perhaps you could start an etymological revolution). Here's the dinner we enjoyed in the apartment:



The fresh salmon was delicious and I washed it down with lots and lots of wine. Matt Hill would call me a hypocrite since I have so often derided the inefficiencies of socialism, but I was referring to socialism in the context of GDP and productivity, not quality of life. And man, the quality of life is great. After dinner we hiked a third of the way up a hill next to the apartment and got a great view of Bergen:



Alexander's folks have a cabin further to the north on the most famous fjord in Norway, so we're talking about going there for a few days. What really makes this experience satisfying is realizing that my law school friends are reading this blog while sitting through the most boring classes imaginable. If I had to endure one more semester of that rubbish my small intestine would have found some way to throttle my brain, just to be done with it all. Have fun kids.

Nodnol, who ever heard of Nodnol?

My flight from DFW was pleasant except for the wicked case of chapped lips that hit somewhere over the Atlantic (I used to have a lot of chapstick until I met Natalie Lyons and she 'borrowed' it all away!). I have to say that I never feel quite so close to God as when I'm in a plane accelerating on takeoff. When the jets rev up and the whole fuselage begins to shake, I literally start muttering scripture under my breath. The confluence of all that power and energy just touches my soul unlike anything else in this world. That's probably why I also love fire, shockwaves, and weapons systems. I'm too jetlagged to explain away the irony, so I'll just agree that I'm weird and move on. I'm pretty easy to spot right now... I'm the guy with the ridiculous smile plastered on his face. I was a bit worried that London wouldn't meet my expectations, but instead the capital city has far exceeded them. I'm a huge public transportation nut so I bought a day pass on the tube and have explored EVERY station and rail center in central London (took about 10 hours). And Mrs. Hobbs, I'm sorry to report that after visiting Victoria station (see above photo) these poor muggle-born eyes couldn't find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. I would have started pushing against the brick pillar, but the attendants were already looking at me like I was a total idiot.

My Eagle Scout friends always make fun of me for being the anti-boy scout, since I never prepare for anything (I once brought nothing but a pillow and a sheet to an extremely cold campout and was forced to... well, never mind that). True to form I showed up for my one day London layover without any idea where I would stay for the night. I began looking for a hotel room at 9 o'clock this morning and finally found an extremely cheap room here:



Pretty impressive, don't you think? If you ever find yourself in central London and need a room for less than $100, I highly recommend Travelodge. I'm forcing myself to stay up another couple of hours to kill off the jetlag, and tomorrow I'll fly to Norway to stay with my friends Madeline and Alexander. As far as adjusting to the culture, I honestly think I've been culture shocked for the past 25 years and am just now in my natural element. I have noticed that many Londoners don't speak the same Queen's English I learned from the BBC... I've learned that when someone from Hackney says something to you, it's best to give a quizzical expression and say "that's interesting" or "I'll keep that in mind." And if you find yourself walking through a dark alley at night in a rough part of town, the best thing to do is wear a vacant expression and mutter to yourself "I killed him, I can't believe I killed him." There are definitely some rapscallions and scallywags here, but even they don't want to mess with a psychopath. Man, I love this city. Peace out ya'll and remember, no matter what happens, always MIND THE GAP... MIND THE GAP... MIND THE GAP...

Clan McWhirter

Cousin Brooke! So nice of you to take time from your busy Congressional gig to say hello. It's a wonder the bureaucracy functions without your constant vigilance. And of course I welcome your criticism, unfounded though it may be, that I have forgotten my Scottish heritage. As you can see from the above photo, I still have the family tartan... you remember that Christmas don't you? All the boys in the family received McWhirter tartan ties while you girls received scarves. I wonder where your scarf is? I'm sure you still have it - losing it would be such an affront to our shared heritage.

Seriously though, I do miss spending Sunday nights at your place watching Jennifer Gardne... I mean, Alias. It was a worthy tradition. Take care of yourself up in D.C. and please promise me you won't date any lawyers. They're scum.

Texas Our Texas

Howdy reader, and welcome to my blog. After 25 years in exile, I will finally be returning home to my people, the Britons, and you'll have a front row seat for all the fun. You may question my anglophillic claim to kinship, so I'll explain by way of introduction. Once upon a time, when my parents were young and blissfully happy (before my brother arrived mind you), they traveled the globe and lived in all sorts of exciting places. I grew up hearing them reminisce about their time in London, when they lived in a flat near the city centre. But when it came time to start a family they went looking for the most down-to-earth humble place they could find. They wanted their boys to be well-grounded... oh, so painfully well-grounded. And they found such a place in Tomball. As luck would have it (or cruel sadistic fate, depending on your perspective) my parents visted Tomball in its finest hour... the annual Thanksgiving parade. Throngs of Tomballians lined the streets while local civic groups paraded through town on tractor-trailers and little kids showed off their streamer-strewn bikes. The decision was made and I lived for 18 years at 18803 S. Roselake Drive. Was it any wonder that the first words spoken from my lips were "NOT FAIR!"? Needless to say, I knew from an early age that these were not my people (NOTE to Tomball readers: Please disregard the last few lines... I'm really quite fond of ya'll and I trust this revelation won't in any way jeopardize our friendship... I dislike Tomball but love her people much as I love France but dislike the French). My childhood, apart from being well-grounded and rather a bore, was also very sheltered. Growing up, there was an electrical lockbox on our TV and we could only watch pre-approved TV shows. Fortunately, my dad always gave up the key for PBS programming, so I spent my formative years watching British news, drama, sci-fi, and comedies. The Houston PBS affiliate was really just a straw man for the BBC. And with every episode of Dr. Who and every newscast from Daljit Dhaliwal (wow, what a woman!) I became more and more convinced of what I had never really wanted to admit... that's right, I had been living a lie... I was British! I've been trying to get back to The Island for as long as I can remember, but now I finally have the chance. I'll be studying international IP law at Queen Mary until Christmas. My fellow UTers will be traveling all over the continent... but apart from a visit to Norway and Munich, I'm perfectly happy being a British homebody. So I'll keep ya'll posted on my travels, including any embarrassing cultural moments (which I'm sure will be plentiful). Adios Texas.