rememberthattime

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 63. Goodbye Abroad

Six years and sixty-plus posts later, we’ve reached the final chapter. 

I started writing in October 2015, in a cheap hotel in rainy Munich. We were on our first trip while living abroad. Chelsay was still asleep. And I wanted a way to capture our memories from what was supposed to be a two-year work rotation. 

We had no idea what was to come. No idea of the adventures, emotions, cities, villages, landscapes, airport transfers, train stations, and many many incredible breakfasts ahead of us. 

The best decision I’ve made was asking Chelsay out on our first date (proposing was big, but everything started with that first walk home).  The second best decision I ever made was starting this blog, and leaving myself emotional fossils to rediscover someday. 

In both cases, the choices I made as a twenty-something will provide laughter and happiness for the rest of my life. 

It’s 6 AM, quiet, and several hours before Chelsay will wake up – just like when I started my first post. A fitting (and very common) setting for me to write. 

It’s January 2022, over seven months from when we moved back to the US. This will be a very belated ‘goodbye’ post, but I think the extra time helps. After a busy summer, taking time to write this provides perspective: a chance to think about our old and new lives. 

Our summer was such a blitz that I didn’t have time to reflect. Between a bachelor party in Austin, adventure race in Wisconsin, reunion tour through Portland & Seattle, our fourth anniversary in Mexico … not to mention actually moving from the UK to US (into apartments in both Lincoln Park AND Lake Forest) … I’m excited to finally process my thoughts: Is it a relief to be ‘home’?  Was this the right move? Did we settle by “settling down”?

It’s a complex but entirely expected feeling. 99 out of 100 days, I’m really happy we’re in Chicago. I spent my last post writing all about the benefits: finally being close to family, loads of activities, a world class city, friendly community, and because I’m writing this in January, four clearly-defined seasons. (Winter is cold – my eyelashes froze on a run yesterday – but I’ve come to appreciate the chilly air on my face. It must be my Midwest blood... or the electrically heated vest. Indy loves the snow too.) 

Following my Chicago post, there was one more quick story that captures the benefits of being in the US. It’s about how having a car and Target nearby saved Christmas.  

Chelsay got Covid right before our holiday flight to Hawaii. She had a bad flu for a few days, but the worst part was that we weren’t able to see her family for the first time in several years. Instead, we’d be spending Christmas alone in quarantine.

I’d tested negative, and knew I needed to do something to lift Chelsay’s spirits. It was already December 23 though - how could I pull together a special Christmas Day?

In the UK, I would’ve been sunk: *IF* Waitrose was still open, it was too brief a window to reserve delivery of a Christmas meal. Would I have to go in-store, potentially risking others given my close contact?  And what about presents?  As much as I love Amazon, I don’t think a December 23 order could arrive by Christmas. 

Luckily, in Lake Forest, I was able to order filet mignon and all the sides through the Fresh Market app. I found a nerdy-cool Hogwarts Lego set on Target’s website, and Mario Party on the Nintendo Switch for extra isolation activities. I drove <10 minutes to each store, and they placed the bags in my trunk. The whole thing took under an hour, and Chelsay and I genuinely had a really fun Christmas together. 

Over our next few years, this situation will repeat itself frequently.  Hopefully not  another Christmas in quarantine, but with a growing family, easily accessing exactly what we need will be vital: diapers, the vet, a 24-hour pharmacy, daycare, delivery dinners, cleaning supplies, etc. All of these are just more convenient in Chicago vs London. 

Now, does our positive return to the US mean I don’t miss being abroad? Absolutely not. I’m happy with Chicago most days (and especially Lake Forest’s small town charm), but there have been a couple days where I ask Chelsay if we’ve made a mistake. Were we too impatient leaving the UK? Is the ease of living in the US worth giving up the unique experiences living abroad?  Is the grass always greener on the other side? 

iPhone has a new feature called ‘Memories’ that prepares short montages from your camera roll. Germany, October 2015. Scotland, May 2016. Japan, December 2017. Bali, June 2018. 

I love this feature. Chelsay and I both have DEEP photo libraries, so the random reminder provides a lot of pleasant memories. 

At the same time, it’s a trigger. I’ll see a picture from Seville and think, “Warm weather and pasteis de nata – let’s go next month.”  Wait, we aren’t in London anymore… I can’t see a cool picture of some diverse culture and conveniently fly there on a whim. 

The other aspect that I miss about being abroad was Chelsay and I’s uniqueness. We’d chosen such a different life than what I expected as a kid, and I was really proud to have taken a more challenging route. Yes, being an ‘outsider’ abroad had its hurdles – there were times we felt stereotyped or missed being surrounded by ‘our people’. Times when we couldn’t tell the difference between dishwasher soap and clothing detergent at the grocery store, or forced our way through another sub-par international taco.

These slight annoyances built up over six years. Though I couldn’t see it in the moment, I’ve come to realize these challenges were just reminders of the unique path Chelsay and I had chosen, and I miss that feeling.

My boss in Seattle once told me that life is like a book, and each stage has its own chapter.  I couldn’t have asked for anything more from this chapter.  From those first days in London, anxiously waiting for Chelsay’s arrival at our Notting Hill temp housing, to the early morning airport transfers from St Johns Wood, to our 4 AM Primrose Hill walk after finding out we were moving to Sydney. From those first visits to Bondi and Bronte, to weekend swims and surfing, and long walks up the Northern Beaches. From the late night walk through Manly after we learned we were moving back to London, to our long walks through the Heath, and cozy walks through Hampstead village.  We’ve been so spoiled for the past six years… and that isn’t even mentioning the 50+ countries we visited, hundreds of ‘WOW ’landmarks and landscapes, or the valuable perspective gained from visiting so many cultures. And we got married!

I started this post by asking myself a few questions: Is it a relief to be ‘home’?  Was returning to the US the right move?  Did we settle by “settling down”?

Chelsay and I are closing one hell of a chapter, and it’s setting couldn’t have been better.  But our next chapter will be great too, and the US is the right place for what’s coming.  

Now, I wouldn’t say it was ABSOLUTELY the right call. This move has taught me that no tough choice will have an ABSOLUTE right answer. There’s a reason it was a tough choice: there were pros and cons to both sides, and either way, you’re sacrificing something.  

In returning to the US, we’ve given up our weekend larks to the Bavarian countryside, evening walks along London’s South Bank, or mini ski breaks in New Zealand. We’ve lost the special feeling of living abroad, and the unique but addicting cultural challenges. 

Chicago is right for this chapter: for family, comfort, and convenience. But maybe a future chapter will have a different setting. Maybe even abroad.  

Maybe this isn’t a ‘goodbye’ post. More “See you later.”

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 62. US Return

Wow - it’s been awhile. Although we moved from London to Chicago in May, I’m only writing this post in September.

It was a busy summer: a bachelor party in Austin, adventure race in Wisconsin, and reunion tour through Portland and Seattle. Oh, and we were just getting used to our new home, Chicago.

We arrived back in the US on May 28, 2021. Writing this now in September, I can safely say that Chicago has exceeded expectations in so many ways.

I’ll start with the weather. Everyone talks about how cold the winters are - rightfully so - but this discounts Chicago’s glorious summer. Of the first 90 days we’ve lived here, ~80 have been 80+ degrees.

Whereas a London summer may still require a jacket or umbrella, I don’t even consider anything other than shorts & a t-shirt in Chicago.

With all this extra sun and warmth, Chelsay and I take daily runs and walks with Indy through Lincoln Park: along North Beach at sunrise, and to North Pond’s dog meet-up around 5:00 (aka “Yappy Hour”).

Great weather has also provided an ideal introduction to Chicago‘s summer activities, including Cubs games at the immaculately renovated Wrigley Field, boating on July 4th, al fresco dining, and exploring Chicago’s diverse neighborhoods by Divvy bike.

And of course, Chelsay and I have enjoyed being closer to family, the primary reason we moved to Chicago. After six years abroad, we’ve savored the impromptu dinners with my parents, weekends with Jeff and Liv, or welcoming Matt and Emily when they also moved to Chicago. London and Sydney are geographically far away, but they FEEL even more distant.  It was great to Facetime and hear about family game nights, or dinners, or the latest survival shows they watched together, but we’re now relishing the opportunity to finally participate.

Beyond simply enjoying their company, Chelsay and I have also benefited from being so close to my parents. I want to specifically remember how much they’ve contributed to our smooth return.  Before arriving, my parents drove around the North Shore, “scouting” neighborhoods and touring potential temp-housing. They’ve shared city recommendations and watched Indy through our summer travels. They’ve peppered us with potential homes and cleverly researched specific houses we targeted. They accepted the (dozens of) Amazon boxes we ordered pre-arrival and loaned us every home necessity while we waited for our UK shipment.

With our previous international moves, it took months of apartment tours and furniture shopping and discomfort before Chelsay and I had a ‘home’ established. Thanks to my parents, we were settled over Memorial Day weekend.

It’s a good thing we were settled quickly. After just two weeks in Chicago, I began my Summer Tour where I’d be away 5 out of 6 weekends.

The string began with Devon’s bachelor party in Austin. I was in-charge of planning, a challenge even before considering it was a group of ~20.

It was all worth it the second I arrived though. Although it’d been almost two years since I’d seen Devon, Hanan, A Loh, and Martiin, we picked up right where we left off. Like a day hadn’t passed. It was also great to catch up with the other Skyline guys (Derek, Danny, Trav, and Ju) and meet Dev’s Menlo teammates.

I booked an AirBnB large enough for the entire crew to stay together. We catered Guero’s and ate around the pool, stayed out on Rainey Street a little too late the first night, rallied the next morning for our Lake Travis party barge, then crashed the second night – especially the groom. I arrived in ATX as a boy, but left 36 hours later as a man.

As if a bachelor party in Austin wasn’t hard enough on my body, my dad and I had trained for an Adventure Race the VERY NEXT weekend. The Stubborn Mule race is hosted in Washburn, WI – aka the middle of nowhere – and includes 30 miles of biking, 10 miles of orienteering, and 6 miles of kayaking on Lake Erie.

I signed my dad and I up as a Christmas present, and had been nervous about the race ever since. After a year in lockdown, I wasn’t in my best shape and these distances sounded grueling. To be clear, my dad and I had no aspirations about winning the race. The other racers are survivalists – park rangers or adventure athletes that train year-round and travel across the world to compete. My dad and I just saw the TV show ‘Alone’ and thought it looked fun – all we wanted to do was finish!

In training, I was especially concerned about kayaking, as I had no mechanism to work my back. The main reason I went surfing every day in Cornwall was just to paddle – it didn’t matter if the water was flat. At least I was getting a workout before this Adventure Race.

Luckily our apartment in Chicago had a rower, and my parents loaned me a bike once we arrived. One day, as a pre-race test, I went on a back-to-back-to-back 4 mile run, 3 mile row, and 26 mile bike ride up to Wilmette. I was okay, which gave me confidence. The distances weren’t that bad – but I’ll never forget the clouds that rolled in as I was arriving in Wilmette’s Gillson Beach. With a 13 mile ride back to our Lincoln Park apartment, the skies opened. It was an onslaught of water. Biblical. My t-shirt was drenched, pants soaked, and shoes so wet that water would flood out as I was pedaling. Instead of the constant drizzle of London, month’s of rain seemed to come down in just one hour. ...Fingers crossed the weather would be better on race day.  

The race was hosted as far north as Wisconsin goes – 7 hours from Chicago (!), in what locals refer to as “Up Nort”.  These are small, small lake towns, where the gas station has all the groceries residents need. Which for ‘Sconies, is just kielbasa and cheese curds. 

Neither my dad nor I slept well the night before our race, but we fought through the nerves to arrive at the starting line around sunrise: ~6:00 AM.  From researching previous Stubborn Mule race instructions, we’d strategically arrived early to plot our strategy.

The objective of this Adventure Race is to find as many hidden ‘checkpoints’ in as little time as possible.  The catch is that the “course” is 100 square miles of dense woods, and racers that don’t capture the minimum number of checkpoints within 12 hours are disqualified. There are too many checkpoints in too large an area to find them all, so we’d need to be strategic. If we’re strongest in biking, we should maximize the checkpoints in that discipline. Vice versa with kayaking. Target the areas with concentrated clusters of checkpoints. Skip outliers.

With three disciplines and 100 square miles of “course”, navigation was also an obstacle. We had a total of six maps: topographical maps to show hills and depressions, road maps, ski runs (!), bike trails, etc. My dad and I used our pre-race hour to orient ourselves and plan the optimal approach.

We felt confident in our strategy as we set out, and only gained more assurance as we easily identified the first few checkpoints. The first discipline was land navigation around a ski area, and we quickly found enough checkpoints to move to the next section. My thoughts: “Wow – this isn’t so bad… We’ll be done in no time. Maybe I can move the post-race dinner reservation earlier!”

The reality check came in our second discipline: mountain biking. We essentially had to climb the ski run on our bikes, but via poorly manicured trails. The slope was steep, dirt heavy, and the many roots and rocks along the trail made it impossible to build upward momentum. We were only 90 minutes into a 12-hour race and already struggling. Having not found a single checkpoint in our first two miles of mountain biking, we made the incredibly tough choice to head back to the homebase. The race requires teams to find at least one checkpoint for every discipline, and there were only a few biking checkpoints remaining. Though this audible conserved vital energy, it added extra pressure to find at least ONE biking checkpoint later in the race. 

We returned from mountain biking to enter the third section, which was a mix of biking and orienteering. The checkpoints were all around 7 miles away, via the same mountain biking path we’d just left, so we opted for the much longer alternate: a 12 mile ride along the local highway! Potentially motivated by cars whizzing by us, my dad and I made great time on this section, eventually finding quieter dirt roads for the last few miles.

Our positive momentum continued when we found a biking checkpoint en route – thank god!  We’d now “collected” checkpoints for both orienteering and biking, so only needed one checkpoint while kayaking to meet the minimum race requirements.

With a high concentration of orienteering checkpoints nearby, my dad and I decided to invest extra time (and energy) finding checkpoints here. We’d essentially skipped the mountain biking section and, thanks to our highway biking, were actually making great time overall. We thought to ourselves: we’re not only going to finish, but we MIGHT have a chance to beat a few people… We needed to collect more checkpoints to truly contend.

Orienteering was harder than I thought though. I’ll start by saying that it was a lot of fun, but I’ll also admit that it was grueling. The checkpoints are spread throughout the large course, and extremely well hidden in dense woods. There are no trails, no signs, no roads.  My dad and I would be trudging through ferns with the only semblance of navigation being our compass and, thanks to the topographical map, whether we needed to go uphill or downhill.

Credit to the race organizers for hiding these checkpoints so well, because there were several instances where we were within 10 yards (on a 100 square mile course) and couldn’t immediately find it.

I want to specifically remember checkpoint 16.  CP16 was crucial because it was at the center of five other checkpoints – if we could find CP16, it would be a reference point for finding the others nearby. From the topographical map, we knew it was on *some* downhill slope *about* two miles off the bike trail.  Fast forward an hour (remember: must complete race in 12 hours), and we still hadn’t found the checkpoint. We’d gone up and down ravines, retraced our steps, and were likely going in circles. At one point, we agreed we’d cross a densely wooded 30-foot-tall ravine. Before descending, I paused to find the least wooded path across, which was ultimately walking on top of a fallen tree. By the time I looked back to my dad, he was gone. All I could see were treetops violently swaying as he bruised his way straight down. This will be the lasting image from the race. 

We eventually found CP16 after another 30 minutes, but were gassed. We decided to skip the nearby checkpoints to save a little energy for kayaking.

We retraced our steps back the bikes and made our way to the beach, where race organizers helped get our kayak into the water. The organizers commented on my dad and I’s great time, which gave us a necessary confidence boost heading into the discipline we’d been dreading.

There were only two kayaking checkpoints, and racers were required to find at least one… If this turned into another CP16, we’d be screwed…

Luckily Lake Erie was relatively calm, and my dad and I were motivated by the thought that we MAY not finish last! We rowed hard – so hard that our hands blistered. And we didn’t stop. We blitzed through the first four miles (out of six) in record time, arriving in the vicinity of our required kayak checkpoint. The map showed the checkpoint located in a small inlet, but it’s hard to find inlets when you’re on the water – you have to stay close to shore to follow the map’s coastline. We tried one inlet without success, but as we were exiting, we spotted two paddle boarders leaving another nearby inlet. This was a huge! We now had a reference point and used it to triangulate the checkpoint. Re-tracing the paddle boarders path, we found the coveted kayaking checkpoint, officially meeting the minimum requirement to complete the race!

Lifted by the knowledge that we would at least “finish” the race, we crushed the final two miles of kayaking. Having started the race just aiming to survive, we were now conscious of our final score – we might not get last!  Overall, we posted one of the fastest kayaking times that day.

We arrived at the beach for the final biking leg: roughly 8 miles to the finish line. One optional orienteering section remained, but having collected the required checkpoints, my dad and I decided the race was already a success.  We crossed the finish line with a time just under 10 hours.

Post-race, we enjoyed one of the most satisfying burgers I’ve ever eaten, and slept hard that night. The race results were posted soon after and, to our pleasant surprise, we finished 36th out of 40, with two additional teams not meeting the minimum checkpoint requirements. Not only did we finish, but we beat six teams!

The race was a highlight of the summer not only for the adventurous challenge, but for the quality time I got to spend with my dad after years abroad. And also for the memory of my dad bowling through the woods attempting to find CP16!

After Austin and Wisconsin, the next weekend was Independence Day. Chelsay and I didn’t have any travel plans, so used the time to explore both the city neighborhoods and potential homes in the North Shore. We also joined my parents for boating the evening of the 4th. Having not seen July 4th fireworks in six years, I’ll always remember that evening’s unique and patriotic views from Lake Michigan.

The next two weekends would be spent in the Pacific Northwest, visiting Chelsay’s family in Portland and Seattle before attending Devon’s wedding in Winthrop, WA.

The trip began with a day at Chelsay’s grandparents’ house outside Portland, where we admired Grandma Helen’s meticulously manicured garden and played cornhole with Grandpa Nick.

We then took the Amtrack up to Seattle – while streaming the England vs Italy Euro Final, which England heartbreakingly blew by missing three straight penalty kicks.

We spent the next few days in Woodinville with Chelsay’s parents, enjoying our go-to Seattle dinners (Firenze’s amatriciana, Din Tai Fung’s xiao long bao, La Carta de Oaxaca’s rice and beans) while adding a new staple: Southgate Garden Korean BBQ.  Just driving by, you wouldn’t think much of this restaurant. It’s behind a gas station and, based on the ‘1970s diner’ interior, my guess is the new tenants chose not to update. Instead, they spent their money on the meats because the dinner was phenomenal. It’s probably the most full I’ve ever been.

I’m always impressed by our hikes in Seattle. Every time we visit, I regret not taking advantage while we lived there.  We enjoyed Wallace Falls, but the coolest walk was right in Danny & June’s backyard. From their apartment in Bothell, a nine-mile trail loops through Woodinville’s newly developed Woodin Creek restaurant area, along the Sammamish River, and past Woodinville’s wineries.

This trail was very cool. As I haven’t had a car for the past six years, I probably haven’t written about how much I hate traffic. Chelsay likes to name the chapters of our lives, and she used to say I’d name the Seattle chapter, “Why is there so much traffic!?”   But the loop trail outside of Danny & June’s place avoids any need to drive – it’s a walker’s oasis in a desert of gridlock.  

After visiting Chelsay’s parents, our next stop in this Pacific Northwest tour was Winthrop, WA. It’s in north-central WA, four hours northeast of Seattle and very close to the Canadian border. It’s about two hours north of Leavenworth, so Chelsay and I briefly visited Alex and Charlie to float the river.

I have to admit: I lived in Seattle for nearly a decade but never heard of Winthrop. This is just another reminder of how little we took advantage of the Northwest because it was the perfect setting for Devon & Barbara’s wedding.

There are strong Yellowstone vibes here. Hot weather, expansive ranches, and towering mountains. Even the resort, Sun Mountain, reminded me of a National Park lodge. Timber frame, woodland wallpaper that felt like a grandma’s cabin, and jaw-dropping views of the dramatic landscape.  

Although our room’s balcony had beautiful views, Chelsay and I found the best way to see the area was by horseback.  In a bizarre coincidence, our guide lived in Southlake [what are the odds??], and this connection explains why she was the first guide to allow us to canter. It was a blast. 

But horse riding was just an appetizer.  The main dish, and the reason we’d all come up to Winthrop, WA: Devon and Barbara’s wedding. 

The day had all the usual ceremony prep: the bridesmaids started getting ready 8 hours before the ceremony, while the guys went and played on a 20 foot rope swing. Risky move on the wedding day.

We managed to clean ourselves up in time, and before we knew it, it was time to walk down the aisle. The setting was beautiful: a bluff overlooking the Yellowstone-vibe valley below. The guests, groomsmen, bridesmaids, and especially bride and groom looked their absolute best. And there was extra emotion with one guest, Dev’s mom, spiritually present.

Deb’s spirit provided an atmosphere for the whole day: emotional, yes. But most of all: celebratory and, true to Deb, fun. It was the best party I’ve ever been to, and that includes my own wedding.

The Paris crew had been practicing since the Sweat Fest of the Seine, and absolutely owned the dancefloor. About 10 Skyline guys and their wives took half the dancefloor, and the other 200 guests got whatever was left. I never want to forget Hanan’s dance moves to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’: air guitar, kicking, raising the roof, and the mullet whip.

Someone requested Will Smith’s ‘Wild Wild West’, so I gave the people what they wanted: the disco cowboy.  And Barbara’s dad showed some memorable moves. Devon’s observation: “Are his knees made of slinky!?!”

And what wedding would be complete without every guest circling the bride and groom for their last dance of the night, followed by an after party (in THEIR room?!).  The night closed with the full Paris crew huddled closely, yelling ‘Piano Man’ in each other’s faces.

It was the best party I’ve ever been to, and equally, a perfect encapsulation of why Chelsay and I were ready to return to the US. It had been a busy six weeks: moving from London, reuniting with family in Chicago, a bachelor party in Austin, the adventure race in Chicago, hanging with Chelsay’s family in Portland and Seattle, and now Dev’s wedding in Winthrop.

But that wonderful six week run would not have been possible while abroad.  We would’ve stretched a trip to cover two weekends, missing out on the other lifelong memories with friends and family.

After six years abroad, this is ultimately why Chelsay and I finally returned to the US.

Our loved ones are here, and it was time to come home.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 61. Goodbye UK

Now that Chelsay and I knew Chicago would be our next home, there was just the small task of getting our work’s support, physically moving, and getting settled in the US.  

This would already have been a challenging time, but it was made exponentially harder when we were forced to leave our London flat six weeks before we’d expected.  I won’t go into details, but I’m sure Chelsay and I will be able to laugh about our crazy Hampstead neighbors some day…  

Chelsay and I are optimists though, and we saw this as an opportunity: we didn’t need to just get an AirBnB for our last few weeks in London.  We had no reason to stay nearby – our offices were still closed and we could essentially work from anywhere in the UK. 

We decided to spend the next six weeks remotely working from some of the country’s most attractive destinations: the Lake District, North Wales, and Chelsay & I’s favorite, Cornwall. 

Now, we weren’t able to just hit the road. After putting in our ‘notice’ with the letting agency, we only had 10 days to leave the flat. I had to let my work know I was considering moving to Chicago [*within the following six weeks*], sell basically everything [beds, dressers, desks, couch, etc], and arrange a six week trip across the UK [rental car and dog-friendly accommodation required]. 

And all of this was under the crazy, harassing, and spiteful oppression of a malicious relationship with our upstairs neighbor/landlord. I’ll never forget the call where I told my boss I was looking to move – he was incredibly supportive, essentially saying it didn’t matter where I worked. But in the background, our neighbor rang the doorbell repeatedly 10 times, banged on our window – and when I tried to move from the front office to our rear living room, he followed me into the backyard!

Unaware of the chaos happening on my end of the call, my boss gave me the green light to return to the US. And with our work now on-board, I needed to set up accommodation for the next six weeks. 

This would be a big challenge - even more so than in normal times. The country was just coming out of a year in lockdown, and with people desperate to get out of the house, our options for dog-friendly accommodation would be tight. 

I was extremely lucky to get a three-week booking in Cornwall – we were somewhat nervous because it was in a ‘travel park’, but it would anchor most of our time as nomads. We filled the remaining time with stops in the Lake District, North Wales, and a one-week return to London – Chelsay and I just couldn’t say goodbye to London with such a bitter taste in our mouths. 

Next, we needed to clear the house. We were shipping a few things to Chicago, but selling everything else. Shipping was a breeze, and although I had to work really hard to sell all of our furniture so quickly, I got the job done. Beds, couch, dressers, appliances. Everything sold in just a few days.  The secret to selling everything so quickly? Desperation. 

It seemed so recent that we’d moved into 25 Oakhill in March 2020. Only 14 months later, and the house was as empty as the day we moved in. It was simultaneously the best and worst home we’d lived in. We could not have picked a better place to live through Covid – we had plenty of space, a backyard, charming Hampstead, and could both easily work from home. On the other hand, our upstairs neighbor/landlord was genuinely imbalanced. 

I think I’ll ultimately look back on 25 Oakhill with positive memories. Daily runs through Golders Hill Park, grabbing Paul coffee in the wobbly Wells Mews, weekend walks through the Heath, and having Ricky Gervais fall in love with Indy. Plus, our landlords lived in their countryside home for 12 of the 14 months we were in 25 Oakhill, so we almost always had the house and private yard to ourselves. 

That said, we were happy to leave as soon as possible. We hit the road on April 12 2021, initiating our long journey that I’m hoping will end with Chelsay & I settling into our permanent home at some point in fall 2021. [*Update: it’s January 2022 and we still aren’t in a permanent house*]

Our six week tour of the UK was set to begin, though you have to remember, Chelsay and I would still be working during the week. We’d have nights and weekends to enjoy the surrounding area, but we didn’t have a full 45 days to just frolic around – it was really more like 12 weekend days. 

Our roadtrip began in the Lake District, known for its cascading hills dotted by dozens of quiet valley lake towns. The landscape has hints of Scotland, but the upscale villages demonstrate how much closer it is to London.  

I’d say the theme of our week in the Lake District was ‘escape’ – both from 25 Oakhill, and from the far more populated city. Given the length of this post, I’ll summarize in bullets:

Our accommodation was right at the base of Laughrigg Fell, a steep trail whose peak overlooks Lake Windermere. Chelsay, Indy, and I enjoyed a sweaty yet invigorating first hike when we arrived. Indy and I then went on morning or evening runs to the peak the rest of the week.  Chelsay said she’d “seen it”. 

It’s weird how frequently I write about grocery stores (e.g. the size of Target in the US), but Booth’s in northwest England was a treat worth remembering. The grocery store can be summarized by the top product we discovered there: Cawston’s apple-rhubarb sparkling water. Clean, refreshing, trendy. As kids today would say: “bougie”.  We self-catered throughout our five-week trip, with oven-bake meals from Booth’s our entire week in the Lake District. We enjoyed our pork dijon and apple-rhubarb crumble while crushing an entire season of Netflix’ Unabomber in five days. 

Our accommodation was nice, but extremely small. Wood beams ran across the ceiling right around the 6’ level. I’m 6’2”. Oof. Chelsay worked out of a ‘nook’ upstairs, which wasn’t even tall enough for her to stand. Needless to say, I didn’t attempt to go up there. In fact, let’s just say I preferred being outside the whole week.  

We played hooky from work on Friday, and started our day off with likely the best breakfast I’ve had in the UK: Lingholm Estate’s avocado toast with chilli relish, smoked bacon, and a perfectly poached egg.  

After breakfast, we went on the Lake District’s signature walk: Catbells. Although we went on a few other hikes, Catbells was the highlight. It reminded us of Scotland’s undulating hills - no severe slopes or exposed rock faces, but instead, gentle ripples of earth. Like your hand print in those Pin Art molds.

We were only in the Lake District for a week, but it was a charming break from our preceding weeks in London. I wouldn’t say things “slowed down” -- work was still busy and we still had moving logistics to coordinate -- but the setting was a welcome escape from 25 Oakhill. 

After the Lake District, Chelsay and I would be spending a week in northern Wales.  We didn’t take the most direct route though, with stops in York and Manchester on the way. 

York is the Austin of the UK. A smaller college town -- grubbier than London, but far less pretentious. A lot of ‘green hair’ and Ramones t-shirts. Like ATX, York also has its own local accent… It’s brutal and hilarious. I’ll never forget our quick road bite at McDonalds: “Joost the nugoots!?”

Manchester was another pleasant stop, visiting our friend Jenny for a few hours. It’s a far more livable London. I hated 25 Oakhill even more once I learned what Jenny paid in rent. 

Our cottage in Wales was just outside Snowdonia National Park, which has built itself into the world’s premier adult playground:  hiking, biking, surfing (?!), the world’s fastest zipline, underground trampolining. ...Normal playground activities.

Most of these activities were still closed during lockdown, so Chelsay and I decided to hike Mt Snowdon, the UK’s second highest peak. It was a challenging hike, and elevation high enough to still have snow in late April. We were huffing, but ultimately, I was shocked to learn Snowdon isn’t even as tall as Mt Si outside Seattle!  

During the work week, Indy’s exercise was chasing a ball up and down gently rolling fields. As the ball accelerated down the hill and away from him, I’d look out across the surrounding farms. It was so peaceful. The grass was green enough to be in a Dairygold commercial, and the cows and sheep seemed so pleasantly content basking in the sun all day. 

We were still very busy with work and the move, but stepping outside was therapeutic. I’d been staring at my screen all day, fighting little political battles over Zoom with the US certification team or Poland resourcing group. 

But to the Welsh farmers just outside our door, their peaceful plot of land might as well be their entire world. There is no corporate jockeying.  No Outlook calendar.  Stepping out to this view was a reminder that life should be simple -- a welcome mental reset from whatever was happening on our tiny laptop screen. 

We were so happy on the farm that we didn’t move the car for five straight days. Were we too sore to move after hiking Snowdon? Yes. But also, like the nearby farmers, we were perfectly content with our peaceful plot. 

As much as we enjoyed Wales, it was really just an appetizer for our next destination. One of our all-time favorites: Cornwall. 

I mentioned earlier that I was very lucky to get a three-week booking in Cornwall.  With the country coming out of lockdown, everyone wanted to travel - and available accommodation was extremely limited.  So not only was I fortunate to get a such a long-term booking, but the place introduced Chelsay and I to our new favorite Cornish town: Carbis Bay. 

I had no idea when I’d booked it, but as we made the six-hour journey down from Wales, Chelsay found that the G7 was being hosted in Carbis Bay just two weeks after we were leaving. Joe Biden and the G7 leaders would be rubbing elbows in the same town Chels and I were set to spend the next few weeks… I can only imagine their social events: as the host, Boris Johnson would incoherently mumble through the opening toast. Angie Merkel and her German directness would heckle Boris: “Stop blabbering and just tell us what time dinner is!”  Manny Macron would complain about the wine.  Joe would be asleep by 7:30 pm.  By the end of the night, everyone would drunkenly slur, “We should do this more oftennn.”

Anyway, Chelsay and I had way more fun in Cornwall than the G7 attendees.

Let me start with the setting: just perfect. Carbis Bay is actually more Sydney than it is London. I’ll never forget Indy and my runs each morning. Our accommodation was near Knill’s Monument, just a mile from Carbis Bay Beach but 600 feet above sea level.  

The run down was a breeze: beach-y palms and tropical flowers tumbled onto the path. Gorgeous cottages dotted the coastline, each with immaculate views of the bay. Indy and I would make our way down the steep hillside, eventually meeting the Southwest Coastal Path and our first glimpses of the beach. At high tide, water would reach right up to Carbis Bay Hotel’s promenade. But at low tide, the beach stretched far into the bay. Indy and I would run all the way to Carbis Bay Hotel, where Uncle Joe would be staying a week later, then head back to our rental house.  

This return trip was where the run got tricky: the 600 ft incline in just a mile means you're constantly climbing.  With his leash tied around me, there were times I felt Indy just pulling me up.

These challenging daily runs weren’t just to lose the “apple-rhubarb crumble weight”.  My dad and I had an Adventure Race in late June and I was NOT prepared. In fact, after a year in London where my only options for activities were runs or T25, I might have been in the worst shape of my life. [PS: this is why it was so important that our future home be near the water -- more activity options]

Outside of these challenging morning runs, Chelsay, Indy, and I also enjoyed several less taxing coastal hikes. Clingy Head took us through the ‘big town’ of St Ives, Godrevy introduced us to the locals (seals), the Lizard coast brought us back to Kynance Cove (where we’d visited on our first Cornwall trip last December), and Watergate Bay led us back to Mawgan Porth (where we’d spent a week on our second Cornish trip last December).

With all due respect to the Lake District and Wales, Cornwall was Chelsay and I’s favorite stop on the move-out trip. It’s right up there with Scotland as our favorite place in the UK. Cornwall has a little of everything you’d want in a break from the city: slower pace, friendly outlooks, salty shores, expansive beaches, and towering cliffside walks.   

Surprisingly, Cornwall even has great surfing.

I mentioned the Adventure Race: less than two months away, and it included biking, orienteering, and kayaking. It was already May, but for several reasons (moving, UK lockdown, limited outdoor options), I’d done almost no training. My morning runs ensured my legs were ready, but there was very little I could do to prepare my back for the six mile kayak.  …Until we arrived in Cornwall.

Surfing was a such a good back exercise in Australia. With hopes of a similar workout in Cornwall, I rented a board and wetsuit and was able to get out 10+ times. Warm or cold. Rain or shine. Waves or no waves. I’d wrap up work, stow the oversized board in our undersized SUV, and make my way to Carbis Bay or Gwithian.

Almost all of my surf attempts were poor showings, but still a blast. There were no waves, so standing wasn’t really in the cards. But the cold water was invigorating, and I paddled hard to really work my back.  

It was around my fourth trip when the “waves” started to see some movement: probably 3 footers. Not quite Manly rollers, but rideable.  It was like riding a bike. I was shaky, but pulled through on muscle memory: paddle, paddle, paddle, slooowly pop up, and enjoy the (brief) ride.

Although Chelsay and I were able to play around on nights and weekends, it’s important to remember that we were still working throughout the trip.  I had a major launch upcoming (certification was the biggest pain), and that’s not even considering our ongoing international move. I had to change our US flights several times to accommodate bringing Indy (not all flights can stow dogs), coordinate all the Covid-related travel requirements, close out everything in the UK (including a deposit dispute with the landlords - no surprise), and prepare for our life in Chicago.

That last one was especially challenging. Chelsay and I were flying on the Friday of a four-day weekend, and we wanted to be settled before starting work in the US on the following Tuesday. This meant we’d only have four days to land, clear Indy through customs, collect keys to our temp housing, and acquire any furniture, food, or kitchen items we’d need to feel at-home. I’ll cover this more in the next post, but Chelsay did an excellent job identifying everything we’d need and arranging delivery over that four-day weekend. 

The temp housing search was not as organized. Chelsay and I knew we’d want to find a permanent home as soon as possible, so didn’t want a long-term 12-month lease. Due to Covid though, supply was extremely limited. There were plenty of 20th story downtown apartments that would’ve been a nightmare with a dog, but given most people weren’t moving during a pandemic, better options were scarce. We were very lucky that my parents volunteered to tour on our behalf.  We would’ve been in a hotel for weeks if they hadn’t done some advance scouting.

In fact, after our top two options fell through, a combination of Chelsay and my parents found a great four-month lease right on Lincoln Park. We signed on our birthday, just TWO weeks before arrival!

Adding to our challenging arrival plans, I got extremely sick in our last few weeks in Cornwall. Fever, aches, upset stomach, and night sweats so severe that I soaked through multiple beds each night. Read that again: I didn’t soak through the one bed on multiple nights. I soaked through MULTIPLE BEDS on multiple nights -- I had to move from room-to-room each night seeking dry sheets. This went on for 10 days, and there were several days where I couldn’t even get out of bed.

I couldn’t visit a doctor because I wasn’t registered anywhere in this remote peninsula, and topping things off off, we’d left Carbis Bay for Lizard and the least comfortable AirBnB. We were in a four-bedroom house without a single comfortable chair, couch, or bed.

Things were really really bleak.  I was shaken. ...Indy showed no concern.

Things are darkest before the dawn though – and in a circular cinematic twist, London returned to our lives as the savior.

Six weeks earlier, we’d left Hampstead on bad terms. We were rushed out. Harassed and annoyed. If those were our last days in London, our memories of an incredible four years would have been soured.

Chelsay and I knew we needed to return. We couldn’t leave London this way. We had to reconcile with the city. We had to remember all the fun times we had. We also needed to get the hell out of that uncomfortable AirBnB in Lizard.

We decided to spend our last week in the UK in Mayfair – London’s ritziest neighborhood, and ideally located between two parks: Hyde Park and Green Park.

I don’t want to forget Chelsay and I’s drive back. It was therapeutic. The first five weeks of the move-out trip were amazing – galivanting through Lake District lochs, Wales’ Snowdonia, and Cornish beaches. But the last week was hell. While blaring The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Lynard Skynard, Chelsay and I shed the troubles of our preceding days and arrived in London renewed.

I’ll say from the beginning that our last week in London was just perfect. Such a fitting goodbye. Editing this seven months later, I have such fond memories of our last week in London. We hit all the classics, introduced some new only-in-London memories, and cherished our final days abroad.

Having recovered from a really challenging week, Chelsay and I were giddy. Our Chicago arrival was set. I was feeling better. And most important of all, the UK was FINALLY out of lockdown. After 14 months of pandemic hibernation, London looked like itself. Couples “cheers-ing” at restaurants, friends meeting at the pub, families picnicking in the park – I even enjoyed the classic speed-walking commuter blitzing through the tube station.

Chelsay and I were so blissfully happy to return under better circumstances. We spent the week bouncing between our beloved city parks, dining at our go-to restaurants, and taking our last walks past London’s world-renowned sites. We were in such great moods that our pictures look like a satirical vacation.  

This last week was such a perfect good-bye to London. I’ll write a separate post concluding our six years abroad, but these next few paragraphs will be my farewell to London.

We lived in London for a total of four years. We were kids (aka our mid-20s) the first time: from 2015-2017. Then we returned as grizzled early 30-somethings in 2020-21.  

In our final week in London alone, we re-lived everything we loved about the city. We dined at the most delicious and diverse restaurants. Dishoom for Indian, Bone Daddies for ramen and 80s rock, Zoilo Argentinian steak and spicy chimichurri, and a new favorite, Yori Korean barbeque. Even our Vapiano Bolognese was a pleasant way to sober Chelsay up after her last outing with Jenny & Aditi.

We visited world-famous landmarks: Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, Trafalgar Square. We strolled our favorite city streets: Carnaby, Oxford Circus, Pall Mall, Regents Street. 

I really want to remember our care-free breakfasts in Green Park, relishing our final Pret acai pods or porridge while the sun streamed through our leafy canopy and city commuters rushed to work. 

We enjoyed Hyde Park’s mix of manicured gardens and wild heath while Indy blissfully frolicked through the traffic-free commons. (For the record, London’s parks have been my favorite feature since our 2012 college visit).

Every day of our last week provided a small reminder of how special the city is: Chelsay and I huddling under our umbrella on Old Bond Street, seeing London’s youth REALLY enjoying the end of lockdown in Soho, my haircut including an authentic Turkish ear flaming, Chelsay seeing Julia Louis-Dreyfus in Mayfair. These experiences just don’t happen in other cities.

Beyond the city’s parks, tourist attractions, celebrity-sightings, and dining, the characteristic I love most about London is its diversity. There’s a case that London is the most diverse city in the world: Earth’s capital.

London pulls its residents from every corner of the map: Europe, the Middle East, Africa, the US, Asia – genuinely everywhere. An actor in Paris pines for the West End stage, a Korean banker admires Canary Wharf’s financial mecca, an Egyptian fashion designer imagines opening a shop on Saville Row, and an American child dreams of visiting Hogwarts. That last one was Chelsay.

London’s arms are wide open. All are welcome.

This was wonderfully apparent on our last night. Bringing our Lebanese shawarma (or as Chelsay calls them “shesh”) to Hyde Park, we found an open spot on the lawn. It was a warm Thursday night. The sky was pink. White Victorian townhomes framed the park.

Chelsay, Indy, and I were surrounded by hundreds of others – probably only a handful of ‘Brits’, but all us Londoners. White, brown, black, European, Asian, American, Christian, Muslim, gay, straight, whatever.

Peacefully enjoying just another weeknight in our home, London.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 60. Second US Tour

This day was always going to come.  

In August 2015, Chelsay and I were just starting our careers – we were wide-eyed, in our mid-20s, and ready to see the world. We were excited to begin our two-year work rotations in London, but had no idea how our time abroad would go: would we like expat life? Would we travel as often as we hoped? Could anything in London top our 2011 visit to Harry Potter Studios? 

Chelsay and I felt so lucky to live abroad, but regardless of how the two-year rotation went, we knew we’d return to the US someday.  

We knew this day would come… we just never expected it would be SIX years later. 

The following four posts will be my last (for now).  Ending these sixty-plus chapters was always going to be challenging, but these posts are especially ambitious. The fact that I fell nearly a year behind makes these that much harder, but things have been busy and that’s reflected in the number of posts required. I’ll [1] start our second US housing visit, [2] cover our move-out tour of the UK, [3] write about our return to the US, and [4] wrap up with a goodbye post to our time as expats. 

This first post will focus on our second US housing visit.  

I covered the initial US tour – through Charleston and Chicago – in the previous Cornwall post.  Although Charleston was likely the prettiest city we’d seen in the US, Chelsay & I left our visit with a pretty good feeling about Chicago. We felt surrounded by ‘our people’.

This was an important move for Chelsay & I though, so we wanted to be sure. We decided we needed a second US visit – a “completeness check” to make sure we’d considered all viable options. 

As I’ve written in previous posts, Chelsay & I knew we wanted our next home to be by the water. Sydney got us hooked – there are just so many more outdoor activities when you have parks, forests, AND the water nearby. I spent several months scouring the web for “most liveable US cities”, watched YouTube videos on “best coastal towns”, and virtually crawled up & down US coastlines on Zillow to see if I’d missed any contenders.

Maine? Cape Code? DC? Outer Banks? Oregon? For a day or two, I seriously considered Florida before Chelsay put her foot down.  

Eventually, Chelsay and I agreed on three alternatives worth comparing to Chicago: Connecticut, San Diego, and Santa Barbara. 

Westport, CT was a dark horse. The main draw is it’s proximity to New York City, but wouldn’t it essentially be the same as living in Chicago’s North Shore – except we wouldn’t have any family nearby?  Even in the day or two before our trip, I was asking Chelsay whether we should skip it and just go straight to California. 

She was very wise, saying we needed to see for ourselves: “There may be things we’d never expected.” 

She was dead-on. I’m writing this post from Chicago, so the result of all these house tours should be obvious.  But if there was any town that came close to unseating Chicago, it was Westport. 

This was one of the most idyllic communities we’d ever seen. Every house was 150+ years old but immaculately maintained. Each lot was 0.5 acre minimum, and tucked behind private hedges for good measure. There were large forests – true forests – that rivaled London’s Hampstead Heath. A charming town with both high-end shops and unique boutiques. The beachline tucked within quiet neighborhoods yet overlooking Manhattan in the distance. 

I’ll never forget looking across Compo Beach, when Chelsay described Westport as “Where Presidents come from.”

We drove through surrounding villages, grabbed bagels in Old Greenwich, strolled sunny dog parks, and enjoyed the Long Island Sound from Sherwood Island.  We were particularly surprised by the diversity [which reminded us of Seattle], and how active everyone was [we genuinely didn’t see a single overweight person over two days].   

We each had a strong feeling that Connecticut MIGHT be home.  

The final test was a visit to NYC – it’s the World’s capital, but was it a strong enough draw to lure Chelsay and I away from family in Chicago?  

The answer is no.  Although I loved visiting New York, it is a very very dirty place. The trains and subway suck, garbage was rolling around every street, and at any given moment, there’s at least a 3% chance you’ll be killed. 

To be clear, I <3 NYC.   You just can’t replicate some New York experiences.  Times Square, Central Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Friends apartment. Chelsay & I stumbled into an exceptional dinner at Korean Cote – one the US’ most acclaimed steak restaurants, yet an unpretentious vibe accentuated by playing 90s R&B hit after hit. 

Had Chelsay and I not moved to London, New York would have been a great place for our 20s.  But we aren’t 20 now, and if access to NYC was a big part of Westport’s appeal, it just wasn’t a big enough draw.  

That said, though we didn’t ultimately choose Westport, it refined what we were looking for in Chicago: big lot, privacy, close to water. 

Next up was San Diego. If Westport was a dark horse, San Diego was Chicago’s most direct competitor. It’s often described as America’s Sydney, and when it comes to best places to raise a family, you really can’t beat sunshine, beaches, and perfect weather year-round. 

I watched A LOT of San Diego real estate videos, so I knew La Jolla, Solana Beach, Encinitas, and Carlsbad would be our best bets. That said, I was also aware of the California exodus: a flood of families leaving California’s housing market, tired of paying $1.5 million for 1500 square feet. 

The question was whether the beaches made up for the high prices. Unfortunately, they did not. Although the beaches were certainly better than Chicago or Connecticut, they were all located right on the highway. They weren’t enough to overcome houses that were just too small, tightly packed together, and entirely overpriced. 

Despite the real estate disappointment, Chelsay and I still really enjoyed our time in sunny San Diego. My parents flew in from Dallas – their first flight post-pandemic – and we’d catch up over dinner each night: how was getting the vaccine? What have you been up to the past year? How is Carlsbad considered one of the US’s best beach towns???

If San Diego was overpriced, our next destination, Santa Barbara, didn’t have much of a chance. 

Along with the Bay Area, Santa Barbara has become the epitome of California’s exodus. Absolutely stunning, but wildly over-priced.

Yes, the scenery exceeds expectations. Sun-drenched beaches, palm tree-lined streets, movie star homes tucked into lush hillsides, and a coordinated, pueblo style downtown. 

But home prices are out of control, and only getting worse. For about one day, we considered a $1.7 million home that was only 2000 square feet. It was recently remodeled, had a well-manicured 0.25 acres [basically a farm in CA], and views of the ocean. 

It sold for $2.1 million. $400 thousand OVER asking price. 

We took that as a sign, deciding to focus less on Santa Barbara real estate and more on just enjoying the city. We visited the old mission, took a taco tour of the city, and enjoyed McConnell’s ice cream on the beach while the sun set. 

Without a realistic path to live in Santa Barbara, Chelsay and I audibled on our last day, moving our return flight from Los Angeles to instead depart from San Francisco. This trip was a ‘completeness check’ intended to gauge Chicago’s competition, and Carmel and Monterrey had always lingered as potential options. It was only a four hour drive, and we had plenty of Matthew McConaughey’s Green Lights left, so decided to see the area for ourselves.  

Again: California exodus. Carmel is especially attractive – the best beaches we’d seen in the US, with piney woods and hills descending onto sandy beaches. The problem was again home value: with a price per square foot ratio similar to Santa Barbara.   

Although we ultimately didn’t go with any cities from our second US house tour, the trip was still valuable. It confirmed our confidence in Chicago [which I’ll write about in a subsequent post], and refined what Chelsay and I really value in a home. 

Now that we finally knew our destination, there were just a few items to sort out: getting support from our work, packing up our London flat, arranging travel to include Indy, finding short-term accommodation in Chicago, starting our search for a permanent house… oh, and buying a car. 

It would be a journey to get to Chicago, but Chelsay and I shared excitement [and relief] in knowing we’d found our new Home. 

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 59. Cornwall, Charleston, and Chicago

Well we’re into our final chapters. It’s nearly time for Chelsay & I to head home… The end of our time as expats.  

The preceding post, our EuRoad Trip, may go down as our last big adventure abroad. That’s not how we planned it but, if it turns out that way, it’d be a helluva last hurrah.  We have this “on-again-off-again” thing Egypt initially scheduled for November, then delayed to December, and now delayed again until January… but an escalation in Covid cases makes that trip less & less likely.

Regardless of whether Egypt comes through, our last few months abroad will be anything but boring. This post is going to cover December alone, where in just four weeks, Chelsay & I enjoyed TWO winter retreats in Cornwall, and visited Charleston & Chicago for prospective neighborhood tours.

As mentioned, we’d been planning an early winter trip to Egypt. I had the flights, hotels, itinerary, visas… everything was arranged. I even had a dog sitter for Indy. But Covid infections had been rising since the summer, so Chelsay & I always knew this trip was a long shot.

Sure enough, just a few weeks before the trip, our flights were cancelled. We were prepared though and already had a back-up.

3.5 years ago, the same week the Bears drafted Mitch Trubisky, Chelsay & I took a four-day trip to Cornwall. There were two surprises. One turned out to be a good surprise, the other was bad…

The bad surprise was Mitch. As I wrote in our 2017 Cornwall post (Chapter 20), he wasn’t good in college and the Bears passed on so many safer prospects. Fast forward to today, where Mitch is likely in his last season with the Bears while the two quarterbacks drafter after him, Pat Mahomes and Deshaun Watson, are future Hall of Famers.

Well, at least that 2017 Cornwall trip was blast. It’d been a few years though, and with winter surfing a possibility, we decided to use our now-cancelled Egypt vacations days for a return to the Cornish coast.

It seemed like we arrived at our small cottage, Scilly Stack, in the middle of the night. It was actually just dinner time, but the sun sets at 3 pm these days so everything feels like midnight. That first evening, we enjoyed homemade Bolognese and Planes, Trains, & Automobiles. …This cosiness would be a theme.

The trip really began the next morning, with the Cornish wind being our wake-up call. We were visiting the nearby Crown Mines, abandoned for 70 years but still bracing along the Atlantic coastline. I don’t know how they’re still standing: essentially at land’s end, there is no hiding from the elements. Gusting gales, salty mist from the crashing waves… even hail.  Still, Chelsay, Indy, and I were stirred by the wind, and bounced around the craggily coast.

The next stop was one of our primary draws to Cornwall: the beach. It’d been a year since we left Manly, and I missed the water. I keep telling Chelsay that my outdoor activities are limited in London: all I can do is go to the park – no surfing, swimming, or running along the beach. Later in this post, I’ll get into our house tours in Charleston & Chicago… It isn’t a coincidence those cities are both waterfront.

Cornish beaches are unique though: at low tide, the beach seems to be a million football feeds wide. Boats moored in the harbour gradually sink and settle in the sand. The winter crowds are sparse, so Chelsay, Indy, and I had miles to roam. We raced around the beach, threw his ball, played in the waves, and dashed through the surrounding dunes. After wind and hail earlier in the morning, the extreme weather continued: we raced through snow and rainbows in our few hours on the beach.

Afterwards, we warmed up with lunch at a beachside cafe in nearby St Ives. I went a bit risky with the Korean fried cauliflower, which I thought was ambitious for a beachside cafe. This place knew what they were doing though: lunch was delicious, and Chelsay said it was her favorite fish & chips thanks to a special tartar sauce. The town was quiet in the winter, and while we ate, Chelsay and I watched as a lone surfer catching a few waves. I distinctly remember us saying: “We can do that.”

We wrapped up lunch, but with the sun was quickly setting AT 2 PM!, we quickly made our way to the day’s final stop: the Wheal Coates mines.

As a refresher, we’d been here before. We visited in our last trip to Cornwall, but only thanks to a bit of luck. We’d lost cell service so our GPS couldn’t find the mines, and to complicate things, Chelsay had to pee. Somehow, the solution to both problems was the same. We pulled off at a public restroom, where a cartoon map led us directly to the mines.

This time around, I downloaded ‘offline maps’ beforehand, so finding the mines was much. That said, the setting sun made the coastal setting just as special as our previous visit.

Just as we’d done the previous evening, we closed the night with a homemade pasta. This time amatriciana.

We pretty much only had one goal for our second day in Cornwall: surf. It’d been a full year since Chelsay & I left Manly, and we were so anxious to get back in the water. So anxious, in fact, that we were willing to go in the winter.

That morning, we had some serious doubt as we picked up our rental boards & wetsuits boards in Sennan. Literal gale force winds over 40 mph were battering the shoreline. And as if the speed of the wind wasn’t enough, it was directly onshore and killing any chance of wave formation.

That said, the great thing about Cornwall is that it’s a peninsula. If you’ve got onshore winds on one side, just go to the other and you’ll find perfect offshore conditions. Gnarly green faces. Rad rollers. Clean barrels. Smooth breaks. SETS. OUT. THE. BACK.

The surf shop recommended Praa Sands, where a surrounding cove funnelled the south-easterly winds offshore from the beach.  We knew it was the right call when, as we pulled up, noticed Cornwall’s dedicated (though small) surf crowd had also chosen Praa.  

Because it was too cold, windy, and rainy to be outside, we awkwardly changed into our 5mm wetsuits in the car. This was awkward… Not only were the steering wheel and limited space difficult, but anyone passing can look in. Have you ever pulled 6 muscles all at once, while shirtless, while making direct eye contact with someone?  I have now.  

The wetties (and accompanying boots) were critical for this surf session. Just the day before, it had both snowed AND hailed on us. Today there were gale force winds and spots of rain. 5mm of neoprene and incalculable adrenaline were the only things keeping us warm as we plunged into the water.

I specifically remember trying to keep my head high as we paddled out, attempting to stay dry and well above the water. This was one of our strategies to stay warm, with the other being our “get in-go hard-and-get-out-quickly” strategy... Rather than wait for the right wave, we’d paddle hard and take whatever came first.

Luckily there was a pretty solid wave as soon as we hit the lineup: a four foot face that, based on our Manly riding, was perfect for our skillset.

We quickly turned our boards and paddled hard to match the wave’s speed. This was it. Our return. After 12 months, we were going to catch our first wave - Let’s gooooo-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Chelsay and I both flipped directly over the front of our boards, tumbling through the churning wave. Adding injury to insult, each of our boards popped out of the water and landed on the other person’s head.

No return to surfing glory: just a face-first dive into the frigid water, resurfacing only be whacked in the head by each other’s boards.

This was pathetically unathletic, but also hilarious. Chelsay and I both popped out of the water laughing. We’d now been submerged in the winter water, but survived and actually weren’t *that* cold. Chelsay thinks I’m crazy, but I really think I had colder swims in Manly.  

We needed to reset our wave-riding expectations. The biggest problem was that we were out of surfing shape. Our back & arms lacked both the power and stamina we’d built in Australia, so we never had enough speed to keep up with the waves.

After several misses, we ultimately decided to settle for white water (the wave post-crash), and caught a few beginner sets. Like, true novice waves. The kinds you’d see the kids surf school handle in Manly.

We were probably in the water for just 30 minutes, but our arms were already wrecked. Little did we know, our upper body workout was far from over.  The same offshore wind that built up perfect waves was now standing between us & the car.

The combination of these 40 mph winds, our soft surfboards, and utter exhaustion created the funniest scene of the trip. Chelsay and I were fighting for every inch as we made our way up the beach… If our boards even slightly opened to the wind, gusts would catch the board like a sail, punching us back several steps. We’d torque around, trying to get the board into an aerodynamic position, but the heavy wind wouldn’t let up. We’d twist and turn, completely out of control and hyperventilating from laughter. It genuinely looked like Chelsay might fly away with her board, before she eventually gave up and collapsed in the sand.

Needless to say, our Cornwall surf day was very different from the sunny, guacamole-on-the-beach days in Manly. We still had a blast though.

After the most necessary showers ever, and coffee to energize our depleted muscles (and egos), Chelsay and I returned to Penzance to visit St Michael’s Mount. We let Indy play on the beach with other dogs (all collies, which seems to be a UK theme everywhere except London), while Chelsay & I searched for critters until the tide pools were once again flooded.

The sun set by 4 pm, and I don’t need to tell you our dinner that evening: pasta, along with the Mariah Carey Christmas Special.

The next and last day was another highlight.  Although Cornish weather is turbulent, the forecast said our clearest day would be the last. I was so excited about this hike that I initially planned it for our first day, but reschedule to ensure it coincided with the best chance for sunshine.

Well, we got more than just sunshine. It was mild, almost warm. Light breeze. Dry. Absolutely perfect for our hike from Lizard Pointe to Kynance Cove.  

The Lizard Peninsula is known for its craggily coast, where its countless coves were popular for pirates hiding their treasure. Chelsay, Indy, and I didn’t find any treasure, but we felt very lucky to enjoy the seaside setting in essentially summer conditions. To complete the sunny scene, we enjoyed ice cream cones once we arrived in Kynance Cove’s, playing fetch with Indy along the beach. You can’t ask for any better in December.

These few days in Cornwall were excellent. Very different from the Egypt trip they replaced, but somehow both relaxing and adventurous.  We had a such a great time that we booked a return visit just three weeks later.

This return Cornwall visit was entirely intended to decompress. You’ll see when I write about it later: we did nothing.

Why was an ‘exhale’ trip necessary? Well, between our two Cornish holidays, we were visiting Charleston & Chicago, evaluating if either were right for Chelsay & I’s eventual return to the US.  

These visits were mostly Chelsay and I independently exploring each city, gauging “What’s Possible” in terms of neighborhood and home quality, outdoor activities, community values …and, as mentioned earlier, access to the water.

I won’t go into too many details here, but a few memories worth noting:  

That first sunrise in Charleston. It felt like we hadn’t seen a single sunrise since we moved to London… because we hadn’t.

Biscuits and gravy to start the day, followed by walks along the large beaches on Sullivan’s Island and Isle of Palms.

The charming homes of Charleston, which Chelsay and I agreed, made this the prettiest city we’d visited in the US.

Soups, sandwiches, and warm waterfront views at Kiawah Island’s Freshfields Market.

The unbelievable size of American grocery stores. They’re like airplane hangars, with an entire aisle for cereal. We counted 12 unique flavors of Oreos alone! It wasn’t until we browsed these snack aisles that we realized how much we missed all this variety and convenience.

The views from my parents’ 14th floor condo, including surrounding skyscrapers, sunrises over Lake Michigan, and the general city buzz.

Portillos!

The smell of heavy incenses and grilled cabeza steak in La Chaparrita Taqueria.  

Our no-nonsense realtor Greg, who handled our four house tours with the militaristic precision of D-Day. This style was in direct contrast to the selling agents, who were all very kind but far too affable for Greg. There was one agent that couldn’t answer a single question without sprawling in a million directions: “Well the first thing is location… Wait did I tell you about the… Actually my oldest daughter lives down… Oh, where was I?”.  The question we asked was the difference between Winnetka & Wilmette.

The safety measures necessary to make this trip work. This was our first time flying since the start of the pandemic, and we were as careful as possible throughout.  Our extra precautions included getting tested, paying extra attention to social distancing, and even investing in hospital-grade KN95 masks.  

The trip was extremely informative, and we enjoyed envisioning what our lives would be like when we eventually return to the US.  That said, it was a sprint and, especially considering our jet lag, we were exhausted.  This is precisely why we’d booked another 5 days in Cornwall upon our return.

After our overnight flight into London, we picked up our rental car, stopped by the house to grab Indy (and a shower), then started our five-hour drive to Newquay.

This Christmas Eve trip was surprisingly easy. I was nervous beforehand, anticipating minimal sleep on the plane followed immediately by five hours on the road. Just think of how extreme a trip Chicago-to-London-to-Cornwall is in under 15 hours… Although my fears about plane rest turned out to be accurate, the drive was made immeasurably calmer thanks to Obama’s A Promised Land audiobook. Something about having an empathetic, logical President was reassuring. The good ol’ days.

The calm vibes would continue in Cornwall. Round two was nothing like the round one I previously wrote about. In fact, it was unlike any trip Chelsay & I have taken: we did nothing. No itinerary. No plans. No sight-seeing.

This was our opportunity to exhale, and we took full advantage.  We slept in until 10:30 several days, hardly leaving the house and never driving more than 30 minutes from our accommodation. Some of the most memorable highlights:

The accommodation itself, a four-bedroom cottage overlooking Mawgan Porth Beach. 

Our Christmas calls with family, where we opened presents with all the nieces and nephews. Miles got a dragon toy, Orly a stuffed pony, and Jeff & Liv’s couch got leather care formula.

Christmas Day with Chelsay, where we made Beef Wellington and gingerbread cookies, and watched Home Alone 1 & 2.

Our daily beach walks with Indy. After our Cornwall trip earlier in the month, we knew to expect turbulent weather. In just a few days, round two provided a mix of every kind of winter weather: rain, hail, sunshine, gale force winds… Regardless of the weather, we enjoyed beach time with Indy as the tides shifted.

I need to re-emphasize just how windy the beach was. I’ve never seen anything like it. As we walked, the sand kicked up by our boots would catch the wind and shoot 15 feet away. 

Playful walks along the Cornish coastal paths, including stops at the Bedruthan Steps and Port Isaac.  

Teaching Chelsay to play chess. Although she was skeptical at first, we both enjoyed the light competition in an otherwise relaxing few days.

Stealing a line from Jeff & Liv, “Well, that’s Christmas.” …That was December 2020.

I’m actually writing this post on January 1, 2021, which I’m sure I’ll look back on as a significant day. Not only is today a celebratory end to one of the worst years in history (pandemic, economic decline, racial tensions, Trump…), but it’s also excitingly the beginning of what will likely be Chelsay & I’s biggest year yet.

Our December 2020 was actually reflective of today’s mixed New Year’s Day emotions. Our two Cornish holidays represented closing chapters to our international travels, which have consumed our past five years. Meanwhile, our tours of Charleston & Chicago foreshadowed our exciting return to the US. Our past & future look bright …and filled with dozens of different types of Oreos.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 58. EuRoad Trip, pt 3

Ah, fall. Crisp air. Colorful leaves. A reprieve from the heat of summer.

To fully enjoy my favorite season, Chelsay & I continued into the third and final phase of EuRoad Trip: “Fall”, with stops in the Dolomites, Bavaria, and the German Black Forest.

The change in season wasn’t gradual for Chelsay & I: we went from summer to fall in a matter of hours. Like, the three-hour drive between the Italian Riviera and the Dolomites.  

Over the course of our drive, the setting went from Mediterranean chic to the Sound of Music. We’d left pastel-colored homes along the sea to log cabins dotting the mountainside. I love this setting.  Obviously, I enjoy the Mediterranean, but it’s hard to beat an alpine autumn.

The Dolomites might be the perfect destination for fall. The air is crisp and clean. The leaves are changing. Charming villages sit at the base of undulating green fields, capped by towering limestone spines.  The shops have a Swiss alpine theme but not in a kitschy way – it’s authentic. This is just how they’ve always been. Timber homes surround the tiny village, with potted flowers hung from every window and balcony. When planning, I was most excited for this leg of the trip, and it was meeting my expectations before we even left the car.  

Our first stop was a picnic high above the Val di Funes, a picturesque acclimation to our new alpine surroundings. Chelsay and I enjoyed some of our recent garlic truffle spread investment, while Indy frolicked and grazed about the sloped green fields.  

It was pretty overcast, but we weren’t bothered: it fit the cozy, fall atmosphere. Our only worry was that the next destination, Seceda, required some level of visibility.

Seceda is a unique mountain peak. A gradually ascending green field gives way to a sheer cliff, with limestone spines looming in the background. It looks like if the Cliffs of Dover were transplanted into the Italian Alps. That said, not even Seceda’s prickly spires could pierce this cloud cover.

We took a gondola to the peak but were soon shrouded in thick fog. We couldn’t see 20 feet in front of us, let alone Seceda.  Though dense, the clouds were moving quickly, so we decided to roll the dice and stick around.

It’s pretty easy to pass the time with Indy: we teased him with weird noises, laughing at his reactions. We played fetch with anything we could find. Then when Indy got tired, we pulled up Ray Harris Jr and the World War II podcast. Chelsay would forecast potential gaps in the clouds while Ray educated us on FDR’s preference between pencil or pen.

There were a few near misses. Chelsay spotted incoming breaks in the fog, we’d frantically stir with excitement, but ultimately, each proved impervious. Still, there was hope.

After an hour, we were just starting to question whether staying was worth it. But Chelsay thought there was one more break that might work out. It was excruciating to wait, but slowly, the shy rock began to reveal itself. This was it!

Not only did the clouds part, but blue sky began to appear and then… a burst of sun. And what’s that? A rainbow?!  What an epic setting.  The soft glow of sunshine against the limestone crag.  Fog still rolling quickly, but abruptly halting against Seceda’s impenetrable cliffside. The clouds shot up like waves hitting the coastline.

This was one of the lasting memories from the trip, and we celebrated with a tortellini feast that evening.  We’d stopped at a grocery store earlier to pick up picnic supplies – an Italian grocery store. I’ve never seen so much pasta. And it all looked so delicious that we couldn’t settle on just one: we bought two types of tortellini and three different sauces.  We enjoyed our tortellini sampling from our alpine chalet while watching World War II in Color. Ray hooked us.

The next day marked our first real physical activity in at least a week – since the calanques in Cassis. We were taking the 6 mile Tre Cime pass through pretty challenging conditions.  Yesterday’s quick moving clouds were stagnant and heavy today. Whenever the weather was too much, Chelsay, Indy, and I would find shelter in the ‘refugio’ huts along the path, warming up with hot chocolate.

After the hike, we stopped at Lago di Braies, a teal alpine lake set between evergreen slopes. The setting looks like a screensaver, but the real highlight was once again Indy. Without his frisbee or other toys, Chelsay and I had been using sticks for fetch throughout the trip. So now every stick Indy saw was a toy.

He’d dart along the shore trying to tempt Chelsay and I into playing with him: “Maybe masters will like this stick?  Oh, here’s a big one! Will they like this?  How about a wet stick?”

Eventually we gave in – I threw the stick as far into the lake as possible (owner’s tip: that burns the most energy), and he’d inevitably plunge after it.  Indy once again drew an audience with everyone taking pictures of our goofy dog in the otherwise serene setting.

That was essentially our last activity in the Dolomites, but before moving on to our next destination, I want to quickly mention the phenomenal food. It’s Italy, so obviously it was delicious. But it wasn’t just pasta and breadstick – it uniquely Italian-Austrian. Ricotta pizzella (alpine pizza), truffle ravioli, venison, and every type of dumpling imaginable.

After the Dolomites, we’d turn north and head back to London, driving through Austria, Germany, Belgium, and France on the way. The main focus of this trip were the Loire Valley, Cote d’Azur, and Dolomites, so while planning, I essentially just looked for spots along the return route. Ultimately this included three destinations + one we spontaneously added along the way.

The first stop in our return journey was Neuschwanstein Castle.  Yes, we’d already visited Neuschwanstein, and yes, our goal this trip was to explore new destinations. But there was a delicious currywurst place we visited the last time so Chelsay and I HAD to visit.  …I guess the views are pretty magical too.

Jokes aside, Neuschwanstein is very special to me. It was the first adventure Chelsay and I embarked on after moving to London in 2015. I laugh at those two inexperienced travellers, somehow learning that Mary’s Bridge was closed only after landing in Munich. I think back to our can-do spirit to capture that Hero view anyway, and how giddy we were at our success. I think back to the Rick Steves audio tour through Munich, our white sausage breakfast and bowl of coffee, and the hot chocolate from Beluga. And yes, I think about the currywurst from Neuschwanstein.

More broadly, Germany is very special to Chelsay and I. We visited every October while in the UK: first Munich, then Berlin, and then Rothenberg. There’s something about Germany’s dense forests, and heavy ethos (fog, food, their accents, etc) that just fits fall.

So, now consider all of this history as Chelsay and I ascended the hill up to Neuschwanstein. It’s about a 30-minute walk, and I was giddy with anticipation the whole way… basically saying exactly what I just wrote above: “Remember the currywurst Chelsay!?”

Indy was similarly excited but for different reasons:  we passed a few horse drawn carriages and he DID NOT like them.  He ripped out of his collar and ran back down the hill.

After calming him down (aka distracting him with a stick), we continued up the hill and came to Mary’s Bridge.  It was weird not hopping any fences this time.

We arrived just as the sun was setting. Keep Chelsay & I’s history with Neuschwanstein in mind as I describe the setting… Soft light draped the Castle. The sky took on a pink glow. The valley below faded into the shadows.  Indy nervously trembled from the heights.  It was just as magical as the first time.

As we left the Castle and made the long descent back to town, we were just as giddy as 2015. Unfortunately the currywurst restaurant wasn’t waiting for us at the bottom, so we audibled to the nearby town of Fussen and a neighborhood beerhall. It was clearly popular with a line out the door, and the currywurst had its own page in the menu under the title “Reminders of Home”.  

The currywurst lived up to this place’s popularity, but I want to specifically remember how unique Chelsay and I felt in this restaurant. We were clearly the only native English speakers there. That might be the case normally, but it was especially true during Covid.  

This was clearly Fussen’s beerhall – owned by the locals.  The place where patrons come to relax after a hard week of making pretzels or whatever they do for work. Families were connecting and talking about Bayern Munich or the latest season of Dark. It felt comfortable, even if Chelsay and I were outsiders. It would be like if a German were dropped into a Buffalo Wild Wings.

We hit the road again the next day, but not before a brief walk around Schwansee, the lake nestled below Neuschwanstein. Obviously the Castle was the highlight from 2015, but I remembered I really enjoyed our fall walk around the lake. Also, we had to get some of Indy’s energy out before our drive.  This trip’s walk felt nostalgic but was made even more fun with our newest family member.

Our next step was Beilstein, a tiny German village along the Rhine. If Chelsay & I thought Cliousclat (population: 600) or Portofino (400) were small, Beilstein only has 145 residents!  It took about 15 minutes to walk the entire town, but it’s incredibly charming: like an authentic Disney village.  

I’ll briefly mention this story.  It’s a good thing touring Beilstein was so quick, because I needed extra time to bring Indy to the vet. Before returning to the UK, we needed a local vet to administer and provide proof for a tapeworm treatment. The closest vet was a 20 minute drive, so I plugged it into Google Maps and set off.

Well, it seems Google Maps users aren’t frequenting Dr Frank Feiden, because the app took me to an elementary school. I had zero service so couldn’t call, so I was stuck driving in circles around this children’s school… which I’m sure looked suspicious. Finally I gave up, and decided to interrupt either four teachers’ or four parents’ smoke break to see if they could help. Shockingly, they knew exactly where he was and shared the most precise instructions I’d ever received (classic German). It was a bizarre situation to find myself while on vacation, made even more bizarre when the person next to me at the vet had lived near Southlake. We bonded over our shared love of Mi Cocina.  These experiences again made me feel like part of the community despite being such an obvious outsider.  

Alas, just as we were starting to feel at home, it was time to return to London. Our last day of the trip. I’m now 6000 words and 10 pages into this three part EuRoad Trip post, but still plenty of stories to tell.

First, we made a short stop at Eltz Castle, a romantic palace well hidden in the Black Forest. The castle is uniquely vertical, but I’ll remember this visit for Chelsay falling on the walk down. She’ll hate me for writing this, but hopefully we can remember and laugh.  Very similar to my tumble at the Sete Cidades in the Azores.  

Finally, our last stop on the road trip was Dunkirk. This was the spontaneous visit I alluded to earlier. Dunkirk wasn’t initially in the plan, but after 20 hours of Ray Harris Jr telling us about Operation Dynamo, we decided we visit Dunkirk Beach for ourselves.

It was extremely windy when we visited, as Storm Alex was moving through with winds up to 60 mph. It was raining too, and the raindrops felt like bullets as we ran along The Mole. The chaos felt fitting though, as this was the location where 300,000 British and French soldiers chaotically escaped the charging Nazi army.

The Mole, a sea break that the British used as an escape dock, is well removed from the city… and hardly marked. You drive through an industrial center and park in what appears to be an employee lot. In fact, I only found The Mole because I crawled Google Satellite View searching for sea piers along Dunkirk beach – there weren’t any other articles or traveller blogs about how to visit.

But this solitude made the pier feel that much more important. This was the place where 300,000 lives were saved, providing the Brits with necessary troops to withstand the Battle of Britain. If not for Dunkirk, would the UK have fallen to Hitler? Then, could the Nazis have focused their forces solely on Russia, and the US after?  It’s hard to call this retreat a victory, but the Allies escape along the very pier I was standing was vital, and the moment felt similarly significant.    

The trip from Dunkirk to London was a disaster – I’m sure it felt a bit like those soldiers on Dunkirk Beach.  We again took a taxi from Calais, but the driver decided to go directly through the center of London, costing us about an hour in gridlock. Then when we arrived at the house, I found I’d lost the key in transit – brutal. It was 9:30 pm so the property manager wasn’t available. We called a locksmith, who determined the backdoor was the best lock to open. I store the gate code on my phone, but my battery had died, so I had to hop the fence to let the locksmith through.

This must have looked suspicious to our neighbors: pitch black, man jumping fence, commotion in our backyard. Sure, that’s suspicious until you consider Chelsay, Indy, and ALL OUR BAGS AND INDY’S CRATE WERE ALL STILL OUT FRONT!

Anyway, the locksmith and I are in the back.  The back lock turned out to be a tough one, so he had to use a drill. He wasn’t wearing glass so a piece of metal shot into his eye. I had to remove it. Brutal.

Then a helicopter showed up.  …

The neighbors had called the Hampstead Police, who sent a chopper for a potential B&E. The helicopter hovered over us for 30 seconds, before two officers arrived, batons at the ready. They realized what had happened before calling out on their walkie talkie: “Call of all units.”  Were there MORE on the way!?  

Anyway, we finally got in and FINALLY changed out of our wet clothes from stormy Dunkirk. All that said, we woke up the next morning and were totally fine. I made myself some coffee, and the whole thing just seemed like a bad dream. Similar to Chelsay falling at Eltz Castle, I think we can laugh about it now.

Okay, now that’s really it. The conclusion of our EuRoad Trip. 16 days. Six countries. 2500 miles. Two seasons. One crazy pup.

I know I’m wrapping this up quickly (sorry, I’m now on page 11 and nearly 7000 words in), but the past two weeks were truly special. Although we’d gone six months without any international trips, lockdown really enabled this journey.

We had plenty of vacation days. We didn’t want to fly, so we drove. This simple equation brought us to extremely charming and authentic places we never would have visited otherwise. Starting with the Beauty & the Beast phase, driving south through France’s Loire Valley, stopping at chateaus, provincial hamlets, and the charming fishing village of Cassis. Moving into the Summer Chic phase, with hot temps along the ritzy Riviera, including stops in Nice and Portofino. And finally, concluding with the Fall phase, passing through the jagged Dolomites landscape and fairy tale castles of Bavaria and the German Black Forest.

This was likely one of our last European trips, but each destination exhibited why we live abroad. New places. Exciting experiences. Escapes from the routine.

Our EuRoad Trip was another reminder of how far you can go in just a few hours.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 57. EuRoad Trip, pt 2

Following the provincial countryside leg of our EuRoad Trip, Chelsay and I would need to shower and clean ourselves up for the journey’s next phase: the glamorous French & Italian Riviera.

Cassis was a transitional stop: from ‘Beauty and the Beast’ chateaus and provincial villages, to summer chic on the Cote d’Azur. Although Cassis is technically on the sea, it still maintained a country charm as compared to the rest of the ritzy Riviera.

There was nothing rustic about Nice. This was clear from the moment we arrived at our hotel, The Negresco.

Located along Nice’s famous Promenade, the hotel is as much museum as accommodation. Built in 1908, the palace was purchased in 1957 by Jeanne Augier to host elegant evenings with prominent celebrities: Dali, Princess Grace, the Beatles, Louis Armstrong, Elton John…  These celebrities began sharing their work, which grew into a large collection of 6,000 pieces that Augier displayed throughout the hotel.

This theme perpetuated, and eventually even the hotel became artwork. Now, every floor has its own theme (Greek, Louis XVI, Venetian, street art) and every single room is unique. After the charming rustic phase, Chelsay and I knew we were in for something different when we entered our luxurious safari room.

Now, this is France, so we still had a few stops in medieval villages… Chelsay and I just visited them in more chic attire.  Check out my white tee – I’d only wear that on the Cote d’Azur. Anywhere else and it’d be riddled with barbeque sauce stains.

Our first stop was Eze, another tiny commune but with a twist: the town is perched 1,500 feet above the sea, with views stretching across the coast. Eze is normally bursting with visitors – who wouldn’t want to visit this breath-taking village perched atop the Mediterranean? During Covid though, the tiny alleys were empty. I expected there to be few tourists throughout the trip but figured there would still be domestic travellers around. Nope. There were probably 50 tourists total – with the maze of medieval alleys, Chelsay, Indy, and I felt we had the charming village to ourselves.  

Attempting to fit all the medieval Mediterranean villages into one day, we took a short ride to St Paul-de-Vence. 30 minutes outside Nice, my guess is this is normally the less touristy alternate. We found Eze’s sea views and tighter alleys to be more charming, but that was of course necessary given its location atop a hill.  I sound like a snob: they were both beautiful, authentic, and delightful visits. I’ll give St Paul-de-Vence special credit for their botanical incorporation… as well as the tasty gelato Chelsay and I shared. After all, it was 85+.

Next up was our first evening out in Nice. Ritzed up for our night among the Niçoise.  

We took exactly one step from the Negresco onto the Promenade des Anglais, where we were instantly reminded that this was the ‘summer chic’ phase of the trip. Beach cabanas dotted the coastline, with uniformed waiters running tropical cocktails to their patrons. Organized lounge chairs hid from the setting sun under giant umbrellas. The calm Mediterranean lapped along the pebbly beach.

There was a really relaxed yet fashionable style to Nice, which took Chelsay and I by surprise. Nice is a bigger town along the Riviera, so we expected tourist pandering: a Hard Rock Café or those shops that sell $30 t-shirts that just say ‘Nice is nice’. Granted, there was a Hard Rock Café directly on the Promenade, but the vast majority of Nice maintained a more authentic chicness.

As we walked along the Promenade and Cours Saleya, we were enamoured by Nice’s buzzing markets, pastel colors, and warm evening glow. We didn’t expect this at all – we’d planned to use the next day to explore nearby towns along the Riviera, but instead vowed to stick around Nice and explore. This was further justified by our dinner, a tasty ragu from Epiro that left Chelsay and I salivating for more Niçoise culinary options.

We had a slow start the next morning and enjoyed eggs benedict and French toast in the Negresco’s restaurant, La Rotunde.  Anticipating a leisurely day strolling through Nice, we were in no rush.

As we set out along the Promenade though, we stopped at one of the beach clubs to see if they allowed dogs. They did. …Well, we basically saw the old town last night, right? Chelsay ran back to the hotel to grab our swimsuits, and set ourselves up for a day of lounging by the sea.  

This was an excellent ‘half time’ for the trip. A relaxing lounge day in the middle of our adventure. We enjoyed drinks and lunch in our lounge chairs, occasionally adjusting the umbrellas based on our desired tans.

Indy again put on a show for the fellow beachgoers. He did the splash-biting thing again, but also mastered a new skill: paddle boarding. He got scared and bailed a few times – I specifically remember Chelsay having to pluck him by his mane to pull him back onto the board – but he eventually relaxed. Soon Chelsay, Indy, and I were all on the same board, slowly paddling while looking back to the beach and colorful promenade. This impromptu beach day was emblematic of our time in Nice: an unexpected highlight of the trip.

We were continuing east the next day, following the Mediterranean coast into the Italian Riviera. Along the way though, we stopped in the last possible French town: Menton, located in the furthest southeast corner of the country.  It was another pleasant surprise: a colorful old town along the water. Pale and rustic, but still clean and charming. We took a short stroll and browsed food samples in the town market. We came across a garlic truffle spread, and I think Chelsay’s reaction scared the owner – the owner didn’t know Chelsay’s positive reaction to taste was anger. We bought all of their truffle spread and left quickly.  

The ritzy Riviera theme continued into Italy as we arrived at our next hotel, the Continental. Our room had a balcony overlooking the coastal town of Santa Marguerita Ligure. All Chelsay and I could think about was all the delicious pasta options that town probably offered.

Santa Marguerita wasn’t our destination that day though. Instead, we’d spend the afternoon and evening in Portofino, a tucked away harbour-town of just 400 residents. I keep referencing the population to give a sense of size – but despite being the smallest village we visited, Portofino still might be the most famous. Lots of celebs. Lots of yachts.

We walked through the small piazza and took in the picturesque views from the walking trail above town. It was a nice enough start, but things really heated up as the sun began to set. We had some time before our reservation at Da Puny, Denzel’s Portofino recommendation, so stopped for a refreshing G&LT (gin and lemon tonic) along the harbor.

As the sun set, I figured I could get a colorful picture of the town from the trail we walked earlier. Chels was content with her drink, so I set off and left her and Indy behind. This is where things went off the rails. The path we’d previously taken was now closed, so I had to back track and find a new way up. I climbed stairs and navigated tiny alleys, but kept running into dead ends. It was also still 90 degrees, so I was a sweaty mess, and this photo-op was now taking longer than expected.  I was at risk of being late for dinner. There was a steep grassy hill that I knew would have a view of the town, but I’d have to hop a wall to see above the tree line. After every other option failed, mischievous Mike stepped in. I took the only option available, hopped a wall, and snapped an iconic photo of the charming Portofino harbor during a colorful sunset. Worth it.

Now drenched in sweat, I made my way back to Da Puny, where Chelsay had a story of her own. Apparently Indy was uncomfortable with me leaving drinks earlier. We were seated outside, so as Chelsay got up to leave, Indy bolted to look for me. Now, Chelsay and I know Indy would never run away – he’d never leave a guaranteed food source. Chelsay knew he’d go 20m and come back.

That said, the guy at the table next to us didn’t know this. He thought Indy was making a dash for freedom. He saw Indy running and must have thought to himself: “This is my moment. I alone can save this lady’s dog. Action is my only option.”  

He leapt from his chair, springing into the sprint of a much younger man. This is all second hand, but Chelsay said you could hear the ground shake has his Gucci boat shoes pounded the cobbled path. The yachting sweater around his neck fluttered like a cape in the wind.  

Just as Chelsay predicted though, Indy stopped after 20m. He turned and calmly returned to Chelsay, passing the man who had so bravely given chase. He returned to his family who were now hysterically laughing at him, but I want to specifically commend this man. We’d just spent a week in France, where very few would’ve made that effort. This is common knowledge and is backed up by Chelsay and I’s own experience: the French are generally unwelcoming, especially to foreigners. But in our first evening, we decided Italians were alright in our books.

This friendliness was further proven at Da Puny. First, our hotel had initially called for a reservation but they said they were full.  Because we were in Portofino anyway, we decided we’d swing by when we first arrived to double check. The restaurant said they could make something work.

So then we spent the next few hours jumping over walls and embarrassing nice Italian men trying to save our dog, before returning for our reservation. With bookings filling the rest of the restaurant, they’d accommodated Chelsay & I by setting a new table out front! They had clearly set this up specifically for us. AND they brought Indy a rice and veal dinner. They didn’t know the stomach issues they’d signed Indy up for, but it’s the thought that counts. I mentioned this was “Denzel’s recommendation” – he such a fan that he purchased a memorial for the owner when he passed in 2018. Based on Chelsay & I’s experience, hospitality runs in the Puny family.

Kindness isn’t the only reason Denzel chooses Da Puny though. I ordered the Penne alla Puny – woah. I think this was the dish of the trip, which says a lot given we had currywurst in Germany.

As Chelsay said when I ordered: “You know it’s good if it’s got the guy’s name.”  This thick blend of tomato sauce, cheese, and mushrooms lived up to its billing.

This evening was already a highlight of the trip, but what made it potentially THE highlight was our entertainment after the meal.  

A group of Italian children – all under 6 years old – kept wanting to play with Indy.

The piazza was now completely empty, so Chelsay and I really didn’t see the harm in letting him loose. We learned earlier in the day that he wouldn’t run away, right?

…Little did we know that the children would end up being the ones to worry about. They chased Indy around the square yelling commands they heard Chelsay say: “Sit, sit! Sit, Windy, sit!”

(They also misheard his name)

Indy would desperately dart back to us, cowering for safety. “Windy, why you no want to run!?”

This went on for 20 minutes: the kids chased Indy around, yelling commands (“Shake! Shake Windy!”), then Indy would race for asylum.  All the while, the other restaurant patrons looked – I can almost guarantee none were American and very few were native English speakers, but we all laughed.

This might be the most lasting memory from our EuRoad Trip. The warm, starry evening. Our friendly, delicious restaurant. The quiet piazza, glowing not only from the soft light of the surrounding lamps, but from the tiny town’s laughter at our silly Indy.

Damn.  That would’ve been the perfect ending to the ‘summer chic’ portion of the trip, but we actually had one more day before the ‘fall’ phase began. We’d make our way from the Italian Riviera to Verona, just outside the Dolomites. Before setting off, we enjoyed one more phenomenal pasta at Taverna del Marinaio.

We then listened to three hours of Ray Harris Jr telling us what kind of porridge Churchill preferred on Wednesdays during the war, before arriving in Verona to enjoy a jaw-dropping sunset.

The sunset in Verona was a perfect analogy for concluding this summer chic phase of the trip. Like summer fading into fall, the burning red sun set over this lively Italian town. The light gradually waned into twilight. The air became crisp.

After basking in warmth along the ritzy French and Italian Riviera, Chelsay & I bundled up for the autumnal Alps.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 56. EuRoad Trip, pt 1

What an extremely unusual trip for Chelsay and I.  TWO STRAIGHT weeks travelling.  

We normally prefer short, quick trips every few weeks, which is why we live in London: it’s convenient. Paris is just a train ride away. The Sahara is a couple hours by air. You can easily explore somewhere new every month. Unfortunately, lockdown disrupted these plans – six months of potential weekend trips were made impossible.

In a way though, lockdown also enabled this EuRoad Trip. Chelsay & I had to condense a year’s worth of travel into five months, and we had a ton of destination on our list. We were able to work from wherever given our companies were now comfortable with remote arrangements. Finally, we still weren’t comfortable flying yet.

A few weeks on the open road was an obvious choice.  

The idea for the EuRoad Trip was solidified during our preceding Scottish adventure. It proved escape was possible during Covid provided you’re safe, avoid crowds, drive, and potentially work along the way to allow for an extended trip.

Beyond being the only feasible option, driving also had its advantages.  First, we could bring Indy. Second, it allowed us to explore small towns and settings inaccessible by flight.

I spent weeks mapping out our drive, adding and deleting potential destinations, before finally settling on a three-phase itinerary:

Beauty & the Beast phase – drive south through France’s Loire Valley, stopping at chateaus, provincial hamlets, and the charming fishing village of Cassis.

Summer Chic phase – hot temps along the ritzy Riviera, with stops in Nice and Portofino. Eat all the pasta.

Fall phase – Pass through the jagged Dolomites landscape, returning home past the fairy tale castles of Bavaria and the German Black Forest.

In total, we’d cover six countries over two weeks. 2500 miles. Also, driving in late September between the Cote d’Azur and Bavaria, we’d be covering two distinct seasons: summer to fall.

The logistics were daunting, but distance wasn’t actually the biggest challenge. London to Skye is a total of 12 hours driving and we did it in two days. Shockingly, London to Cassis is nearly identical and we’d spread it over four days.

The real complexity was the dog. First, finding pet-friendly hotels. This was solve-able because we were driving – I just had to find one pet-friendly accommodation within 50 miles of our intended route. Booking.com makes this easy.

The second and more challenging complexity was getting Indy across the English Channel. There are normally four options: fly, ferry, train, or drive. The only flight we’ll ever put him on is the one back to the US. The ferry allows dogs if you have a car (which we don’t). The cross-border train doesn’t allow dogs …even though both the UK and France allow dogs on their domestic trains.

We could’ve rented a car in London then driven the Chunnel, but didn’t want a UK car on European roads for two weeks.

That left us with only one option. Yes, there was only ONE way we could get Indy across the Channel, and it’s kind of ridiculous. Chelsay, Indy, and I would take a taxi to France.

Even that was complicated though, and I was worried about this first day of the journey: taking a cab from our house to St Pancras, train from London to Folkestone, then taxiing cross-border to Calais. That’s a lot of transportation... and a lot of luggage movement.

Indy’s crate is also HUGE, but this turned out to be an advantage: we could fit all our bags inside.  Over two weeks, we’d stay in NINE hotels, so this consolidation made frequent moving feasible.

This crate strategy also made the trip from London to Calais shockingly easy, even with all the transport transfers. The train to Folkestone was a breeze and our pleasant taxi driver, Gary, provided white-glove service as we crossed the border.

Everything went so smoothly that we arrived at that night’s hotel two hours earlier than I expected! We had plenty of time to walk the grounds of the neighboring Chateau de Chantilly, a pleasant welcome to this first phase of the trip: Loire Valley chateaus and small provincial villages. Or as Chelsay referred to it: Beauty & the Beast places.  

The next day, Chelsay & I began what would become an ongoing commitment over the next 14 days. We were driving through the northern French fields surrounding Paris, and realized these were the same fields the Nazi’s first unveiled the striking power of the blitzkrieg. 80 years ago, panzer tanks stormed through these very fields, crippling one of the world’s foremost armies in just ONE week.

We decided to listen to something World War II, preferably a podcast on the Fall of France. We browsed our options and Google’s recommendations, eventually settling on “The History of World War II Podcast with Ray Harris Jr”.

At the time, we had no idea what we were getting into. We were just looking for something relevant to the current setting, but would eventually move back to our normal road trip go-to: murder podcasts.

Ultimately, we listened to this podcast almost every time we got in the car. I wouldn’t say it was a particularly crisp production – Ray would openly admit not knowing how to pronounce European names & towns – but the unbelievable detail kept us engaged.

He’s chronicled every facet of every side, recording hundreds of episodes since 2012. To give you a sense of how deep Ray dives, he’s been recording for eight years and is BARELY INTO 1942!  He’s only halfway through the war!

Regardless, we thoroughly enjoyed the podcast and, over the next two weeks, learned about the Fall of France, Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain, a Winston Churchill profile, Japan’s campaign through China, and finally, Pearl Harbor. All in excruciating detail.

The podcast easily passed the time, so before we knew it, we’d arrived at Chateau du Chambord, one of the most impressive palaces in the world.

A few things immediately impressed us: first, the enormous castle, the largest in the Loire Valley, was constructed in the 1500s. Not only is the scale of construction remarkable for that time, but the profile was completed with near perfect symmetry. Not bad for a society I dismiss as ‘mostly illiterate’. Second impression: yes, this was the inspiration for Beast’s castle.

Indy played the role of our little Beast, darting from tree to tree to avoid the 94 degree heat. We eventually settled down for a picturesque picnic in the gardens. Fun fact: French picnics are hand’s down the best picnics. Baguettes, saucisson, chevre, pickles. Even Indy enjoyed his French sticks over the unpalatable British twigs.

We’d intentionally pegged the next two days of our trip for work. We didn’t want to sink too many vacation days into one trip, so we decided we’d work the first couple days and relax the rest of the journey. That said, we were still able to enjoy a few charming provincial towns while making our way to the French Riviera.

First, we stopped in Souvigny, a medieval commune with less than 2000 residents.  It was such a charming town, and a place we’d never be able to visit outside of a road trip. I distinctly remember saying “This is real” as we were pulling in – I was intending it both as a question and a statement. We spent the night in unique accommodation, the former gatehouse, and explored the quiet town between work calls.

Our second work day was in Cliousclat, an even SMALLER medieval commune: this one with only 600 residents. We again enjoyed brief strolls through the town’s tiny footpaths to burn off some of Indy’s energy.

Both of these villages were pretty, but they were essentially stopovers on our way down to the ritzy Riviera. Before arriving in Nice though, we had one last town on our ‘rustic’ leg of the trip: Cassis.

Cassis is technically part of the Riviera, but being two hours east of the Big Three (Nice, Cannes, and Monaco), it attracts fewer visitors and therefore maintains some of its fishing village charm. It was still hot – nearly 85 – so we slowly shuffled through the town’s small alleys.

After lunch by the beach, we set out for Cassis’ main attraction: the nearby calanques.  Calanques are narrow inlets along the Mediterranean, characterized by bright blue waters and steep surrounding limestone.

The prettiest calanque is only accessible through a 5 mile hike … so I felt terrible for Indy. A black dog, covered in fur, on an 85-degree day? Luckily there was a beach at the end to cool down.  

The walk started easy enough: Indy darted from shade-to-shade, having no idea what he was in for. It was a simple walk in a picturesque Mediterranean setting: highlighter blue water ways and white chalk cliffs coated in bright green pine trees. We reached our first views of Calanque d’en-Vau hardly breaking a sweat.

…That’s when the terrain turned into Vertical Limit. Chelsay & I covered 90% of the distance in about 30 minutes, then last 10% took an hour. It was essentially straight down – so steep in spots that I had to carry Indy while trying to keep my own balance. Now I was dealing with his black fur in 85 degree heat!  Were these rocks slippery or is it just sweat seeping through my socks and shoes?

We eventually made it to the beach – thank god. It was strange being on a pebbly beach (especially after Australia), but we were in the water so fast that it didn’t matter.

Once in, Indy put on a show for the rest of the beachgoers. This was the deepest Indy had ever swam. Sure, he fetched a stick from a pond before, but never really swam. He loved it though. Took to the water like a fish to… uh, water.  

He’d paddle out 10m in random directions, chasing someone he thought might be Chelsay or I even though we were beside him. He looked like a crocodile with his head barely above water and long body slowly trailing behind.

A few times, Indy would sit upright, so his paddling created splashes. This caused a new excitement, and he’d try to bite the water coming from his own splashes. Chelsay and I could hear laughter coming from the beach.

The sweaty hike back to Cassis wrapped up this first phase of the EuRoad Trip. It provided exactly what we were hoping for (Beauty and the Beast settings).

After Loire Valley chateaus, provincial villages, World War II podcasts, and rustic French countryside experiences, Chelsay and I were ready to clean ourselves up for our next destination: the ritzy French & Italian Riviera.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 55. Third Anniversary

Three years!  I really can’t believe it. I remember every moment of our wedding day, and the emotions are still so vivid that it feels like it could’ve been three weeks ago.

After Noosa and New Zealand for our first two anniversaries, how could Chelsay and I possibly celebrate this year?  

Ah, Paris. A return to where it all began.  

This trip was especially hard to come by. After the Scotland escape, I had zero doubts about Paris in late August. People were traveling, Coronavirus was under control in Europe, borders were open, and we’d found friends to watch Indy.

Then, chaos struck. I remember where I was: drinking my morning coffee and reading Twitter news. August 14. Due to a spike in French Coronavirus cases, the UK government announced that any travelers arriving from France were subject to a two week quarantine. Sure, this would impact Chelsay and I returning from Paris, but wasn’t a deal breaker - We can just work from home after our trip.

But I nearly spit out my coffee when I read France’s response. In an entirely petty political move, France announced they’d institute a reciprocal quarantine for travelers from the UK. THIS would be a problem. Chelsay and I were only going for three days, so we’d be stuck in the hotel the whole trip. Adding to the pressure, this weekend’s anniversary wasn’t the only one at risk... We had an upcoming French road trip that was now also on the chopping block.

Adding further chaos, that very same day, Indy’s stomach bug returned. Our friends that planned to watch him have their own puppy, and because the bug is so contagious, we’d now need to find a new sitter. Complete chaos. 

This was probably a sign. We should just delay the trip. But I NEEDED this trip! I’ve genuinely never been so busy at work. I was deploying a product and creating an entirely new program at the same time. I had to escape.

Chelsay & I were rattled, but determined to get away, we planned two alternate trips for this anniversary weekend, Rome or Lake Como. I incessantly refreshed Twitter waiting for news from France and, although the name of this post foreshadows a miracle, at the time, our Paris trip was doomed. There were a few weekend walks where Chelsay and I agreed we’d book Italy when we got home, but something always held us back. We wanted to go to Paris, and wouldn’t give up until we absolutely had to.

Somehow, the reciprocal announcement never came. France cooled, and perhaps due to my emails to every diplomatic department, realized there were still UK tourists willing to visit (and spend).

Chelsay and I eventually found a sitter for Indy, and our dream anniversary trip was back on! ...with renewed appreciation for how lucky we were to return to Paris.

We’d be taking the train for our first international trip in six months, and in a fitting send-off, Chelsay and I departed from St. Pancras Station on August 29. Exactly three years to the day that we were legally wed in the adjacent Camden Council Building.

We both exhaled as the train began along the tracks. After the past week’s twists & turns, Chelsay withheld any excitement until we were literally en route.

After arriving at Gare du Nord, our taxi to the ritzy Westin Vendome was an immediate flood of emotion. It was reminder of why we love Paris, the prettiest city in the world: with its cream hue, decadent ornaments, steep grey rooftops, and hidden attic skylights. It was a reminder of why we love traveling, and why we returned to the UK: we can be transported to a new planet within a two hour flight or train ride. Finally, it was a reminder of the events and feelings of our wedding weekend three years ago. 

I’ve always been keenly and precisely aware of setting, and internalize ‘place’ with every memory. Chelsay always jokes about her first time in Southlake: “...and this was our grocery store, and this was my dentist, and this was 7-11 where we got slurpees one time...”. If I can get that excited about returning to the CiCi’s Pizza from my youth, imagine arriving in the city that played host to my fondest memories.

After dropping off our bags, Chelsay and I stopped for lunch at a brasserie in Montmartre, and reminisced about every detail from our wedding weekend. About the surreal scene seeing our American friends and family outside Le Bon Georges, about Chelsay’s reveal and her timeless bridal elegance, about the ceremony in Chapelle Expiatoire, the reception in jaw-dropping Le Meurice, our first dance under the Eiffel Tower, or PIANO MAN concluding the sweat-fest on the Seine. The feelings from that weekend came right back: the planning pressure beforehand, the joy of the day, and the relaxation as we left for the Maldives. The emotions were still so vivid - it three years later, but felt like the day after... waking up with J-Lo stuck in my head.

The next few days were a trip down memory lane. Mike & Chelsay’s Parisian Greatest Hits. Track #1: the quiet backstreets of Montmartre.

This neighborhood has quickly become Chelsay’s favorite. There are a few touristy spots, but as you descend the steps behind Sacre Couer, you escape into the life of a local. Charming brasseries, colorful fruit stands, quiet green spaces, and small boulangeries up-and-down Montmartre’s leafy boulevards. Before our trip, Chelsay asked me the specific scene I was hoping for from this trip. I told her I’d imagined walking down tree-lined Rue Caulaincourt, cuddling together under an umbrella as it rained, then darting into Boris Lume, a patisserie we’d visited on our 2017 birthday trip.

There were blue skies as we passed Sacre Couer, with gorgeous fall colors providing a photogenic setting. My umbrella-cuddling dreams weren’t to be.

Except at that moment, heavy grey clouds rolled in and droplets began to sprinkle down.

WHAT?! This was EXACTLY what I’d described. HOW?? It was so sunny just 10 minutes earlier.

As we cuddled under the umbrella on leafy Rue Caulaincourt, we definitely acknowledged that this was my dream. We were both giddy. 

But given the circumstances, I don’t know how we didn’t freak out more. This was EXACTLY what I’d wished for. 

As the rain became harder, we escaped into Boris Lume for a sweet reprieve. Chelsay describes her lemon & basil tart as the favorite dish she ate all weekend. More broadly, this was the ideal scene I’d envisioned before our trip... and somehow it came together within an hour of arriving!

So, how do you follow such an incredible start to our anniversary trip? How about returning the exact spot where Chelsay & I said “I do” three years earlier: Chapelle Expiatoire.

The setting was as pretty as I remembered – we were both impressed with our 28 year old selves. How did we book a place like this? 

After taking in the setting for several moments, we recreated the day: Chelsay walked down the aisle. I watched as she ascended the steps into the Chappelle. We kissed at the altar, and left our ‘ceremony’ holding hands.

After the Chapelle, Chelsay & I had another wedding reunion planned: Le Bon Georges.  This little bistro and its owner, Benoit, played host to Chelsay & I’s Welcome Dinner. It was the most surreal moment of the entire wedding weekend: walking through winding Parisian streets to find our closest friends and family awaiting us. We hadn’t seen many of them in two years, yet there they were – surrounded by the cream colored buildings and classically grey rooftops of Montmartre.

The welcome dinner itself was just as special as the setting, and based on this trip’s meal, Benoit’s standards haven’t slipped over the years. Chelsay and I enjoyed an absurd amount of steak (had to be 20+ oz) and a rare full bottle of wine while catching up with Benoit.

We returned to our hotel later that evening and enjoyed the romantic view, closing one of the best travel days we’ve ever had.

Then I woke up at 5 AM… It could’ve been the wine, or more likely the 20 oz rare steak, but I felt dreadful. My stomach hurt, my head hurt. I’m not kidding when I say that had the Lil Wayne song ‘I Feel Like Dying’ stuck in my head.

I managed to fall back asleep until 7, but the pain didn’t subside. Chelsay wouldn’t wake up for a few hours, so I was on my own in this foreign land. 

I knew I had to do something or I’d risk losing the whole day. Keep in mind, this is not America: there aren’t 24 hour convenience stores where I could get a coconut water, or a McDonalds open at this time for a greasy pick-me-up. I frantically Googled: any cafes nearby? I need bread – is there a boulangerie open?

Alas, the French didn’t offer anything that fit my urgent need… but Uncle Sam did. God bless it: a Starbucks open at 7 AM, and just a 10 minute walk.

I threw on the same clothes from the night before – not even looking at a mirror – and stumbled out of the hotel and down the empty streets for my venti black coffee, a sugary smoothie, and anything with starch.

With remedies acquired, I stumbled back down the street towards the Tuileries, aiming to recluse myself in the quiet, healing gardens. Seven years ago, Chelsay was battling a similar ‘sudden’ illness – it was a simple French sandwich and the Luxembourg Gardens that revived her then. Could I replicate her improbable recovery today?  

The scene had all of the makings for a miracle: Comically large coffee. An entire baguette. Quiet setting. Crisp air. Fall leaves (not required, but a nice touch). Most important of all, my favorite chairs in the world: the Parisian “lean-back” loungers.

As the sun rose, my spirits lifted. My headache and stomach ache subsided, and I was revived. Another miracle recovery, thanks to French gardens with an assist from Uncle Sam’s conveniently open roaster. I repeated this routine the next morning (minus the illness) – the below picture captures the peaceful setting, but let’s just say I wasn’t as put-together on the first morning.

Chelsay awoke around the time I was fully recovered. I kept trying to tell her about my morning trials, but it was impossible to convey. This is why I have the blog: so I can always remember these travel miracles.

I had a new appreciation for our saved day, and determined to take advantage, we set off for breakfast at nearby Angelina’s. Though normally too busy to find a table, Chelsay and I were easily seated and enjoyed a decadent but delicious eggs benedict. We needed a big breakfast given the day’s activities.

We set out for a long walk on our way to a neighborhood we’d never visited: Canal Saint-Martin.

The walk itself was the highlight of our day – Paris is unquestionably the prettiest city in the world, and our peaceful Sunday stroll had me considering whether we could live there. We stopped in the quiet Jardins du Palais Royal, browsed the tiny commercial alleys of Le Marais, and made stops at two of Chelsay & I’s wedding photography locations: the Louvre and nearby Pont des Arts. Based on these pictures, we were putting on our own photography clinic that day.

Arriving in Canal Saint-Martin, the setting was certainly a different side of Paris. Though attractive in its own way, it’s much younger, and less classically Parisian.

We weren’t in Amsterdam though, so we didn’t stay long. That said, we were there long enough to spot a dumpling house with a line around the block. Now, I know French cuisine is one of the finest in the world, and no one comes to Paris for dumplings… but this line caught our attention. We quickly Googled: ‘Gros Bao’, huh?

What we’d stumbled on was a mix between Din Tai Fung and Bone Daddies. Chelsay’s favorite savory dumplings, mixed with the unpretentious vibe of one of my favorite restaurants in London. It was a total surprise, but genuinely could have been the best meal of the trip… which says A LOT given we’d visited Le Bon Georges the night before.  

We spent the rest of the afternoon lightly shopping and relaxing around the hotel, before heading out for our evening activity, a blend of previous Paris experiences. On every one of our Paris trips, Chelsay and I have spent at least one meal picnicking on the Eiffel Tower lawn. On most occasions, we’ll pick up a baguette, fromage, and some chacuterie from nearby Rue Cler.

On this night though, we decided on a tribute to the night after our wedding.  Rewind to 2017: we’d spent months eating responsibly, so the day after our wedding, we were craving something carby, starchy, and heavy. We found a rotisserie chicken from a nearby market, with juices dripping onto a bed of potatoes. It can only be described as dirty, but after months of ‘shedding for the wedding’, it was perfect.

Now, back to present day. After a brief stop at our final wedding photo location, we picked up another dirty rotisserie chicken and potatoes, found a quiet spot under the Eiffel Tower, and feasted like medieval kings (meaning without utensils). There will be no pictures of the banquet.

Our last day was relatively short given our afternoon train back to London. That said, we were still able to enjoy a petit dejeuner, Chelsay got an exclusive tour of the original Goyard shop, we popped in to appreciate Monet’s Water Lillies, and returned to one of our favorite places in the world, the Luxembourg Gardens.  

And that was our third anniversary trip. 

It was a perfect analogy to our relationship.  

Chelsay and I always talk about how ‘easy’ we have it, but when you think about it, we actually live a fairly demanding lifestyle. Three international moves in five years. 50+ trips. Challenging jobs. And of all the dogs we could chose, we landed on a border collie!

But our lifestyle together, and our ability to keep things light throughout, has prepared Chelsay and I for any small hurdles that come our way. Not even the French government quarantine threats could stop us. 

Like our annual anniversary celebrations – from Noosa, to New Zealand, and now to Paris – our relationship continues to get better every year.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 54. Scotland

“Sing me a song of a lass that is gone

Say, could that lass be Chelsay?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day

Over the sea to Skye”

Those lyrics are from an 1870s song about Scotland’s Prince Charlie fleeing from the British after his failed Jacobite rebellion. ...They’re also from the Outlander theme song, but just ignore that.  

I’m using them because the lyrics are a perfect introduction to Chelsay and I’s Scotland escape following lockdown.

I wrote about the lockdown in the last post, but the past five months have been… uncomfortable. Chelsay and I made it through relatively easily, but months of stay-at-home orders, minimal social activity, and the daily onslaught of terrible news take their toll.

Chelsay and I also hadn’t taken a single day off since we started in London six months ago. Without the chance to travel, we didn’t want to waste our vacation days sitting at home. All of this culminated in a pent-up desire for adventure. To get away from the house, the city, and the news.

Flights and international travel aren’t quite safe yet, but luckily we have Chelsay’s favorite travel destination in our own backyard: Scotland.

One of the only small benefits of lockdown has been the extra time to plan trips. I mentioned in the last post that I booked fully cancelable trips throughout the year, preparing for whenever lockdown measures eased. I knew the Puglia and Lakes District trips in April and May had little chance, but a road trip to Scotland in July MIGHT be possible. I scoured the news throughout lockdown, interpreting every story in the context of possible travel: “Did you see France is opening up in May - good sign. And the UK said they might open restaurants in June...”

Chelsay quickly got tired of my over-analysis, but finally, in June, the Scottish government announced they’d reopen for tourists on July 15. I’d booked the trip back in April, but nailed the start date: July 17. Nostra(vel)damus.

With a flood of confidence and excitement, I used our remaining lockdown time to smooth any potential hurdles throughout the trip. Downloading offline maps, saving every possible location we’d visit, researching the best trails and how to avoid crowds - even trawling Google Street View to find where to park (difficult given how rural Scotland is).

We left a bit later on Friday afternoon than planned, so our six hour Day 1 drive had us crossing the Scottish border around 11 pm. That said, Chelsay downloaded some excellent podcasts to pass the time: Dolly Parton’s America and Serial Season 3.

Day 2 is when the trip really began. And within 5 minutes of arriving at our first destination, Glencoe, the dream of our Scottish escape became reality.

We’d visited Glencoe on our 2016 road trip through Scotland, but I planned the 2020 visit slightly differently. Namely, I accommodated a dog. I found a quieter trail far from the road, but still providing dramatic views of the undulating valley.

Maybe it was freedom from the previous day’s drive, but Indy seemed entirely in his element. He was darting off path, investigating small waterfalls along the trail, and thoroughly enjoying every bit of his border collie homeland.

Chelsay and I were swept up in the setting too. This wasn’t stuffy London – it was nature… Raw nature… Raw nature happening all at once: wind, clouds, sun, and rain all within 10 minutes. These are the elements in Scotland, but it didn’t bother us at all. In fact, it was invigorating. After months of being cooped-up at home, we felt so much freedom just steps into our first walk.

I was also overwhelmed by another emotion: adventure. It’d been so long that I hardly recognized the feeling. You start the day in one place – at home, in your routine.  Then, suddenly, you step out of the car, train, or plane, and you’re transported to a different planet. What happened to your routine? Work, cooking, doing the dishes… all gone. Your attention is completely captured by what’s in front of you: colourful Italian villas, wild Australian outback, open Indian Ocean. Glencoe may only be a few hundred miles from London, but this adventurous feeling took Chelsay & I worlds away.

Now, when I say Scotland took us worlds away, I could have been more precise: it took us specifically to the Wizarding world (of Harry Potter).

This was especially true when visiting Glenfinnan Viaduct. Here, the Jacobite steam train passes through a scenic valley along a viaduct twice a day… But the picturesque backdrop isn’t what makes this experience so popular. It’s the fact that the train & viaduct are portrayed as the Hogwarts Express in Harry Potter. As steam billowed into the air and the locomotive let out a whistle, Chelsay jumped around and triumphantly pumped her fist. Indy had the opposite reaction, running away from the booming train as it chugged by.

After a quick stop at fairy-tale castle Eilean Donan, Chelsay and I wrapped up our long journey from London, finally arriving in Balmaqueen on the northern tip of Skye. This trip was really to celebrate Chelsay’s 30th birthday, so I splurged a bit on a holiday cottage. Immediately upon our arrival, Chelsay and I wished we could move here permanently.

First, the cottage was completely renovated – it’s rare for a place this remote to offer Nespresso, Netflix, and digitally-controlled shower, but the owners had thoughtfully accommodated every modern comfort.  Second, and far more significant, the cottage maximized its stunning scenery. Two reclining chairs faced out through the cottage’s wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Some of my best memories from this trip are the quiet mornings Chelsay and I spent in these recliners, sipping coffee while staring out at peaceful pastures and the surrounding North Atlantic sea.

We spent the next three days exploring Skye’s wild landscapes. We’d visited Skye in our 2016 Scotland roadtrip, but despite being a relatively small island (two hours from end-to-end), the 2020 itinerary was almost entirely unique. Chelsay & I only repeated one experience from the previous trip: the Quiraing, our favorite hike in the entire world.  

Minutes into the hike, we were reminded of the Quiraing’s desolate beauty. My description from the last Scotland trip is still spot-on:  

“I’ve never seen solid land twist and turn in this way – the blending brown and olive hues, the fact that there were no trees, and the smooth bending earth made land look like waves.

For some reason, there’s something about this desolate sight that I love: just us, empty space, and open sky (Skye, pun?). There are no city sounds or buildings or buses or people, and there are no boundaries. Just boundless expanse.”

Despite repeating many of the same views, this experience was still unique for two reasons:

First, Indy introduced a new dangerous element. In London, we worry about him invading an unsuspecting picnic. At the Quiraing, a wrong turn could lead him off a cliff. He earned our trust by staying nearby for the first 15 minutes, and we figured border collies are smart enough to safely stay on-trail. We let him off-leash and immediately regretted it – he’s an idiot. He started bounding around the bouncy moss and, next thing we knew, he’d jumped off a 12 foot crag. OMG – is he dead!? I was taking a picture at the time so you can see how big of a vertical drop it was... Thank god he popped up like nothing happened! The only reason he didn’t break both legs was because he awkwardly landed on his face and chest. Needless to say, he was back on leash until the path became safer.  

The other difference from our previous visit was the weather. In 2016, Chelsay & I had to have visited on the hottest day in Scottish history (consequently, we packed extra water this time). In 2020, the weather was back to its normal, turbulent self. The hike started with patches of blue sky – Chelsay and I actually took our jackets off during a quick lunch. It was perfectly pleasant, until Chelsay quietly mumbled “Uh oh” under her breath. I turned around to see billows of rain tumbling over a cliff face about half a mile away. An entire ocean of rain. It looked like the dead invading Hard Home in Game of Thrones.

You could tell it was moving fast so as you read, keep in mind, the following sequence of events happened in under 20 seconds. First, I yelled “Initiate protocol!” (as if Chelsay & I had trained for this) and we hastily packed everything, especially hiding our electronics. Chelsay crouched behind a hill to brace from the wind & rain, and god bless him, Indy INSTINCTIVELY darted underneath her! I’ll never forget his terrified little body sprinting over and literally diving into the hillside. He’d seen exactly what I’d seen (the Army of the Dead) and wanted no part of it. The dowsing ambush only lasted 10 minutes, and thanks to our waterproof gear, we survived... though I’ll never forget Indy’s panicked reaction.

There was actually a second memorable weather-induced experience this trip. Although the storm had passed, heavy clouds remained and completely enveloped the peak. The fog line was very unusual though: there was a distinct line between dense fog and unspoilt views, which gave us two entirely unique feelings. At the top, the brooding clouds felt ethereal and mysterious. We couldn’t see more than 50 yards. Meanwhile, the descent ensured we wouldn’t be robbed of the spectacular setting, providing pristine views of the sweeping landscape.

Similar to our 2016 trip to Skye, the Quiraing was the highlight of our time on the island. That isn’t a surprise: as I said earlier, it’s our favorite hike in the world. That said, our other adventures on Skye were similarly invigorating.  

After the Quiraing, we made a brief some at Neist Point, where a lonely lighthouse sits at the edge of a craggily outcrop. Chelsay, Indy, and I looked on as the North Atlantic waves crashed below, seagulls squawking as they swooped toward the water. What makes Neist Point especially unique is its undulating shape: similar to my quote from the Quiraing, I didn’t know solid land could twist & turn this way.  

The next day, we’d embark on our longest hike of the week: Camasunary Bay, a secluded cove only accessible by foot or boat. This hike doesn’t really have a peak, but rather a long journey through open farmland, leading to a secret beach at the base of the Black Cuillin Mountains.

Along the way, Indy met a fellow border collie named Clyde. I’ll first say that it was extremely rare to bump into people in Scotland (which I loved), but when we did, they often had border collies (which I also loved). Indy had only met one other border collie while in London… and its name is ironically Skye! He met at least 10 in just four days on the island.

Anyway, Indy and Clyde played around in an open heath overlooking the quiet bay. Indy again jumped off a ledge from way too high, this time falling into a bush… He really is an idiot, but again managed to avoid injury.

We completed the long walk without further issue, though Chelsay and I were exhausted by the end. After the Quiraing and Camasunary Bay on back-to-back days, we could hardly feel our legs. Our massive Amatriciana dinner that night revived us, and was hands down the best meal all trip.

We moved very slowly the next day – I’d say we didn’t want to overwork Indy’s juvenile joints, but really our >30-year-old knees couldn’t take anymore. We managed one shorter walk: Old Man of Storr. This is actually the most famous attraction on Skye, but Chelsay and I had previously avoided it due to its popularity. Thanks to Covid though, the crowds were scarce, and we pretty much had the trail to ourselves.

The next day, we departed Skye for Scotland’s far north, Assynt, which is somehow more topographically extreme than Skye.  This terrain pushes most Assynt hikes out of Indy’s (our knees’) range, though there was one feasible option: Stac Pollaidh. “Stac Polly” is just a four-mile hike, but its 1,700 foot elevation provides both a healthy challenge and a view that ‘punches above its weight.’

This view is hidden throughout the ascent, but once you reach the top, the scenery is stunning. It’s like nowhere Chelsay and I have been – like a Scottish Monument Valley: lonely monoliths looming over a basin of stony cnocs and boggy lochs. The setting beneath us had the topographical diversity of an entire continent!

We were due to stay in Assynt for a few days, but decided to make a rare mid-trip audible for two reasons:

Our entire Assynt itinerary was hikes, and we were exhausted. It was time to rest.

Our AirBnb was haunted.

In our 50+ trips while abroad, we hardly ever make such drastic mid-trip changes, but we’ve gotten to the age where we want a little relaxation in our vacation… free from ghosts. Thanks to my Booking.com status (and the Covid-induced absence of travel demand), we found a shockingly affordable alternative:  Thainstone House, a country mansion in Aberdeenshire.

Aberdeenshire is in Scotland northeast, just above Inverness. Its known for its pastural setting (and steak), but also its salty sea coastline. It’s a few hours away from Assynt, yet our couple stops en route proved our audible was the right call.

First, we stopped in the small fishing village of Lossiemouth. I don’t remember anything about the town… We were really just visiting for the four-mile long beach, accessible by crossing a short bridge over the surrounding canal.

Well, the bridge was closed, but the canal’s water levels seemed low enough. After getting drenched at the Quiraing, crossing this dry creek wouldn’t be an issue.  

Wrong. The next hour was eventful, so I’ll break it down in bullet form:

First, the creek was slightly deeper in certain places, but Chelsay remained dry in her tall rainboots. My duck boots were too short, so our solution was that I’d jump on Chelsay’s back, and she’d carry me through this short stretch…

This plan lasted two small steps before she dropped me in the river. My feet were soaked, but no worry. We had all our clothes in the car, so I’d just change when we get back.

We arrived at the beach, an immaculate stretch of empty sand and surf. Apparently, no one else ‘braved’ the canal, because Chelsay, Indy, and I had the beach to ourselves. Well, except the dolphins and seals we saw along the shore! The entire setting was gorgeous: wind-swept grass, endless sandy expanse, and clear waters quietly crashing along the shore.

After thoroughly tuckering Indy out, we decided to head back to the car. One problem, the tide had changed, and the dry creek was now a FLOWING RIVER! WHAT!? We hadn’t even considered the tide when we ventured out… It was too shallow to even think about!

…The emptiness of the beach now made a lot more sense.

Already wet (from being dropped earlier), we decided the only way back was through. The below video is from the SAFER portion of our fording experience. Imagine the scene on the deeper side: Chelsay and I. Waist deep in the river. Fully submerged in shame.

This story may sound familiar… In fact, it’s happened to us before. In Scotland. It was Loch Coruisk, and Chelsay & I were forced to ford a river to catch a once-a-day ferry. What is it about us and Scottish rivers…

Back on dry land, Chelsay and I continued our Aberdeenshire tour through three more small towns: Fordyce, a 13th century hamlet where we stopped at the town’s Old Kirk (church) for lunch; followed by Crovie and Pennan, two salty fishing villages with single-row housing along the seafront.  …After the river ordeal earlier, we didn’t stick around to see what high tide was like.

We pulled into Thainstone House around 4 pm on Thursday, and the car didn’t move until Saturday around 10 am. That kind of dormancy is RARE for Chelsay & I. The only other vacation where we didn’t leave our accommodation for 36 straight hours was Fiji… where the entire island was our accommodation.

The grounds of Thainstone served as an ‘island’ of sorts for Chelsay & I. There was no reason to leave because the manor met every need: elegant dining, dog-friendly trails, cozy rooms, soothing lounges, and plenty of wine & scotch to occupy our leisure time. Chelsay thinks the staff even tailored to our Americanness: they kept playing Chris Stapleton whenever we were in a room alone.

We were sad to leave on Saturday. Not only had we appreciated the slower pace, but we also knew the next two days required driving 11 hours on our way back to London. That said, we had a few noteworthy stops.

First, a brief visit to Castle Fraser, where we stopped for coffee, scones, and walk. This short break was a reminder of the perks of living in Europe: even road trip stopovers included a fairy-tale castle.

We also stopped in St. Andrews, a small, charming college town north of Edinburgh. Over the next few hours, we walked the campus grounds (regarded as one of the best universities in the world and alma mater to Prince William, the future King); took in St. Andrews cathedral (built in the 12th century); and walked the St. Andrews golf grounds (known as ‘home of golf’ and site of the first round in the 15th century). Indy wasn’t impressed – he pooped on the Old Course.

And that was it. That was our trip. We just had one overnight stop in Peebles, Scotland before arriving back home in London…

Well, except… This stop turned out to be the highlight of our entire trip. I’ve genuinely rushed through the last 3,000 words to finally get to this part.

Chelsay & I had an entire castle to ourselves!  

Backing up: I’d initially reserved different accommodation in Peebles, but the owner had accidently double booked. They were very apologetic, and offered an alternative: the ‘Queen Mary suite’ in Neidpath Castle.

I had no idea what she was talking about… I checked the website: a 13th century castle that has hosted Mary, Queen of Scots, her son King James, and poet William Wordsworth. …Yeah, I’ll take the castle!  

Despite this anticipation, our stay still exceeded my expectations. When booking, I thought we’d only be staying in the ‘Queen Mary suite’: a bedroom with accompanying lounge. There were probably other guest rooms though, right?  

Wrong. We pulled up, the owner gave us the keys to the entire castle, and wished us a great stay.

We immediately began running up and down spiral staircases, through corridors, past dungeons, into dining halls, and around the castle’s chapel. We were like little kids. The only other time our hotel had elicited this reaction was in the Maldives (and two days earlier at the country manor… and four days before that at the Skye cottage…).

The castle is so large that we actually lost one another multiple times. One time, Chelsay & I were together but had no idea where Indy had gone… I whistled, but we didn’t hear anything. No movement. We started to worry that maybe he’d gotten hurt or stuck somewhere. We whistled again, but still nothing.  

Suddenly, a *scraaaaaaaaatttcch* came from behind a door.

Chelsay yelped, assuming it was a ghost. Maybe the same one from that Airbnb in Assynt.

We carefully opened the door *creeeeeek*, only to find Indy staring up at us with his mouth wide open. He was having just as much fun exploring the castle.

It had to have been at least two hours before we finally settled down, cozying next to the fire with a bottle of wine. We reminisced on what a spectacular trip it had been, scrolling through the photos to remind ourselves of all the jaw-dropping landscapes we’d visited.

We couldn’t believe some of the scenery… We had just visited these places… We were in the pictures… Yet the settings didn’t seem real.  Glencoe, Skye, that train Chelsay loved, Stac Polly, the river in Lossiemouth…

Scotland’s rugged beauty seems unbelievable in normal circumstances, but the past week felt like even more of a dream given the preceding months. After nearly half a year in lockdown, our Scottish escape was a reminder of how effortlessly adventure awaits while abroad.  

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 53. Lockdown

It’s been almost five months since my last post:  Finland at the start of February.  That seems so long ago – in fact, it’s by far the longest Chelsay & I have gone without a trip in our five years abroad.  

These are extenuating and unfortunate circumstances though.  The global Coronavirus pandemic has put the entire world in lockdown, with far more dangerous and deadly consequences for the millions infected. I don’t want to go into the staggering statistics, but I can safely say that every single person on Earth has been impacted. Even saying that, it is likely we won’t know the virus’ true toll for many years.

However, the purpose of this blog is to “record” Chelsay & I’s present thoughts, emotions, and experiences. In 20 years, I want to read these words and relive our time abroad.

The 2020 lockdown is historically and personally unique – likely more noteworthy than an individual trip we’ve taken. That said, there would be a gap in this record if I didn’t post about Chelsay & I’s lockdown experience.

I’ll start out by saying that Chelsay & I have been very lucky. We’ve been bored more than usual, but with lockdown coming to an end soon, we’ve made it through relatively easily.

The biggest reason: Indy! I briefly mentioned our new dog in the Finland post, but we didn’t bring him home until a few weeks later, just before the lockdown began. It was absolutely perfect timing:

Chelsay and I had stressed about how we would alternate working-from-home while Indy was a puppy. After coronavirus, this was a moot point… I’m not sure Chelsay or I will ever go back into our London offices.  

Chelsay & I would’ve been painfully bored being locked at home for months, but Indy has been a blast. Play time, training, and walks have filled our otherwise open schedules.

That said, things weren’t so easy early on: Indy’s first two weeks with us were painful. Really really bad. He had a stomach bug when we picked him up so, starting with the first drive home, he was either throwing up or pooping every 45 minutes.

Making matters worse, we were staying in a terrible basement AirBnB – the only one in London that allowed dogs. Beyond the complete absence of daylight, the other downside of this AirBnB was the thin walls… We tried having Indy sleep on his own, but he would HOWL incessantly. The neighbors were unexpectedly understanding for the first 15 minutes, but their (and our) patience ended when his crying hit the 1-hour mark.

With all this pooping & howling, I’ll freely admit that I regretted getting a dog.  I’d expected a much easier transition, but the combination of his stomach bug & our dreadful AirBnB changed everything. That said, we stuck it out, and I actually think I learned a lot about patience & perseverance… And I’m just really happy Indy pooped all over the AirBnB instead of our permanent home.

This is a good transition to our other main lockdown activity: settling into our new house. In my last post, I mentioned that we found this place within 24 hours of landing in London – a testament to our organization, motivation, and ability to fight off jetlag.

Settling in is always tough, but we had reason for optimism: Chelsay had meticulously coordinated the furniture & homeware shipments for our move-in date. Although most of the deliveries were completed without hiccup, some of the larger items were derailed when the UK went into lockdown. …The shipping company refused to deliver our items – I eventually found a creative solution that I won’t go into, but it meant out our couch, TV, and all kitchen cookware were locked away in a warehouse for an extra few weeks.  

In the meantime, Chelsay, Indy, & I were living the college-lifestyle: we put the guest mattress in our living room as a couch replacement, used a computer monitor as a TV, and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner for an entire month with only two forks!

That said, the benefit of missing furniture was the extra room for Indy to run around.  Actually, we had plenty of space even once ALL our furniture arrived! Our new flat is twice the size of the Manly apartment, and nearly the size of our previous THREE apartments combined! And that’s without considering the backyard, where Indy could roam freely, play fetch, get his zoomies out… or participate in the 2020 NFL Combine.

Although it took a few weeks to fill the house, we immediately felt settled in our new neighborhood. Chelsay & I loved Hampstead the first time we lived in London, so it was our top choice house hunting… All 24 hours of house hunting.

Hampstead is undeniably London’s most charming & cozy neighbourhood: knobbly alleys, off-kilter homes, mossy lattices, vine covered brick facades. Close to the city, but very much an English village.

It is also home to one of London’s largest parks, Hampstead Heath, which isn’t even really a park. It’s a forest. A wild, unmaintained maze of trees, vines, and brush, with pockets of open heath sprinkled around. Every weekday morning around 6:45 and every night around 6:30, Chelsay, Indy, and I set out for a walk through the park. Indy loves the night walk especially (when we bring his frisbee), but the walks aren’t just for him: Chelsay and I love the fresh air in the morning, and relaxing wind-down at night.

These walks are one staple of our weekday routine, with the other being Chelsay & I’s daily lunch together. Despite work being busy for both of us throughout the lockdown, we’ve found time to take lunch together every single day.  It’s a flashback to Seattle, when Chelsay & I both worked in South Lake Union and we’d meet up a few times per week. These little breaks split up the day, and help us both prepare for busy afternoons. …The only problem is that we’re getting really tired of cooking. We haven’t gone to a restaurant since February 22. Today is June 26.

Weekends have their own routine as well.  Although we wake up early (a new talent of Chelsay’s), we’ll take our time with a bigger breakfast like huevos rancheros. We’ll then saddle Indy up for our primary weekend activity: a 2-3 hour walk through the Heath. These walks have been excellent for so many reasons:

The Heath is gorgeous, as described earlier. Each walk is unique, and we haven’t followed the same route yet.

The weather has been historically great: May was the sunniest month since Britain began recording in 1862!

It tuckers Indy out. He’ll go to sleep for 6 hours after we get back from our weekend walks.

Indy’s exhaustion gives Chelsay & I a chance to FaceTime with our families, a weekly highlight. With everyone in lockdown, its far easier to find a time when everyone can join: both our parents and our siblings (it’s not like we were doing anything else!). Our typical agenda goes: game night, recommend shows, make fun of each other’s unkept appearance. 

The rest of our routine weekend day is spent planning.  Both Chelsay and I have our own roles:

Chelsay tends to handle household preparedness. I have to give her credit – she was way ahead of the curve on Coronavirus. A week or two before the rest of the world caught on, Chelsay was already stocking up on essentials – and more importantly, reserving our online grocery delivery orders into May. This was SO. DAMN. CRITICAL. We went into Waitrose once in early March, and it was a genuine nightmare. You could feel the anxiety in the air: long lines to enter, with everyone panic-buying, irritable, and on-edge while trying to socially distance. It was so important that Chelsay stocked up beforehand and reserved those slots, ensuring we wouldn’t need to visit the grocery store.  Once lockdown started, every delivery service froze new member sign-up and locked delivery scheduling.  

While Chelsay made sure we survived the lockdown, I was ensuring our travel agenda hit the ground running once restrictions were lifted. I’ve probably planned 15 different variations of trips in the past four months, scrupulously researching options that were exciting, feasible, and most importantly of all, cancellable. Although Puglia in April and the Lakes District in May ultimately needed to be cancelled, the following trips *seem* like they might be okay: Scotland road trip in July, Paris by train in late August, Central Europe road trip in September, and Egypt in October. KNOCK ON WOOD!

Now, the standard weekend includes these long walks, family Facetimes, & planning sessions, but Chelsay and I have still fit in a few exciting breaks from the routine.

First, Chelsay’s 30th birthday fell in the middle of lockdown. We’d originally planned to relive her favorite trip by visiting Scotland, but obviously that was no longer an option. Determined to celebrate her milestone birthday from home, I surprised her with balloons around the house and a ready-made dinner including lamb shanks, potatoes dauphinoise, and glazed carrots. Chelsay pre-baked dessert: a funfetti cake.

Second, as lockdown measures began to ease, we started taking day trips within England. Our first escapade was a short drive to Richmond, where Indy got sick in the car… With our Scotland roadtrip booked, we knew he needed better driving experience, so we immediately booked rental cars for the following three Saturdays. These trips were great car training for Indy, but more importantly brought us to some of the UK’s prettiest locations: Richmond, the Cotswolds, Seven Sisters, and Peak District.

I’ll end this post by emphasizing how lucky Chelsay & I have been during this lockdown. As I mentioned in the introduction, every single person in the world has been impacted by Covid in some way… but Chelsay and I have made it through relatively easily.

We’ll always remember this Global Pandemic and our four months stuck at home, but we’ll also remember the extra time we got to have with our new new puppy, or enjoying our new home and neighbourhood. We’ll remember how the extra planning time made our Scotland, EuroTrip, and Egypt trips that much more special. And most of all, we’ll remember that our friends & family remained safe and healthy throughout.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 52. Finnish Lapland

I’m writing this introduction from our flight from London Gatwick. It is 6:14 AM. Cold and rainy. We’ve been up since 4, and even my few hours of sleep were interrupted by relentless coughing. I should feel tired and angry.

But instead I’m bursting with anticipation - like my body can’t handle the excitement (maybe that’s the reason for my cough?).

This is Chelsay and I’s first weekend trip, and as the plane makes its way to the runway, I’m remembering the #1 reason we moved back: accessible travel, starting with this weekend’s trip to the Finnish Lapland.

Our second round of European adventures began with this road trip to Nellim, Finland, an extremely remote town of 150 people tucked 250 miles into the Arctic Circle, just five miles from the Russian border.

However, before writing about our three days in Finland, I want to quickly cover our first three weeks in London.

I could talk about our return to Richmond Park, about our walks through Soho and the reminders of how “cool” London is, or about how we found our flat in Hampstead within 24 hours of arriving... All of that was great, but I really only want to write about one thing: Indy.

Yes, 12 year old Chelsay’s dream finally came true. As a kid, she’d tell her mom she was going to live in London (...she watched a lot of Mary Poppins). She would have a great job and a nice husband. But most importantly: she would have a border collie named Indiana Jones. This dream came true when Chels and I traveled up to Derby, England to visit a puppy litter. All of the puppies had chubby butts, but our little Indy was easy to spot: tail wagging, stomping over his puppy siblings, and already showing affection to his new parents. It was love at first site.

We won’t get to take little Indy home for a few more weeks, but that hasn’t slowed Chelsay’s “puppy mom” obsession. We bought his crate and fence on the ride home from Derby. We’ve been watching hours of dog training videos on YouTube. I’m receiving dozens of texts each day with the same puppy picture. ...Who am I kidding though? I’m just as much of an obsessed “puppy dad”.

That one Indy story means you’re caught up on our first three weeks in London. Back to our first trip.

There’s always a buzz when you’re going somewhere new, and that’s especially true in Europe. Every country is so accessible yet so unique. Spain is nothing like Sweden nor Morocco. They’re all just three hours away, but might as well be on different planets.

This was proven true as our plane descended into Finland. The landscape was whiter than a Dave Mathews concert. Snow everywhere. No patches of civilization, just patches of evergreen forests covered in more white. We took off in metropolitan London and landed literally in the Arctic Circle.

If this was evident on the flight in, it became especially clear as we left the airport. I asked our rental agent for the car keys and he looked back at me as if it were obvious: “They’re in the car - I started it 30 minutes ago.”

As we stepped out the airport doors, I realized why this should’ve been obvious — and also why his directions to the car were so emphatic. Everything was frozen, including the car had he not started it earlier. Chelsay and I would’ve been frozen too if we didn’t literally dive into the car.

After barely avoiding frostbite, my first thought upon hitting the road was “How can people survive here?” It’s just snow, ice, and sub-zero temperatures for months!

But the Finnish rightly play up their winter wonderland. In fact, it’s close enough to the North Pole that Lapland claims to be the Home of Santa. Yes, of all the places in the entire world, Santa chose Rovaniemi, Finland to set up shop. What an honor.

After a brief stop at Santa’s offices, we hit the road for our four-hour drive to Nellim. This place is remote, and that was exactly the intention. My two goals for the trip were (1) to see the Northern Lights and (2) to walk through snowy, silent Finish forests. Heading as far into Lapland as possible gave us the best chances for both.

The drive was a breeze: we had studded tires for the icy roads, and a James Acaster audiobook for entertainment. Plus the landscape kept us in awe - tall spruce forests lined the roadway and the black concrete was covered in ice, loose snow whipping around in the wind.

We were conscious of daylight on our drive up. In winter, the sun technically rises at 9:30 AM and sets at 3 PM. I say “technically” because there is actually far more daylight thanks to Nautical and Civil twilight, two things I’d never heard of before this trip. Given Lapland’s latitude, sunrise and sunset last about two hours each — rather than have a defined light time and dark time, Finnish days are just caught in perpetual semi-visibility... In addition to being “Home to Santa”, Lapland is apparently also the Twilight Zone.

Stop it Mike.

Anyway, we arrived at Nellim Wilderness Resort after sunset and nautical twilight and civil twilight and any other twilight. It was dark, but there were still a few activities available our first evening.

First, our resort had an illuminated sled hill. We didn’t know about the sledding beforehand, but once we’d seen it, Chelsay and I couldn’t resist.

Our riding styles were absolutely on brand: Chelsay laughed and screamed the entire way down (reminding me of our ride on The Mummy roller coaster at Universal Studios).

Meanwhile, I took sledding to an extreme by riding headfirst (likely breaking my ribs with what Chelsay called “The Salmon Jump”), then later trying to surf down (likely breaking my back with what Chelsay called “The Concussion Tumble”).

We were in the right country to recover from our (my) frigid falls, because the Finns love a hot sauna. In fact, they invented it! 1000 years ago, some Viking named Olaf probably tried that sled-surf thing, and a smoky sauna was his novel therapy!

Luckily the resort’s saunas were private, because similar to sled-surfing, I introduced a new twist to an old tradition: no one in the history of saunas has ever sweat as much as I did. Olaf included.

Outside of sledding and saunas, the other big nighttime activity in Lapland is searching for the Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights are fairly common this time of year: about 50/50. The problem was the weather was due to be overcast & snowing throughout, so Chelsay and I came in with zero expectation.

We mentioned this to the receptionist at Nellim, but she wasn’t giving up hope. She said to keep our eyes peeled for stars: if you can see the stars, there’s a break in the clouds and a chance to see the Aurora. It didn’t hurt that our room was 50% window.

Just as the receptionist predicted, we saw stars from about 10:30 to midnight. Staring out felt like being on a hunt, eyes dashing from one side of the sky to the other in hopes of seeing a green flash. Eventually I fell asleep, but the resort offers an Aurora alarm in case the lights appear.

Unfortunately there were no alarms either night.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed - the Northern Lights were one of the main reasons for visiting, and the brief star sightings provided a cruel tease of unwarranted hope. But the Aurora is just weather after all, and as the sun rose the next day, we remembered how cool it was to be in Nellim, Finland. Plus, the flip side of this snowy cloud cover was a clean and white-coated winter wonderland.

The fresh snow was perfect for our first activity of the day: dog sledding. These huskies were dying to get out and run, and I’ll never forget their excited gallop as we burst through the trees onto an open, frozen lake.

Chelsay and I switched off as driver, both flirting with danger. Chelsay nearly led us into Russia, while I ghost rode the sled. If you’re not familiar with ghost riding, it’s where you hop out of a moving (now driverless) vehicle and run beside it. Based on the look in our dogs’ eyes, I’m not sure they’d seen this before.

After the morning excitement, Chelsay and I had earned extra whipped cream on our hot chocolates. I’ll briefly mention the dining, which we both surprisingly enjoyed. Finnish food is not traditionally exciting (a lot of lingonberry and reindeer), but the Wilderness Resort came through for each meal: tasty lamb shanks, potatoes gratin, mushroom risotto, panna cotta, and more. And obviously a lot of hot chocolate.

We regained enough energy over lunch for our afternoon activity: snow shoeing. We planned to be out for a few hours, so bundled up in three layers of everything: socks, leggings, sweaters. We even doubled up on gloves.

Now insulated from the sub zero temperatures, we were motoring around the quiet, empty wilderness in no time. Nothing but clean snow and creaky timber for miles. Chelsay said it reminded her of the land of swirly twirly gumdrops from Elf: “Byeee Buddyyyy”

We climbed up hills, slid down slopes, trekked across frozen lakes, forged our own paths through the deep snow, and tracked the only other footprints we could find: wolf and reindeer.

Just as the sun was setting (at 3 PM), Chelsay and I stumbled into a peaceful and perfect grove. It was a beautiful setting and the most memorable moments I’ll take from the trip.

The evergreen branches were coated in snowy white clumps, the crisp air was cold in our chests, and the only sound we could hear was crunch... crunch... crunch... as we gently shuffled across the deep snow.

We returned to our room with that “exhausted but content” feeling. Our quads were burning but we’d accomplished what we came for.

That night, we enjoyed another remedial sauna - this one was somehow sweatier than the last. We didn’t have any energy or unbroken bones left for sledding that night, so we instead stayed in our room and watched Parasite (great movie) while sipping hot chocolate. I doubt I’ll remember what JOMO meant when I read this in 20 years, but this night describes it well.

We were making the long drive back to Rovaniemi around lunch the next day, but had plenty of time for morning walk. This time we attempted to go without snow shoes, but quickly realized that walking through deep snow is hard! Your feet sink with every step, and you have to contort your legs up & out of the snow to make any progress.

Chelsay compared it to the Sahara, except instead of sinking ankle-deep in sand, we were literally waist-deep. Luckily we persevered long enough to stumble across a pack of reindeer.

With our quads burning, we figured the reindeer sighting was a good enough cap to our Lapland adventure. Sure, I wish we’d seen the Northern Lights, but Chelsay and I are still very content with our first trip back in Europe.

I say that without any doubt. Rewinding to our flight from London: Lapland’s frozen landscapes exceeded the “new city” excitement I felt as our departing plane rolled toward the runway.

Lapland is a different planet: part winter wonderland, part uninhabitable wasteland. Its frigid wilderness is unlike any of the previous places we’ve visited, but the craziest part is that it was all so easily accessible. Chelsay and I were 250 miles into the Arctic Circle, literally a short walk into Russia’s northernmost territories, yet remained just a three hour flight from London.

That’s why we moved back: because every trip Chelsay and I take has the potential to bring us somewhere new, special, and completely different from anywhere we’ve ever been.

I can’t wait for our next departing plane to roll its way to the runway.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 51. The Move III. Home

What a month. December 2019 started in Sydney, but in just four weeks, took me through New York (Chels was in Hawaii), Dallas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Seattle, and finally London.

Somehow this was our LEAST busy holiday over the past three years, but it flew by nonetheless.

The month began with an international move... obviously challenging, and further complicated by EY’s mobility team. Movers, cleaners, and interested Gumtree buyers cycled through the house, while Chelsay and I balanced enjoying our final days in Manly with UK visa applications.

Eventually our Aussie apartment was empty. Just four massive bags remained - they held our only belongings until our shipment arrives in London sometime in April. Those four bags would be heading in opposite directions for the next 10 days though: Chelsay’s followed her to Hawaii, while mine were heading to New York.

I’m extremely jealous of Chelsay’s trip to the North Shore. Not only did she get to hang with Sumner, Chris, Miles, and Orly, but she enjoyed a few post-Sydney surfs, Island vibes, and beautiful weather.

Meanwhile, I had intense work meetings in New York, which required staying an extra few days for the biggest presentation I’ve given to-date. I was at least able to stroll around Manhattan between meetings, with highlights including Gramercy Park, East Village, Greenwich Village, and snow in Times Square.

Our Christmas Break really began once Chelsay and I finally made it to Dallas, though we were only home for one day before embarking on a family road trip.

Chelsay and I have traveled to around 50 countries, yet there are so many places we haven’t explored in our own backyard, including the Deep South. With plenty of time in the US this December, we decided to take a short road trip through Louisiana and Mississippi with Jeff, Liv, Matt, and Emily.

Some highlights:

A foggy visit to Evergreen Plantation. Although the plantation was a primary filming site for fictional Django Unchained, its slave past was very real. Despite our tour guide’s best efforts to portray a “different narrative”, the slaves’ conditions were pretty clear... “Remember: snakes, gators, mosquitoes, yellow fever.”

Jambalaya, Beignets, and Hurricanes in New Orleans’ French Quarter, paired with our over-the-top Southern accents (“There’s been a muwduh!”)

Strolling Barataria Preserve, a swampy bayou coated in Spanish moss... but with zero bathrooms along the trail. What happened in the bayou stays in the bayou. 

Touring antebellum homes in charming Natchez, though the biggest highlight was Jeff trying to understand how their 1980′s occupants got cable. 

Friendly and entertaining strangers throughout the entire trip. Zippy the gas station attendant (“Energy drink, for the guy that’s gotta push the car”), our Uber driver Mahogany (“Reroute me”), the Mississippi McDonalds cashier (“Y’all wan’ dat wit pe-can sauce!?”), and a New Orleans man training his pet raccoon.

The road trip was great siblings trip - no doubt one that we’ll laugh about for a long time. But after covering Sydney, New York, Louisiana, and Mississippi in just two weeks, it was time to settle down for a bit.

Luckily we had almost a month to relax: 23 days before our one-way flight to London, split between Dallas and Seattle. I hardly worked and Chelsay was already well into sabbatical-mode, which meant we had zero responsibility while home... It was a return to childhood.

Some highlights:

These aren’t in any order, except for this first one: Matt’s quizzes. It’s become a Kern tradition that Matt puts together ~15 ten question quizzes. They’re all creative categories, with our annual favorite being “Synonym song title & band”. Matt’s past four annual quizzes were all excellent, but this Christmas’ installment, Kern Family Quizzes 5: The Moscow Incident, was by far the most impressive. It included an audio/visual component, and categories ranging from “Name this platinum song being played on recorder” and “Name the two actors’ whose faces I’ve merged into one”. Matt could make millions if he sold these games.

Speaking of games, the Kern’s and Wright’s combined to complete four escape rooms. Perfect 4/4. Grandma Helen calls them “Crazy rooms”, which is absolutely understandable after a T-Rex roared at us for 20 minutes in one of our Seattle escape rooms.

Continuing in the friendly competition category, the Kern’s love bocce... especially bocce with a wrinkle: wild bocc’ (aka free-range bocce). Most bocce is played in a walled rectangular arena. Not for the Kern’s though. We drive to the Trophy Club Park and set up our “course” through trees, along hills, across sidewalks, and between the small children panicking as we hurl 3 lb balls towards them. Like a windmill in putt-putt, these obstacles make the game more challenging, especially the scared children. Plus we all just like getting outside.

One last friendly competition: giant jenga at Jeff & Liv’s new house. Their “starter” home is so big that they have an entire room for giant jenga... and we needed the space. This genuinely could’ve been a Guinness record for longest game. For at least an hour -- every single turn -- we were sure the tower JUST HAD to fall.

The next four bullets are all cowboy related. Chelsay and I have been together for 10 years, and every time we go to Dallas, she insists on visiting a dude ranch. We’ve never had enough time... until this Christmas. Chelsay finally got her wish when we drove an hour outside Fort Worth to Beaumont Ranch. This day trip could’ve had its own post, but I’ll have to summarize in a few short stories.

First, the main event was a cattle drive on horseback. Our instructor, a true Texan cowgirl, led us into the 800-acre plains in search of rogue longhorns. Chelsay was the first to come across wayward cattle and, despite her metropolitan upbringing, instinctively started yelling in an extremely southern accent: “Go on, git! Heeyah!” Our Texan instructor had to be insulted.

Second story: Matt is very good at lassoing. I was not. This video pretty much tells the story.

Last story from our cowboy day. The ranch had its own replica western town, so Chelsay had the idea to make a “duel” video. We talked about the dialogue for under 10 seconds, but the result was pure gold. Oscar worthy (at least better than The Irishman). You might think that we added the music afterwards to sync with our actions... Nope, that was just my mom holding her phone close to Chelsay’s camera. That should at least be up for Best Sound Editing.

My parents, Chelsay, and I fell into a nightly routine of Dark from Netflix Germany. Phenomenal show, despite watching an English-dubbed version. We finished two seasons in under 10 days.

Obviously we hit all the favorite food spots, led by Feedstore, Mi Cocina, Anamias, Christinas, Costa Vida. We also added a new favorite: HG Supply and their tasty impossible whopper bowl with quinoa and chili. 

On the topic of food, I must have eaten 100 cookies while home. We had the traditional Kern Christmas cookie bake-off (A+ humor, but C+ presentation), but Chelsay also picked up a baking addiction. It was 11 pm and we’d all be heading to bed, but Chelsay was still laser focused and meticulously decorating her cookies. Her efforts showed though: A+ flavor, and A+++ presentation. 

Next up was our return to Seattle. On Chelsay and I’s first full day, we decided to go on a long hike. We actually didn’t hike much when lived in Seattle, which we now realize was dumb. I definitely took the Northwest’s landscape for granted — every time we visit, I’m blown away by the sky-scraping evergreens, fresh scent, crisp air, and looming mountain ranges that surround the city. Anyway, we’ve been trying to catch up on our hiking whenever we visit, and the closest trail to the Wright’s house is Mt. Si, a semi-challenging 8-mile hike. It’s the medium-well steak of hikes. Danny, Chelsay, and I endured a sweaty couple hours -- just to give you an idea of the hike’s height, the peak was snow-capped, but the views made the steep ascent worthwhile. 

On the same ‘missed PNW opportunities’ line: when I lived in Seattle, I ever took advantage of the many nearby mountain villages, especially the Bavarian-themed Leavenworth. Tucked in the Cascade Mountains, you would never believe Leavenworth is just two hours from bustling Pike Place. Gothic-lettered storefronts line the half-timbered town’s main street: Munchen Haus, the Sausage Garten, Ludwig’s, and Starbucks (it’s still America after all). Danny, June, Chelsay, and I enjoyed a quiet walk on Blackbird Island, threw snowballs for target practice, and warmed up with hot cider and big (BIG) game of Uno. We also built up our shaka inventory with our Leavenworth friends Alex & Charlie.

It's also worth mentioning that I went to a Hawks game with Hanan. It was a rivalry game and the stakes couldn't be higher: SEA vs SF. Sunday Night Football. Last game of the 2019 regular season, and the winner took the NFC West. The 49ers went up 16-0, but the Hawks stormed back and had the ball with a chance to win on the last play. Russell Wilson hit Jacob Hollister close to the goal line, but a 49er tackled him quickly. Hollister reached for the goal line as he fell, but came up an inch short of a game-winning touchdown. Even though the Hawks lost, it was still a great time.

Speaking of great times, we hosted New Year’s Eve at the Wright’s house in Woodinville. What an incredible night. Midnight seems to get later and later every year, but Chelsay and I stayed up until 3 am catching up with Devon & Babs, Martiin @ Michelle, and Austin & Kels. Danny, June, and Chels were such amazing hosts - I kept telling them my friends didn’t deserve their hospitality.

We may have been in the US for five weeks, but it felt like only five days. Although it fly by, these stories and pictures are proof that our time was well spent. 

And even though we were boarding a one-way flight to London for the next few years, there’s no question where our true home will always be. 

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 50. Goodbye Australia

I can’t believe we’ve been here for two years. How has it already been 22 months!? 

We’ve basically lived here just as long as the UK, yet our time in Sydney feels more like a semester abroad. I know the toilets flush a different direction here, but does time move faster too?? Are we so far away from the rest of Earth that there’s relativity distortion???

Regardless of how quickly it’s arrived, our time in Sydney is coming to an end. Like anywhere we’ve live, Sydney had its highs and lows, though I’m surprisingly more sentimental about Australia than any of our previous homes. Australia is a unique and special place, and this goodbye post will capture how proud and fondly Chelsay and I will remember our time Down Under.

The best and worst of Australia can actually be captured by the setting from where I’m writing this post. It’s 6:30 AM. The sun is rising, and I’m looking out my window at an empty Manly Beach, the vast Pacific Ocean in the distance. I have my iced coffee because it’s 85 degrees. It’s quiet. The setting is just perfect.

The birds start to rise from their evening slumber. Some light chatter. But then the magpies wake up. And then cockatoos. And then kookaburras. Pretty soon the romantic notion of waking up to birds chirping has turned into Baghdad. And that’s Australia in a nutshell: an absolute dream for the right amount of time, but then the magpies start & you know it’s time to wake up.

Now, it’s obviously more complex than that. Australia may be the most perfect place in the world to raise a family. First, the weather and setting are unmatched. Anywhere. In an age where American and British kids are glued to screens, Aussie kids are distracted from their phones or TV by sunshine, swimming, and surfing. Chelsay and I first observed this when we discovered the Northern Beaches.

Sydney has some phenomenal coastal walks, but our hikes through the Northern Beaches were my favorite. For 15 months, we were ferrying over to Watson’s Bay for the Bondi-to-Coogee. We’d wrap up with a frosé slushee from Coogee Pavilion, and stop in CBD on the way back for 678 Korean BBQ. It was great.

But one weekend, we instead decided to head north to see how many beaches we could cover by foot. North Manly, Freshwater, Curl Curl, Dee Why, Collaroy, Narrabeen. Pretty soon, we’d walked 20 miles and were stunned. This beautiful, quiet coastline had been in our backyard the whole time!? 

The Northern Beaches walks became our “Richmond Park” equivalent, and as we walked barefoot along the sandy beaches, Chelsay and I took note of the young families. Their kids weren’t stuck back on the beach blanket, looking at their phones. It’s impossible when your spoiled by one of the best settings in the world. They played backyard games on the beach, or volleyball, or ran around with their border collies. Dads surfed with their sons and moms & daughters worked out with the lifesaving club. Yeah, the LIFESAVING CLUB. Instead of tee-ball, Aussie kids are learning to swim out in the ocean and save people. It’s easy to see how Aussies have great attitudes when they’re raised in an environment like this.

That actually brings me to my next point about why Australia is special: the people. Just phenomenal. There are a couple bad eggs like anywhere, but on the whole, Aussies are light hearted, funny, kind, optimistic, and always after a good time. At work, I had the most supportive and entertaining colleagues, enabling the best two years of my career so far. When learning to surf, strangers were welcoming and encouraging (they would tell us when to paddle and cheer when we caught a wave!). And only Aussies could come up with sayings like “Piss in your pocket”, “Good bloke, like a beer” and “We’re not here to ____ spiders.”

I have two stories to exhibit this lovable Aussie attitude. The first came when Chelsay and I visited the Museum of Industry. It was the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11, so the museum was hosting a NASA exhibit. The whole thing was great: it was all about how Aussies helped with the moon landing. Really, they played a very small part by simply receiving the camera feed from the moon, which was only due to the Earth’s rotation making them best positioned for Armstrong’s first step. But the Aussies had so much pride in contributing to the accomplishment. They didn’t have the resources to send a man to the moon, but when the time came, Aussies happily and proudly stepped in.

My second story comes from North Curl Curl. Chelsay and I were on one of our Northern Beaches walks, when we came across a kids surf contest. (Again, instead of peewee football, Aussie children have surf competitions.) Anyway, the scene was great. It was sunny, the parents had come out to watch, and one of the teenagers set up a microphone to give play-by-play. Some highlights:

“Aw I’m calling it: best day of the year. The waves are     rolling, sausages are rolling.”

“There are sets! Out! The back!”

“Suns out, buns out! Well no buns yet, but the lasses     will be here soon.”

“Just a reminder to any surfers: yield your waves to     the kids. You got a problem with that, we’ve got a group of 20 locals     here. Get amongst it.”

This teen captured what it means to be Australian: funny, positive, and energetic.

I actually have a bonus third story about how much I love Aussie attitudes. Perhaps no story better sums up Australia’s priority of just having a good time than Steven Bradbury. Bradbury was an Australian speed skater that made it to the 1000m finals of 2002 Winter Olympic. As a quick aside, it’s a testament to Aussie athleticism that there is zero snow in the country yet they consistently compete and medal at the Winter Olympics. Back to Bradbury though. He basically only made the finals because all of his opponents crashed in the semi-finals. So now he’s in the finals. He’s matched up against the three fasted skaters in the world, and he knows he really shouldn’t be there. So, for 950m, he holds back. He’s enjoying that he’s made the finals in the Winter Olympics, taking in the moment and happy to let the other skaters fight. The front runners are stressed throughout, constantly passing one another and jockeying to take the lead.

With 50m left, Bradbury is a full 15m back. But then the aggression of the front runners costs them - after battling on the last turn, they all tumble. Bradbury, who was just enjoying a leisurely skate, passes them all and somehow with a grin and somehow wins gold! His quote afterwards captures his Aussiness: “I was the oldest bloke in the field and I knew that. Skating four races back to back, I wasn't going to have any petrol left in the tank. So there was no point in getting there and mixing it up because I was going to be in last place anyway. So I figured I might as well stay out of the way and be in last place.”

“Doing a Bradbury” is now another phenomenal Aussie saying.

The weather and people of Australia certainly exceeded Chelsay and I’s hopes when we moved to Sydney. That said, we’d never been here before, so how could we really know what to expect? Here are some other Aussie realities that turned out different than expectations:

The biggest surprise is how isolated Australia is. I knew it was far away, but didn’t grasp just HOW far. This makes travel harder, both because of flight times and flight prices, which ultimately is the biggest drawback of Australia. Sure we had some absolutely amazing trips (New Zealand, Western Australian, Fiji and Indo all stand out), but a just weekend trip doesn’t get you as far as it would in London. For this time in Chelsay and I’s lives, we’re really looking to see as much as possible.

On the positive side, We expected more bugs, spiders, and snakes. These have been a non-factor in Manly.

Despite the absence of insects, there have been far more sharks than expected. Not Great Whites, but 5 foot Dusky Whalers, Reef Sharks, Wobbegongs, and Port Jackson’s. I see at least one almost every time I go for a swim. After swimming with about 100 sharks over the past year, both Chelsay and I are much more comfortable with them than     expected.

We should be better at surfing. We live on an absolutely ideal beach to learn. Sure, we can competently stand on a 5-6 ft wave or catch the occasional “green face”, but we’d never be confused with pros. After two years, we can barely turn. Those kids in the North Curl Curl competition would surf circles around us.

Okay, we’ve made it to the end. As a “completeness check”, I took a look back at my Goodbye London post. That post was absolutely spot on - I perfectly predicted how I’d feel about London 24 months after leaving. It was such a good prediction that I actually feel a bit of pressure to do the same for Australia.

So here it goes. With Australia, I predict we’ll forget the lack of travel options and focus more on memories we did make. The freedom of driving through outback in Western Australia and the Top End. Drinking wine, snacking on “the goods”, and listening to the hits on a warm night in Esperance. Vacations visiting dinosaurs (Komodo) or other worldly Mordor (New Zealand). Day trips near Sydney to see koalas (Port Stephens) or kangaroos and wombats (Kangaroo Valley). Chic brunches on the Sunshine Coast, and capturing all the Pokémon (Aussie wildlife) on trips to Tassie, the Barrier Reef, and Far North Queensland. Our long weekend walks through the Northern Beaches, followed by delivery daal from our favorite Indian place.

Ultimately though, what I’ll miss most is the free Saturdays and Sundays that we so easily take for granted. Waking up and getting a pretzel croissant from Sonoma. Watching the surfers from the corso, followed by barefoot morning walk along the beach. Grabbing our boards, snorkels, a book, and some guacamole and hitting the beach. Ending the day with chicken nuggets, truffle fries, and an elderflower spritz at Hemingway’s. Taking in the unbelievably colorful sunsets EVERY SINGLE NIGHT!

Unlike London, there won’t be sights or events or attractions that I miss about Australia. It will be the feeling of a free weekend in Manly, the hot sun, and warm Aussies around us.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 49. Second Anniversary

Let’s start with the destination: New Zealand. Again.

Yes, this is our third time here in just 8 months, but what can I say: it’s a great country. Actually, I’m not sure any country better reflects Chelsay and I than New Zealand. The US seems angry these days, Asian cultures are a bit rigid, and Europe… Please. But New Zealand: adventurous, easy going, and a sense of humor. That’s Chelsay and I in a nutshell!

New Zealand is the geographic embodiment of Chelsay and I’s relationship, and that’s why it’s the perfect place to celebrate our second anniversary.

Now, my last post ended with a teaser for our return to the UK, but that’s turned into a longer process than expected. In the words of my boss: “No country moves slower than the UK.” ...Yep, I remember.

That doesn’t mean Chelsay and I have been idle though. A few bullets on our past two months in limbo:

We discovered our “Richmond Park” equivalent, with weekend walks up the Northern Beaches: Freshwater, Curl Curl, and Dee Why.

 I had a quick work trip to San Francisco. I can’t even remember the business purpose – I think it was to recreate scenes from Vertigo.

Chelsay and I finally explored some famous Sydney neighborhoods we hadn’t visited, Palm Beach and Watson’s Bay.

We ran the City 2 Surf, along with 80,000 other Sydneysiders.

We started horse riding. This has been a dream of Chelsay’s for a while, and that enthusiasm shows in her riding: through just three lessons, she’s already trotting with ease. Meanwhile, Mike is a bit behind, though in fairness, I’m at a disadvantage. The stable’s typical clientele is primarily young girls (not a lot of 30 year old men learning to ride), so they only have one horse for someone my size, Jazz. One problem: Jazz is blind in one eye. While Chelsay is trotting in circles around the arena, I’m battling a blind horse to avoid running into a wall.

Chelsay nearly burned the house down while cooking. We can laugh about it now, but at the time: this was catastrophic. I’ll just say that the situation required me to burst out of the shower to help.

Anyway, we’ve stayed busy, and after a demanding few months at work, we were ready for a vacation. Our September anniversary falls in winter in the Southern Hemisphere, so Chelsay and I decided we’d take advantage by making this year’s celebration a ski trip. Crisp air and hot chocolate: very romantic.

New Zealand has two hubs for skiing: Queenstown and Wanaka. They’re fairly close to one another but are drastically different. Queenstown is beautifully set below The Remarkables, but can feel a bit crowded in peak season. On the other hand, Wanaka has an equally beautiful setting, but is much quieter and basically only has one street. Ultimately we went with Wanaka because we’re old people… and also because it’s closer to Treble Cone, whose advanced runs better suited Chelsay & I’s “gnar shredding”.

We arrived late on the first day, driving through some beautiful yet brooding landscapes.

We got really lucky with our hotel. I’d mentioned that we were celebrating our anniversary, and they upgraded us to a suite. The extra space was critical after long days on the pistes. One side note on the hotel room: while Chelsay and I were enjoying our Night 1 chacuterie, we had a strange feeling: we were in shorts. Indoors. And not freezing… Why did it feel so strange? My god, is this what it’s like to be… warm!?  It was tangibly strange to us to feel warm! Our Sydney apartment had been so consistently cold all winter, that we were genuinely perplexed with a temperature about 55. Suite life got this trip off to a hot start.

The next day we hit the slopes. Treble Cone doesn’t have any accommodation, so it’s a short, steep, unpaved, cliff-side, and overall just treacherous drive up from Wanaka. We felt like we were on double black diamond runs before we even arrived.

After surviving the ride up, we geared up and took one “Welcome Back” practice run on the bunny hill. I’m very surprised by this fact: it had been FOUR years since the last time Chelsay and I skied (Austria in 2015). That’s the same amount of time it’d been between Innsbruck and the time before (Whistler in 2011). You might remember that we were RUSTY in Innsbruck, with Day 1 highlights including Chelsay being dragged up the bunny hill by the rope pulley as five-year old Austrian children looked on.  Another Innsbruck gem: once on the real slopes, Chelsay and I failed to disembark the gondola on time. As the lift turned away from the dismount area, I leapt off the chair and crash landed on the slope below. I yelled back to Chelsay: “You gotta bail!”, but she refused. She would’ve been content riding the gondola all the way back down, had the large Austrian attendant not forcibly picked her from the chair and set her on the snow.

Luckily we weren’t as rusty in Wanaka. We successfully managed the bunny hill rope-pulley, and dismounted the chair lifts at the appropriate time.

That said, we found a new hiccup this time around.To get to the chair lift, you have to present your lift pass. Treble Cone uses RFID lift passes, so all you do is ski up to the gate, it reads your pass, and you ski through. Think of a toll tag. Not that hard right – you just have to be in control for the gate to read your pass. Well, Chelsay was not in control, and went screaming up to the gate, smashed right through the barrier. I was actually impressive that she kept her balance and skied on, unscathed. The same cannot be said for the broken barrier.

Once at the top of the mountain, the views were breathtaking. Most ski resorts are surrounded by snow-capped peaks – this will always be an incredible sight. But Treble Cone’s views are more diverse: sure, there are snow-capped peaks, but you can also see the stark, undulating landscape surrounding Lake Wanaka. It makes Treble Cone one of the most unique and beautiful ski resort we’ve visited.

The slopes matched the views, with a mix of wide, well-groomed runs where you can get some speed, but also steep & narrow runs that require a bit more technique. As a quick aside, Chelsay’s technique is best described as “clench”. She torched her thighs bracing down the slope, cutting sharply on each turn. It’s so easy to pick her out from the crowd. Rather than slide across the snow, occasionally using friction to slow down, it looked like she was using her skis to carve a path down the mountain.

This was payback for her horse-riding prowess. While she metaphorically “rode a blind horse”, I was bombing blue runs in no time. I brought Chelsay along on one, but she was convinced they were black diamonds. I remember her turning to me and saying in terror, “I shouldn’t be on this one.”  

Chelsay may not be as enthusiastic about skiing, but I love it. I rarely slow down – if you traced our routes, Chelsay’s would look like an ‘S’, but mine would be and “I”. I actually wish I had an Apple Watch to capture my max speed. At the end of each run, my teeth were cold from smiling the whole way down.

By Day 2, I was on some really challenging red runs, battling moguls on steep, ungroomed slopes. Meanwhile, Chelsay was improving too. She’d loosened her “clench” a bit and was getting more and more comfortable at speed. In fact, on our last run of Day 2 (dubbed ‘the poop shoot’ by Chelsay), I secretly led her down a red run. She did great! But also collapsed from exhaustion at the bottom of the run.

Chelsay’s legs were shot for our third and last day of skiing, so we only got half day passes at Cadrona, a less challenging resort than Treble Cone. That said, Cadrona does have a terrain park, so the resort gets a weird mix of graceful Olympians and awkward amateurs. While the pros were busting 1080s in the halfpipe, I saw one guy get run over while waiting for the chair lift. This is how I must’ve looked in Austria.

Like Treble Cone, Cadrona has great views of the surrounding Southern Alps. We managed a few solid morning runs, but decided to save our already worn-out legs for the afternoon’s activity: horse riding.

Although Chelsay & I were barely capable of trotting, we’d heard New Zealand was one of the best places in the world for horse riding. It’s quiet, crisp, and secluded, yet you’re riding through pristine landscapes: glacial rivers, evergreen forests, and mountainous valleys. Its so beautiful that the stable we booked, High Country Horses in Glenorchy, lends their horses to the dozens of movies filmed nearby: Lord of the Rings, X-Men, Vertical Limit, Chronicles of Narnia… Our guide was riding Tom Cruise’s horse in Mission Impossible Fallout.  

The ride itself lived up to its Hollywood billing. First, the setting was cinema worthy. Second, my horse wasn’t blind, so I was able to trot with ease. Third, Chelsay was in heaven. We wrapped up our ride just as the sun fell below the Southern Alps.

It was an eventful day in which we started on the slopes and ended on horseback. Luckily, Chelsay & I were near Taj, the Indian restaurant we’d gone to the last time we were this ravenous in New Zealand. In January, we took Taj to-go after hiking Gertrude Saddle, enjoying the garlic naan, hearty daal, and spicy murg chettinad curry while watching the Hobbit from our warm AirBnB. For Round 2, we ran back the exact same order – it somehow was even better. Its hard for me to admit this because I love Dishoom in London, but Taj is the best Indian restaurant I’ve ever been to.

I just realized that I’ve skipped over the meals in this post, so I want to come back to a couple we really enjoyed. First, at the Cadrona Hotel, Chelsay’s Beef Wellington was her dream savory dish: a juicy steak coated in buttery pastry. She made British Bake Off commentary the whole meal. We also gorged ourselves with a Fergberger lakeside in Queenstown, and enjoyed pumpkin risotto and lamb ragu at our old favorite in Wanaka, Francescas. Finally, even the quick breakfasts we grabbed before skiing were tasty: Chelsay and I would take our chicken & corn pie and bacon & egg sandwich from The Doughbin and eat by Lake Wanaka. Guess who ordered each dish.

Now, a lot of these restaurants were repeats from previous trips: Taj, Cadrona Hotel, Fergberger, Francescas. As I said at the start of the post, New Zealand itself is a repeat for Chelsay and I. But these recurrences are fitting for an anniversary, and I am so thankful to repeat every day, week, month, and year with Chelsay as my wife. 

Much like our trips to New Zealand, each anniversary with her is perfect no matter how many times we repeat.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 48. Athens

I didn’t plan on writing a post for this short work trip. I was only in Athens for five days, and three of those were filled with meetings... but it was the other two days that make this trip worth remembering. Yes, Athens itself is nice — I’m writing this from a cafe, sipping a coffee frappe with my zucchini fries. That wasn’t the best part though. What makes this short trip so special is the reminder it provided: a reminder of Chelsay and I’s past weekend adventures, and just how far you can go with two days in Europe.

Upon arrival in Athens, I received an immediate reminder of the “particularities” required when traveling in Europe. Simple task: I needed to get from the airport to my hotel. Problem: I had forgotten the travel skills Chelsay and I had built up from our time in London: always have cash, never rely on others, and plan alternatives. It took me four attempts before I successfully caught a ride. Eventually I made it to the hotel, where I was reminded why these “particularities” were worth it. From my hotel’s rooftop, I quietly looked across Athens: the birthplace of civilization, with a history and culture you couldn’t find on any other continent.

Because Chelsay and I had previously visited Athens, I wanted to get into some "deeper cuts" for this return trip. From researching, the Kaisariana Monastery was #1 on my list. Perched in the hills outside Athens, Kaisariana would be a quiet reprieve from the touristy city center. Now, I could have taken a cab, but walking only took an hour. We were well into winter in Sydney, and because it was 80+ in Athens, I decided a hike in the warm weather would be nice. This was absolutely the right call. Walking through the Athenian neighborhoods was like visiting an alternate dimension. The city had been built by and for humans, but there was just a different take on what a home, shopfront, and street should look like. This is the beauty of Europe: every city is SO unique, and their architecture, people, and culture are evidence that each developed independently over time. Although Athens certainly isn’t as pretty as London or Paris, it’s uniquely Greek.

With no set route, I was essentially just wandering in the general direction of the monastery. I’m a sucker for parks, so this flexible approach allowed for off-road detours. My Google Maps app reassured me that I was still going the right direction, though dense trees meant I couldn’t tell exactly where I was heading. What Google Maps doesn’t tell you is gradient, and the over hanging trees meant I couldn’t tell how much further until the path flattens out. I knew I’d been going up for awhile, and also that I was thoroughly sweaty, but I was shocked when I finally popped out of the tree line... How did I get this far!? From well above Athens, there was a river of white washed buildings flowing into the Aegean Sea. I could barely see the Acropolis poking out from the urban sprawl. For reference, my hotel was at the base of the Acropolis, and somehow I’d walked well beyond the fringes of civilization.

This was a phenomenal view, but it was also a reality check: where the hell am I? I need to find this monastery.

My search quickly turned into a Lake Bled-level fight to find the walking path. I hopped through prickly bushes, bounded from boulder to boulder, and braced myself along the edge of a quarry rock face. My legs were getting cut up, and I’m pretty sure the “path” I was following wasn’t a path at all... It was just a dried creekbed. Rather than going towards the monastery, I decided it was best to just find civilization first and follow paved roads from there. After a precarious descent, I finally emerged from the forest, scratched and sweaty, but ultimately appreciative that this route provided such unique views of Athens. Now following more established paths, I found the monastery easily. I’m actually not even sure it was THE monastery I was looking for, but it was religious looking and tucked away in a forest, so it checked all the boxes. That said, it didn’t seem like locals had trouble finding it: as I walked in, a community service was taking place. I tried to blend in, but a couple things were working against me: (1) I was extremely sweaty and my legs were cut up from the “hike”. (2) I was wearing a RVCA shirt... apparently not many of Nordstrom Racks around here. (3) I was the only visitor under 60. (4) I was also the only visitor that didn’t speak Greek, which the locals quickly figured out as they offered me snacks. This was their monastery, so although I poked around for a bit, I mostly stayed out of the local’s service.

My next destination was another “deeper cut”: the Athens Olympic Complex. Athens hosted the Olympics in 2004 (and also around 2800 years earlier). In the modern version though, the 2004 Olympics were billed as a Coming Home experience. To host the festivities, Athens built state-of-the-arts Olympic parks and stadiums at an expense of around Euro 4B. That may seem large, but I just looked up the costs of Beijing and Sochi: Euro 50B each! Now the reason I looked all of this up was because I’d assumed the cost of the 2004 Olympics was crippling, and part of the reason the country continuously seems to be on the brink of bankruptcy. As I walked the now decrepit venues, it was easy to reach this conclusion. What was once a grand exposition, hosting hundreds of thousands of visitors from all over the world, was now just an unkept field of trash and cracking concrete. I could imagine the bustling crowds making their way through the cutting edge complex, but just 15 years later, there were weeds growing out of the basketball stadium’s roof.

This is why I’d assumed the Olympics were a budget busting expense, but at 1/10 the cost of Beijing or Sochi, these games were actually relatively affordable. What’s more: at least according to the government, Greece actually pulled a profit from the games. This makes for an interesting investment: I’m sure these stadiums were built with future intentions, but even only as temporary structures, the host city still came out ahead... I’m not so sure the same can be said for Sochi.

Back to my exploring though. I’d now been walking around in the sun and heat for over three hours, and was exhausted. I nearly passed out on the train back to the city, but managed to make it to shady Cafe Melina for a reprieve. Here, I ordered two of Chelsay and I’s Greek favorites: zucchini fries and a coffee frappe. I relaxed for an hour on Melina’s shady outdoor patio, and actually started this post while sipping my second frappe.

Revived, I was ready to continue my EUReunion, starting with the tiny lanes of Anafiotika. Anafiotika, which means little Anafio, is braced up against the Parthenon’s surrounding hillside. Anafio is a Greek island in the Cyclades (same as Santorini), and when the Anafioan people moved to Athens, they decided to build a neighborhood that reminded them of their old home. The result is a little slice of the Greek islands in the bustling city.

You might remember that I was very sweaty from my “hike” earlier, and that situation hadn’t taken care of itself. I decided it was time to head back to the hotel and shower, but not before stopping in Monasteraki Square for an obligatory gyro.

After a long rest in my air conditioned room, I decided to head on a city tour hosted by none other than Chelsay and I’s ol’ European go-to Rick Steves. Now, we’d already done this audio tour the last time Chels and I were in Athens, so I went a bit off script this time. While Rick made some corny jokes about the Parliamentary guards, I slipped into the royal gardens for a trip down memory lane. I routinely skipped through parts that required me to walk a long distance, and equally paused when I found a nice bench. One of these breaks was actually the highlight of my weekend. In our 2016 Greek adventure, Chelsay and I spent the last night of our trip at an outdoor restaurant in this small, charming, and most importantly, shaded square. Rick’s tour took me back through this same square, and I decided to relax on one of the benches. I took in all the hustle happening around, but was protected under the overhanging trees. I ended up staying on that bench for an hour (longer than the entire Rick Steves audio tour itself), and wrote most of the first half of this post. Although Athens doesn’t come close to challenging Paris as the best European city, this small park could at least contend with the Luxembourg Gardens.

That night, I wandered around a new neighborhood, Psyri. This place was hip, grungy, but gentrified: kind of like an Angel equivalent in Athens. It’s another example of a deeper cut, and a reminder of how many unique experiences are waiting for Chelsay and I in Europe. The next morning, I’d booked a ticket to visit the Acropolis. Before the trip, I wasn’t sure if I’d visit the Parthenon again, but I’d already covered so much of the city in my first day. Plus, it’s not like you can come to Athens and NOT visit the Parthenon. It’d be like going to Paris and not visiting the Eiffel Tower... unthinkable. I’ve been to Paris about 8 times and visit its glittering light show every time. Anyway, the Parthenon is just as impressive the second time. This place is 2500 years old! Sure it’s been through a few pillages and rebuilds over time, but much of today’s structure is the SAME marble those PRE-Jesus builders hauled up the Acropolis hill. It was probably sourced from the quarry I almost fell into during my “hike”.

Having visited before, I took this trip at an especially relaxing pace. I appreciated subtle features in each relief or pillar crown, and equally, enjoyed people watching. These visitors were so excited to see the structure - they’d be staring up in an, not paying attention to where they were walking, and slipped all over the smooth rock walking paths. It made me wonder whether ancient Greeks took spills during their Panhellenic parades. Those togas wouldn’t do much to protect you...

After the Acropolis, I didn’t have much else to explore, so I decided to relax in the warm weather. I stopped in at an outdoor bar called six d.o.g.s, who’s hidden courtyard, tasty frappe, and strawberry smoothie helped me relax before my meetings.

I’m now off to my meetings, the whole reason I came to Athens. Although these past two days exploring “deeper cuts” were fun, the most exciting part was that it reminded me how easy unique escapes are in Europe, and a preview of Chelsay and I’s weekends to come. What a teaser for my next post! Oh, by the way, the hotel for my work meetings was ridiculous.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 47. Fiji

I was born on May 13, 1989. I don’t remember much about the day, but from pictures, it looked like a great time. My parents were celebrating, there were balloons, someone brought a children’s Chicago Cubs baseball set.

Today is my 30th birthday, so I’m reflecting … looking back all the way to the very start.

It’s interesting to imagine my mom & dad’s thoughts in that delivery room 30 years ago. They must have been terrified by the responsibility of raising a toddler (I would be), but also excited for their new son’s future. What will he grow up to be? Where will he live? What will he do? Their dreams for me had to be bigger than their 1980’s hair.

In the least dramatic way I can say this: they couldn’t have predicted where I’d end up 30 years later.

Birthdays are important to celebrate, but especially milestone birthdays. This is mainly Chelsay’s influence speaking, but I agree with her: milestone birthdays are ones you’ll always remember. 15 years from now, we’ll think back and ask: “What did we do for your 30th birthday?” ... I won’t let that be an ordinary memory. Life is busy though, so it’s tough to carve out a day for festivities, let alone plan them. Even a month ago, Chelsay and I didn’t know how we’d be celebrating. Chels had plans in motion, but my work complicated things by scheduling meetings in Atlanta the week before. My trip back to Sydney would require 24 hours of flights, so would we still be up for a big celebration? The answer is Yes. I’m not 70, and I just said milestone birthdays were important, so we’re making this happen. Work would pay for me to get from ATL back to SYD via any route, so Chels and I started looking for convenient connecting destinations. Hong Kong, Tokyo, Patagonia, and Hawaii were all considered, but in the end, we found the perfect blend of celebration, relaxation, adventure, and convenient flights in Fiji. Fiji is a county made up of 330 islands, and each island chain has its own unique characteristics. Viti Levu is the main island and home to Nadi Airport, but most tourists don’t stay here. Near Viti Levu are the Mamanucas, small sandy dots amongst the expansive blue. The Mamanucas are stunning, but they’re typically more resort-y and popular with nearby Aussies & Kiwis. Then there are the Yasawas, where Chelsay and I chose to stay. The Yasawas are further from the mainland, and their remoteness means their less touristy.

This is a double-edged sword though, because less tourists means there’s less tourist infrastructre, so finding a comfortable option would take some research. We eventually decided on Paradise Cove, which perfectly balanced vacation comforts (comfy bed, outdoor shower, and excellent food, which can’t be understated on a remote island) with a sense of wild adventure (fewer guests, great snorkelling, and hiking paths around the large island).

I nailed my meetings in Atlanta, so my birthday weekend was off to a good start even before boarding the plane. For the next 24 hours of flights, I had nothing to worry about - just enjoying a few movies and catching up on sleep. Chelsay and I met up in the Nadi Airport after extremely disproportionate flight times (hers was only 4 hours), and caught a ferry to Paradise Cove. Seaplanes were an option, but they were 5x the price and this wasn’t our honeymoon. The other advantage of the ferry is that it allowed us to see the different Fijian islands up close. Viti Levu and the Mamanucas were very nice, but Chelsay and I knew we’d made the right choice as we arrived in the less crowded Yasawas.

We were in heaven as we stepped onto the sandy beaches of Paradise Cove. A jungle of palm trees lined the beach, at first hiding the resort before eventually revealing a dream island getaway: shaded cabanas, pool-side lounge chairs, and a bar concocting frozen, fruity treats.

The pineapple on top of this pina colada was that Chelsay told the resort it was both of our birthdays, so they upgraded our villa and outfitted it with balloons and welcome drinks. As birthday surprises go, drinks on a beach in Fiji was pretty good.

After drinks on the beach, scuba diving wasn’t really an option, so we decided to snorkel in Paradise Cove’s house reef. I was really surprised by its color. It was just last week that I wrote about the scale of the Great Barrier Reef... but out in the middle of the Pacific, Fiji’s immense soft coral, highlighter vibrancy, and sea life abundance were incredible.

Now, it was inevitable that jet lag would catch up to me. Atlanta is 16 hours behind Fiji, and I was mentally nearing midnight. Chelsay was also dealing with severe time zone change (2 hours), so she was equally down for a nap. We gave ourselves 90 minutes but would wake up well before our 6:30 dinner. Apparently we woke up to the alarm at 5:30... I don’t remember. I guess I turned it off and only woke up once Chelsay checked her phone. 6:20. Woof. I say all this only to give you an idea of the mental state I was in over dinner. It was similar to that infamous Innsbruck dinner, where Chelsay and I giggled through our whole meal in a tired haze. After our mains, I asked Chelsay if it was time to call it a night... Despite having sour straws in the room, she insisted we stay at the restaurant for dessert. “Alright, well if we’re going to be here awhile, I need some extra bug spray.” I stumbled back to the room and, as I was re-applying, I heard singing in the distance. “Must be the ‘Kava Social’ by the fire pit,” I thought. ...These resorts always put on a show. Still in a sleepy haze, I leisurely made my way back to Chelsay. As I got closer though, I realized the singing wasn’t coming from the fire pit… it was coming from the restaurant. I turned the corner and could see they were surrounding Chelsay and I’s table... and Chelsay had her hands clasped over her mouth... and they weren’t making eye contact with her... and they had a cake. OH NO! They’d been singing this whole time for me!!!! Ahhhhh-I rushed back to the table, face bright red, and started clapping along as they sang a Fijian happy birthday song. I don’t know what they sang actually... it could’ve been the alphabet. I just tried to focus on Chelsay and not on the fact that the song had been going for at least three minutes. I thought to myself, “Chelsay must be so embarrassed!” And then I thought, “Oh no everyone thinks I was taking a shit!” The song finally wrapped up, and the waiters were laughing with Chelsay and I. They accusingly pointed out that it was the longest they’ve ever had to sing happy birthday… “Guys, I swear, I was putting on more bug spray!” Luckily a nearby couple caught the awkwardness of camera.

The next morning, Chelsay and I had scheduled back-to-back dives. We’ve been diving quite a bit recently, but it was still fun to float around the bottom of the ocean. Much like the local humans, Fijian fish seemed incredible friendly: the sea life was very comfortable with divers, staring back at Chelsay and I from only a few inches away.

After our dives, Chels and I took a 1.5 hour hike around the island, stopping at a secluded beach for private snorkelling. Along the hike, the resort had set up a few small exercise stations. One station was a tire flip... like what NFL prospects train with. This is probably why all the Polynesian players are so big. Anyway, Chelsay challenged me to flip it and I did so without difficulty. It must not have looked hard, because Chelsay confidently stepped up to try it herself. She bent down, grabbed the tire, lifted from her legs for less than one millisecond, and walked away with nothing but a “Nope.”

At dinner that night, first of all, there were no birthday song surprises. Second, we had phenomenal steak with a spread of beetroot, pea, and garlic purée. It was exceptional, as was every meal we ate at Paradise Cove. This can’t be overstated. I mentioned earlier that food in many Yasawan islands is poor, often limited to rice and fries. These resorts just aren’t prepared to meet all vacation comforts... Paradise Cove was ready though. Over our three days, we enjoyed tasty local kokoda, beef lettuce wraps, coconut crusted chicken, and their many fresh catches of the day.

The next morning, Chelsay and I joined a snorkel excursion through a nearby island channel. In Fiji, these channels serve as a funnel for pods of manta rays, which are probably my favorite non-dog animal. See, ever since our failed hunt for mantas in the Maldives, I’ve had an appreciation for how hard they are to find. Even though we’ve since seen entire pods of mantas, I’ll always jump at the slightest chance to see another. Our boat between the two islands, and the guide jumped in the water. He wore a weight belt so that he could sink down where the mantas swim, which I only mention because I want to remember how easily he descended 10 meters (30 feet), sitting in the dark blue for 2 minutes before resurfacing. This guy is a fish. On the other hand, Chelsay had a less graceful descent. When we scuba dived the day before, we exited the boat by sitting on the ledge, tanks over the water, and just falling backwards. The weight of the tank would naturally fall into the water and 360-degree flip you back to the surface. When snorkelling though, you don’t have the weight of the tank. Chelsay threw herself back and entered the water, but was too buoyant to complete a flip. She’d contoured herself into an arch, with her belly sticking out of the water and fins frantically trying to rotate over. She probably scared the mantas away. It took about 30 minutes of tense anticipation, but while staring down at the blue abyss, we heard the guide yell, “Manta!” Chelsay and I swam over quickly to take in the majestic giant. At around 3 meters wide, this female manta was bigger than me, yet swam with such gentle grace. Its grace is deceptive though, because it’s actually still moving quickly - between our hunt and subsequent chase, I probably swam 3 km that morning.

Chels and I were tired when we got back to Paradise Cove, but it was our last day so we decided to snorkel the house reef one more time. It was cool to see the soft coral again, but we were pooped. I actually had to tow Chelsay back: you know, when I swim in front and my wife just holds onto my foot.

As I was towing her, we passed over a shallow part of the reef but I kept powering along. Suddenly, Chelsay let go of my foot and started slapping the water. I stopped in my tracks, unsure what she was freaking out about. She swam off, so I followed, and it wasn’t until we’d gotten to shore that she told me what it was: apparently a venomous white-banded sea snake popped out and launched within 1.5 ft of me. That was enough sea life for this trip, so we spent the rest of the day on the resort’s inflated jungle gym. We laughed, played around, and attempted backflips (key word: attempted). Just a reminder that I’d turned 30 a few days before.

That note actually transitions well into my conclusion…

A lot of people get anxious about their 30th birthday. It isn’t a vitality thing - too early for that - but the anxiety comes more from gauging where you are vs where you thought you’d be. Life isn’t a checklist, but it’s natural to have expectations for when you turn 30, 40, etc. Well, I’m writing this from my villa patio in Fiji, so I’m nailing the “Where you are” part. To answer that question less literally though, I’ll instead consider “Where I am” against Chelsay and I’s life motto, something we wrote in our wedding vows: “We’ll never let age get in the way of our youth.” This is perfect motto for age-related milestones because youth isn’t a concept tied to age. It isn’t chapter in your life that just fades away. It’s a mindset, and it’s one you can measure whether you’re 5, 20, 30, 40, or 80. To be youthful is to be energetic, playful, and optimistic. Now I’m technically 30, but this milestone age doesn’t bother me. “Where I am” is energetic enough to swim with Mantas, playful enough to laugh at awkward cake situations and splash around on an inflatable jungle gym, and optimistic enough to make a celebratory Fiji weekend happen despite all of life’s complexities. I’m not worried about turning 30, because after the past weekend, I know I’m as youthful as I’ve ever been.