I think I killed a duck!

Some tidbits from our recent trip to Stockholm & London:

How Not to Behave as an American Abroad...or, "Get away from me before people realize I'm not Canadian, you obnoxious freak."

Since it was August recess for Parliament (those wacky Brits - they steal everything from us), Jeremy and I were able to do a full tour of the Houses of Parliament. In our tour group was a large man, with a large camera, who wanted to talk to everyone. That's fine. Be friendly. But at some point, you should just shut up.

• Asking the small child in front of you if she wanted to run for Parliament one day, when she was actually from St. Vincent and the Grenadines?
  
• Asking us where we're from, then proclaiming, "Hey, I know that place - no poor people live there!" WTF?
  
• "Subtly" acting the know-it-all by asking questions such as: "Isn't it true that [insert non-related and obscure British history fact here]?"
  
• And, my favorite - when I try to be friendly and tell you about our trip to Sweden, and you ask if the groom or the bride was Swedish, and I say the groom, and YOU say, "All those beautiful Swedish women, and he marries an American?"And I say, rather snarkily, "Well, she's beautiful too," and you still keep talking to me?
  

Just. Shut. Up.

Experiencing Flying into Reagan National Airport through the Eyes of a Geeky UK Adolescent...or, "Wedgies transcend continents, don't they?"

He was sitting behind us, and honestly quite a sweet boy (even though you knew he probably spent a lot of time with his underwear pulled over the back of his head). The older lady sitting next to him, who was American and not traveling with him, kept patiently answering his questions and trying to point out the sites. My favorite moments:

• Him mistaking an apartment complex for the Pentagon--then calling out "Pentagon, Pentagon!" in this lovely cockney accent when we actually did fly over it a few minutes later
• The lady sitting next to him thought he said, "I haven't seen any mountains," to which she tried to explain that DC is not a mountainous area, to which he replied, "No, no, Mountain Dew. I haven't seen any Mountain Dew yet."
• Anyone who has flown into Reagan knows how close you get to the river and the monuments. At one point, as we approached the runway, he cries out, "We might have to ditch!"

Other sites seen during our trip include Skansen (think Colonial Williamsburg meets zoo meets gift shop), Stockholm City Hall (lovely but disappointingly young in age--built 1911), Westminster Abbey (with audio tour narrated by Jeremy Irons--think Scar from The Lion King saying, "Welcome to Westminster Abbey,"), the Tower of London (complete with Beefeater named "Dickey"), the British Museum (eww, mummies!), and Avenue Q (Wow. Those puppets are having sex.)

All that, and somehow the only souvenirs we came home with were clothes from the Gap (it was hotter than we expected in London and we hadn't packed correctly), some Christmas ornaments ("Look, cute little Danish people!" I exclaimed, to which Jeremy replied, "Um, I think they're probably Swedish,") and a moose in a Swedish scarf. Using our extremely limited Swedish vocabulary, we named him Hiss Tack (Elevator Thank You).

It was a lovely vacation...but next time, I think we're due for a"lie on the beach and drink margaritas" holiday.

Do you have seventeen dollars and a good watch?

Lesson the First: The quickest way to London Gatwick airport is not Grosvenor House—Paddington Station—Heathrow—Paddington Station—Victoria Station—London Gatwick.

Lesson the Second: Sprinting across London while lugging a giant suitcase, during rush hour, and on an empty stomach, is absolutely no fun.

Lesson the Third: Lugging said suitcase through the London Underground is particularly not fun given the absence of intra-station escalators.

Lesson the Fourth: If you and your spouse are particularly OCD and arrive at the (wrong) airport 2 hours early, you can still make your flight. It involves a taxi, roundtrip on the Heathrow Express train, the underground, a London-Gatwick train, check-in staff willing to work with you, and a sprint to the gate, but you can make it. If the flight is delayed.

Lesson the Fifth: Both parties should be aware of all traveling details, particularly if one member of said party has a history of air travel gaffes (say, booking a flight on the wrong day and not realizing until you arrive at the airport to fly down South to visit your brand new nephew for the first time). But don't worry, Jeremy, I'm not pointing fingers.

Lesson the Sixth: After such a traveling nightmare, that $8 Budweiser you buy on the plane tastes pretty damn good.

En gång i Sverige

My favorite quote from my recent trip to Stockholm: "If I've learned anything walking around this city, it's that the Vikings did everything naked." Thanks, Sean. If I learned anything walking around Stockholm, it's that the Swedes never met a legging they didn't like.

Of course, Stockholm was gorgeous. Seventy degrees, clear blue skies, a light breeze…although I am assured that it is not quite so lovely in, say, January. The people are out of this world—friendly, English-speaking (hooray), gorgeous and…tan? How does that happen? As if the women weren't beautiful enough, they're naturally tan? Sweden is also in the midst of a baby boom. I am convinced that they are breeding an army of blond, leggy soldiers to woo us all into submission.

The real reason for the trip was my friend Red's wedding. Everything was beautiful, and a nice mix of Swedish and American tradition. I loved that, since the letter 'V' doesn't really exist in Swedish, the minister led them in an "Exchange of Wows." Also, at one point the toastmaster, who had just finished telling us about some of the Swedish Prime Minister's gaffes in English (thanking someone from the heart of his bottom, etc.), proceeded to tell us to "shave ourselves." I'm still not sure what he was actually trying to say. I didn't think we were a particularly hairy group.

I think the turning point for the festivities was after the white wine course and the Akvavit course (some kind of liquor made from potatoes), but before the first food course was served. Since I had signed up to give a toast, and I didn't know when my time would come, I held back a bit on the alcohol. I could just envision myself launching into a Swedish Chef impression while telling embarrassing stories about the bride. Thankfully my time slot turned out to be pretty early in the evening.

After my toast it all becomes a bit of a blur. Red wine, Bailey's on ice, Swedish drinking songs which required us all to link arms and sway back and forth…not to mention champagne on the boat ride over and seabreezes upon our arrival at the reception site. At brunch the next morning, I had to admit that I wasn't quite sure how we'd gotten back to the hotel the night before. I'm told that the same group that had marched through Stockholm to the pier, following the beautiful bride and groom with balloons and greenery (Exhibit A), had upon its return from the pier devolved into a mad Swedish/American mass of drunkards stumbling about in dress shoes (Exhibit B).

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

It was a time that I will always remember (well…mostly, anyway)! Congratulations, Red and Nils!