My office bought two bags of individually-wax-wrapped Babybels, and all save three were eaten.

I thought the days of this famous little, round cheese were over, and then I came to London. Er, I happened to make friends with people who actually indulge in this strange, rubbery and completely unnecessary wonder--and whose stomachs actually forgive them for partaking!

I remember the days of opening my grandparents' fridge, hoping that, among the mini Hershey's bars with almonds, I'd find a few babybels--leftover golden nuggets from Grandad's airplane trips wrapped in red wax. If I found more than one, and I usually did, I'd grab them all, have a seat at Nonnie and Papa's kitchen table, lay them in front of me, and decide which dairy wheel I'd eat first. As I pealed away the wax tab, a delicious and potential heart attack displayed itself in the form of a little white roundel. Yum.

I'm not sure what happened next. After a few years the Babybels either stopped appearing or I simply realized how disgusting they were. In any case, after a night of drinking in London I had my first in years. A poor choice, indeed. One Babybel, coupled with a foot-long pepperoni stick is a deadly combination. You will inevitably suffer from bad breath and indigestion all night. The next morning I thought I had ordered a McDonald's quarter pounder. 

Squirrels. More squirrels!!

Playing Noah

This guy is crazy! God speed you shiny black moose!

Want to know what's more nerve wracking than arriving in London?

Leaving.

I've tried desperately to push back the thought of my impending departure, but it's nearly impossible to ignore the truth: I fly in two weeks.

Time has moved quickly. I blink and a week has begun and ended. Luckily I haven't squandered my days away, but there's so much more I want to see and too much I want to hang on to.

Yesterday we wandered into a tearoom on the Southbank, and while I was disappointed to find they didn't serve bubble tea, it was a nice surprise to hear an American accent from behind the counter. Whoever he was had been to Kansas City before. I think his comment was "Really good barbecue."

We ate our food for a while. It was fun. The tea was delicious. My orange was even better. I was excited for the Design Museum. I was loving London. And then, over the speaker, I heard, "I'm going to Kansas City, Kansas City here I come."

I think it's time to go, said he.



Oh, but it isn't.

Fran + Anntravaganza: The pics

It's impossible to take a bad picture in Paris.

Warm, wonderful, sunny. It was everything I thought Paris to be. Cafes on every corner, with Parisian men in black smoking cigarettes, deep in conversation with their beautiful French girlfriends. Baguettes. Flowers. Miss Antoinette could have been anywhere. France is for the lovers. Paris, je 'taime.




The weather was a wonderful break from the blustery moodiness of the UK. but after a long day, coupled with the shock (we can't read military time) of missing our train home, it was good to be back in lovely London. I'll take unpredictability any day:

Nothing like a springtime snow in Kensington Gardens. Thankfully the flakes stuck for a while--perfect for a lone Frosty!

Fran + Anntravaganza

My mom and my grandmother got back to the states on Monday night after a successful five-day trip to visit me in London. We ate too much, drank (maybe too much at times), and had a generally excellent time.

Highlights include and are not limited to:

Tate Modern, Kensington Palace, Nonnie's stories about the Mayan culture, Ann's fascination with the talking elevators, my own discovery of British television (since the tv in our flat doesn't work), missing the last Eurostar train home from Paris, having to stay the night in a Parisian hotel that smelled like curry, a spring snow, and of course, the countless bounding pups in Hyde Park.

Jolly good fun. Photos to come.

Attack!

This squirrel business is too good...and bizarre.