La Tour Eiffel et Moi

Croissant count so far this week... 4.

Oh la la. I give up sweets and take up vennoiserie. To be fair - I am extremely proud of moi for not caving while in Paris and going on a macaron binge! I have had two trips to Laudree to spoil my clients and have left empty-stomached both times.

I had another lovely breakfast at le85 and another lovely afternoon! I had a few hours break in between meetings in which I went to my favorite boulangerie in the Marais, bought demi baguette and slowly chewed my way through the entire thing as I wandered through le place des vosges, down Rue Francs Borgeois, past l'hotel de ville, across the pont and up the right bank.

I stopped to say hello to some old friends along the way to le Rue de Bac: like le Marche aux fleurs, la conciegerie, l'academie des beaux arts, and of course le pont des arts.

I noticed as I twirled towards it (I never walk in Paris, I twirl) that
thousands of little locks were hanging from both sides of the bridge, like jewelry. All shapes and sizes, from ancient looking padlocks to the very lock I had on my locker freshmen year of high school, hanging on every visible inch of the links that make up the sides of the bridge. Just like the pont vecchio, but cooler - because it's in Paris.

On all the locks were names of two lovers, like "Yves et Marie" or "Pierre aime Agnes." The lock is locked by the lovers and the key thrown into the Seine, so that it can never been undone. So, one can only do this for love that they know will last forever.

I think you know what I did next....

Of the thousands of love declaration locks I looked at, I didn't see any other like mine. I locked it in in the middle of the pont, on the side facing the little island that sticks out into the Seine, which is one of my favorite places to sit in Paris.

Everytime I come back, I will visit my lock on the pont des arts, which commemorates the great love story of my life: La Tour Eiffel et Moi.

My last meeting of the day dropped me in St. Germain, so I wandered down the Boulevard until I found myself in the Quartier Latin, and then continued past the Jardin du Luxembourg and the Sorbonne until I hit le Pantheon - one of my favorite buildings in Paris. And behind le Pantheon is one of my favorite Rues in Paris - le Rue Mouffetard. Or as I call it - la rue du fondue!

Since I can't have a birthday cake in Paris I can have birthday cheese!

The cutest Fondue and raclette restaurants you can imagine line the narrow, cobblestone street from top to bottom. After deciding on the cutest of the cute places, I sat down to le fondue charcuterie - a massive feast of potatoes, cured meats, bread, cornichons, and salade verte. Plus du vin rouge, of course. Every dip into the bubbling fromage made me want to stop time in live in the moment forever.

My waitor did not recognize I was Parisienne and asked in french where I was from. When I said New York, he replied in English with raised eyebrows "oh exotic!"
When he asked why I was here and I said business, he replied in English "oh exotic!" When I explained I live in London at the moment - you can probably guess his reply.
"oh exotic!"

I was beginning to think "exotic" was the only English word he knew. But when I asked for l'addition he said,
"Don't go please - you are pretty, please don't go."

FYI this is a frenchmen's reaction to any blonde female below the age of 70
- so I didn't let it go to my head.

When I paid with my metal, Chase preferred card he went nuts.

"oh la la, are you the daughter of a minister or something? I have never seen a card like this..."

My card also gave him my name, which he kept repeating for no apparent reason until I left. "Anna....Anna...Anna"
He was totally convinced I was a secret billionaire. Which if I was - why would I be eating here? Alone? I could buy myself French Friends and my own restaurant.

Après Fondueing myself silly, I walked it off with a long walk to the champs de mars to see la tour - since no evening in Paris is compete without watching la tour sparkle, and I believe wholeheartedly that when I am here, it sparkles just for me.

If my fondue was my birthday cake, then the tour was my birthday candle. So I made a wish as i watched it sparkle, and sang happy birthday to myself in French.


The first week of being twenty three has been pretty bon so far! Hopefully I can spend the first week of twenty four here too. And twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight....

Déjuener a Paris

Just mange-ing some déjuener at the Cafe du Marche - my favorite cafe on the Rue Cler, where I used to splurge on lunch as a student at AUP when it was too rainy to sit on the champs de mars with a baguette and fromage.

I happily turn down the menu Anglais and order in perfect French the tartare de saumon et un carafe d'eau from the large menu du jour scribbled in dusty chalk on the board on the wall. Just like old times.

I am one of several Parisians dining un seul. Slowly savoring each morceau of my tartare and the heavenly, creamy sauce that is sabotaging any chance it once had of being healthy. When I finish, I place my fork and knife at 10 o'clock and get lost in the symphony of French conversation around me. I look out to the lively market on the street with fromage, chocolate, fruits, pain... and as I always do in Paris - see la vie en rose.

Although it is raining - the day is beautiful to me, the damp air smells of cooking crepes and melting Nutella, and though there is no music playing, I can hear an acoordian happily tooting notes that perfectly capture the je ne sais quoi of Paris in way that nothing else could. I resist digging into the box of macaron to steal a cassis that I picked up at laudree for the client I'm meeting with later, and instead refill my carafe.

I think back to two years ago when I sat in this very chair as a jeune etuidant, taking French everyday and exploring the quartiers by night. My charming apartment in the marais and my (unwanted) pet mouse. Each day I fell more and more in love with this city, and since I've been away - absence has definitely made my cheese-filled heart grow fonder.

The waitress won't bring l'addition until I ask for it - so I sit, undisturbed, in my dream-like state, soaking in Paris and smiling for no particular reason except that I feel I am home.

I was warmly welcomed last night by my now old friends - Didier et Valerie - into their Haussmian home on the rue d'Hauteville. My stay with them last time was so wonderful i wouldn't consider anywhere else. They are now my French family.

We had some wine, of course, and we cheerfully chatted and laughed as they shared stories of other guests who have visited. This morning over fresh squeezed OJ and buttery croissants we continued to our franglais conversation.
This time, no week-old cupcakes were pulled from the fridge, but there was plenty of comedy nonetheless.

I am in the larger room this time, called the Eugienie. It has a lovely chaisse and an antique, Napoleon-era writing desk in addition to the fluffy, King-sized bed. The double French doors open to a long balcony looking over the rue, and I have to close the thick, golden silk curtains at night to keep the light from the iron street lamps from shining in. I fantasize about renting this room out from them for a year or two and living here as I lay cosied up under the thick duvet.

My dinner of a Demi-baguette has left me eagerly anticipating the morning and the fresh pain au raisin that Didier has promised me, since I somehow never managed to try one.

This is my third trip here since I moved to London in November, and while I want to see the whole world, I am quite certain I will never feel for any other city the way I feel about Paris.
Ours is a love that will stand the test of time.

Tomorrow evening is my birthday celebration with Eiffel Tower - something I have never done before, but cannot wait to make a tradition of!
I think the tour has big plans for the two of us. Let's just say when the sparkling begins at 9pm - I know exactly who it is sparkling for.

Bon nuits mes amis!

Fat Tuesday

This morning Joshua left for the last time, as I sobbed uncontrollably. It was such a treat to have him in and out for the last 5 weeks, I did not deal well with saying goodbye at all. I remained teary-eyed throughout most of the day, and found the site of my empty room mildly devastating.

Luckily, today is a day of celebration, and of feasting! At first I was a bit confused when I got an invitation from my small group at church to come to a pancake party. But then I remembered that the Tuesday before Lent is Mardi Gras! And what better way is there to drown one's sorrows than in a vat of Nutella?

The tradition of eating crepes on this wonderful day, was started as a way to use up all the oil, fat, sugar, and nutella before lent began, since lent is a time of fasting and abstaining from these things. It's a final day to indulge and be a biggy piggy before lent begins.

I always assumed the whole world referred to today as Mardi Gras, but I realized it's a bit like the hokey pokey (or the hokey cokey). Different parts of the world have different names for it.

Here in the United Kingdom, they call it Shrove Tuesday, Pancake Day or Pancake Tuesday.

The name Shrove comes from the old word "shrive" which means to confess. On Shrove Tuesday, in the Middle Ages, people used to confess their sins so that they were forgiven before the season of Lent began. They say pancake instead of crepe because they hate the French.

France and the US call it Mardi Gras - which means fat tuesday. However in France people do eat crepes, whereas in American it's all about just getting drunk and loads of beads.

In Greece - it's called "Apocreas," which apparently means "from the meat" since they don't eat meat during Lent, either. I'm not sure if they eat meat-filled pancakes or just tons of meat.

In Sweden , today is Fettisdagen. Which does actually translate to Fat Tuesday - but sounds way more fun.

In Germany it is "Fastnacht." Fat night - I believe. I should work on my German since I will be there in a month with my sister! I'm not sure if they eat pancakes or pretzels, but clearly it's something fatty.

My personal favorite is Iceland, where the day is known as "Sprengidagur," which means Bursting Day.

I certainly felt like I could burst after 3 crepes, or pancakes as they call them. 1 savory, 2 sweet. It was so fun to sit watching the Brit awards with a bunch of Brits and properly celebrate Fat Tuesday for the first time ever!

I was so surprised really at how many people were celebrating. In the grocery store, the pancake-filling items were nearly out! Sitting on the bus on the way there, I realized I was surrounded by others going to pancake parties of their own, and nearly every restaurant I passed had a special pancake menu alluring posted outside.

This year, I am going to attempt to give up sweets. I used to do this every year, but have pursed other ideas the past few years. But once again, sugar-free I will be. At least until my sister arrives. Once she is here it will be a downward spiral of buttercream frosting and sticky toffee everything! Then onto Munich we will go to stuff ourselves with pretzels and Bavarian cream! So for the next month I will be dieting to prepare for the mass consumption ahead. I will also be practicing my German - since the only word I know is biergarten. I have a funny feeling though that I wont need to know much more than that, and how to order a pretzel!

Thoughts From a WAG

My life is becoming a series of plane rides, bus trips, and train tickets.

I realized today that not one weekend in February will be spent roaming the cute, old, streets of London. I kicked off the month in Granada, continued onto Oxford, and spent the past weekend in Blackpool at the biggest magic convention in the world.

Normally I would be thrilled to get to see a new English town, but Blackpool is not exactly cute and quaint like other places I've visited. Josh described it as the Myrtle Beach of England: A trashy, sea-side town with a crap beach, a run-down amusement park and a variety of even more run0down hotels. For some reason, this is the location the wizards chose to congregate. Maybe it's to remain inconspicuous, so no one catches on that they are wizards.

We are lucky enough to be staying in town's best B&B, The Gallery. Our "suite" is unlike anywhere I've ever stayed. It is really.... indescribable.
The entry door has no handle for one thing. If you know my current profession, you could understand how this is a particulary large problem.

Once inside, a series of doors appeared. Very appropriate for the theme of the weekend, actually.

Behind door number one - a shower!

Behind door number two - a toilet!

Behind door number three - a bed!

And there next to the bed, the world's smallest sink!

The camoflague-print curtains went very well with the vintage-Paris wallpaper, the chinese lantern functioning as a chandlier, and the huge mirror with a border of creepy 3D shruken heads.

Since Josh had to spend all day behind his booth demonstrating and selling tricks, I was originally planning on spending time lounging in the room or exploring the town.
However, turns out the only attraction to see in Blackpool is the Blackpool tower - which my cab driver told me was a "must see." I saw the looming, iron thing in the distance and decided to pass. The only tower I'm interested in is the Eiffel.

So I spent most of the day in the convention center at Josh's booth, trying to help him make a lot of sales so his attitude about this country would improve. Josh and Andi had a lot of success with their newest trick where a randomly chosen card appears in a picture "painted" out of the deck. They added some spins and dance moves when they performed it to get the crowd extra-excited.

Having been to a magic convention just a month ago, I thought I knew what to expect. The difference is - that one had a total of 300 people, and this one has 3,000. Instead of 5 dealers, there are about 100. The loonies were not really present at The Session - except for the grown man dressed as a dragon with his dog in tow. But being at the Blackpool convention was a lot like being at the Circus. Sword swallowers, clowns, and men in crazy costumes all around. There was even a tiger.

What's particulary strange for me is that Josh is a celebrity in this circus world. Everyone knows who he is and wants pictures, signed cards, and of course - to see a trick, or to show him one. Because I appear in nearly all his videos for his tricks as the "spectator" - they know who I am too.

We females are rare at magic conventions. The ones in attendance are mostly what magicians refer to as "Magic WAGs".
This, of course, stands for Magic Wives and Girlfriends.

Yes, I am considered a Magic WAG. But it is better than being referred to as a Lamen, which is how Josh used to desrcirbe me to his friends. A Magic WAG usually knows a thing or two about magic, is hard to fool, and helps her hubby out at the booth. After 3 years, I fit the title well.
I not only helped at the booth, but actually demo-ed a trick or two when Josh or Andi had a step away for a moment. I was total crap at it - but I did made a sale all on my own.

So what types of things can one expect to find available for purcase at a magic convention?

The hottest in haute-couture performance wear...

Magic wands in all colors, shapes, and sizes...

Balloon Animals....

and of course, a few dummies....

There was quite a nice selection of oversized clown shoes and face paint for the kid magicians, loads of gizmos and high-tech gadgets for the sauve magicians, viles of blood and cauldrons for the Lord Voldemorts out there, and of course a huge variety of cups and ball and magic rings and all the classic tricks for the new beginners.

Strolling around the dealer's booths was definitely interesting - but things really got exciting when the evening performances began. Among the many talented men showing their skills, the highlight was definitely the long-haired warlock man dancing with floating, mid-evil looking lanterns. Hands down.

I decided to call it an early night, while Josh continued onto The Ruskin - where 3,000 magicians pack into a 12x12, dark, musky bar to drink themselves silly and do tricks until the wee hours of the morning. It's very Three Broomsticks-esque. Minus the Butterbeer.
Trying to choose between that, and watching High School Musical 3 in the un-comfort of our bizarre hotel room was a tough call - but at 10pm last night I was tucked in, swooning over Zac Efron in my pjs, and happy as a clam.

So now I'm on the train headed back to London, and in exactly 12 hours I will be on the Eurostar to Paris. A last minute lunch meeting arose with an important French client, so I have to spend tomorrow in Paris wine-ing and manger-ing. Quelle dommage....

I'll be back in time for a last supper with Josh before he leaves the country for good, and I become one very sad and puffy-eyed Londoner. Perhaps I'll have to stop at Pierre Herme and pick up some of my favorite macaron to console myself once he's gone. If un macaron carmel burre salee can't lift my spirits, nothing can.

Bon nuit mes amis.

23.

My lack of writing can be explained by the week's events.

Monday my new nephew was born! I am now the proud aunt to 3 little boys and a girl. Seeing as I am one of 5, I often wonder what the total count of grandchildren will be for my parents. My guess is around 15. I plan on having 5 little French children of my own someday. Or maybe I will raise them English... I do like how proper all the children are here. You don't often here "May I please..." as the start of 3 year old's sentence.

I was fighting for my nephew to be named Pierre. Or Jean-Pierre. But my sister favors Italian names over French, so Enzo is his name-o.

He is perfect. I can't wait to buy him little British outfits!

Tuesday It was Valentine's Day! Which also happens to be my dad's birthday - so it's cause for extra celebration! Valentine's Day has always been my favorite holiday after Christmas. Mostly due to the proximity to my annual celebration(s) of my life, and the fact that because it is two birthdays in my family, often the lot of us get together to celebrate.

Love was in the air here in London! I was very pleased to find heart-shaped everythings covering the city, bundles of roses being delivered every which way, and a general sense of sweetness in the air.

My morning kicked off with the donning of my Valentine's Dress. I always like to dress for the holidays , so I found a very modern Victorian, pale pink dress with black lacey bits.

I headed into work, where I jotted down my to-do list in the spirit of the day.

My boss saw it and said,

"are your bullet points hearts?"

You should have seen my lists in the days leading up to Christmas....

I had an afternoon meeting which conveniently deposited me across from the door to the Laudree inside Harrods. Thank you, fate - for always being on my side.

I treated myself to deux macaron, raspberry and rose. Both pink of course, to match my pink dress. I wandered into the handbag section slowly devoured them in front of the Chloe display. Eating perfection while starring at perfection.

Josh and I went out for a quiet, romantic dinner in Mayfair - and then headed to the main event: The Pudding Parlour.

The English use the word "puddings" for desserts. Not just actual pudding are puddings, but all desserts. So instead of getting a dessert menu, you often get a menu that says "puddings." This is still very confusing to me - I still can't quite wrap my head around it, but that's the way it is.

So, when I found out that the Hotel Athenaeum has an evening Pudding Parlour, a fancy buffet of desserts where one can indulge in all the puddings their heart desires for £10 - my future diabetic self was there.

Our plates looked like this.

That's sticky toffee pudding, bread and butter pudding, caramel cake pops, a brownie, and a lemon meringue tart on the left. On the right, rhubarb crumble, a macaron, a white chocolate pistachio tart, and more sticky toffee pudding.

Mid-enjoyment, I had to loosen my belt, and we left oinking.

Wednesday was...... Mon Anniversaire!!

I am now 23. Holy roly poly, how did this happen? I never wanted to age past 18.

Even though aging is not fun, and I have no desire to be older and wiser, I LOVE birthdays.

Not just my birthday, but birthdays in general. Even strangers birthdays! And why shouldn't I?

I don't get people who don't make a big deal out of their birthday - it is the celebration of you! The day you arrived into the world! It IS a big deal, whether you chose to treat it that way or not. I have always chosen to.

I celebrate the whole month really, and always having at least 3 celebrations. Usually a heart-felt family celebration, a crazy friends celebration, and a romantic boyfriend celebration. This year, things were looking grim - since here in London I have no local family, friends, or boyfriend. But then Sir Joshua decided to swoop in and save the day, and treated me to my first English celebration - and what a celebration it was!

I'd been saving my dress from Paris to debut on my birthday, and Josh had conveniently just bought a 3-piece suit at Reiss, so I decided we should dress up and hit the town! A bit impractical given the cold winter's night, perhaps... so to compliment my craziness I slipped into my 5 inch heels I can barely walk in, and grabbed my Eiffel Tower Timmy Woods purse that literally can't fit anything but a small lip gloss. Go big, or go chez-vous, I always say!

Besides, Josh's 3 piece suit meant 3 pieces of pockets to hold my things that didn't fit in my impossibly small handbag.

We had a delicious dinner and Kir Royale toast at The Ivy; and when I say toast I mean me toasting myself because Josh does not drink. Josh gave me my card at a dinner, a tradition in our relationship - which was quite appropriate given the minor panic attack I had about an hour beforehand while getting ready that we were going to be late to dinner and loose our reservation, and be wandering the streets starving and miss the show.

From our first bite of bread to our last bite of mango tarte tatin with black pepper ice cream with "Happy Birthday" written in swirly chocolate- everything was simply brilliant. There were also 6 cupcakes awaiting us at home for post-theatre dessert, because no birthday is complete without a lot of cake. And frosting.

The evening continued at the Victoria Palace Theatre - where Josh took me to see Billy Elliot. All the more reason to wear a tutu dress, in my opinion. Billy is my favorite show, and since it has regrettably closed in New York, I was dying to see it here, where it all began.

Josh did think I was slightly insane for wanting to see a show I have already seen 9 times, but he just nodded, smiled, and agreed. He must be quite aware by now of the fact that most of the time I am totally bonkers, completely illogical, and would have it no other way.

Tottering around in my sky-high heels, trying to stop my dress from eating the woman sitting next me in the theatre, and swinging around my empty but amazing handbag with the one I love on my arm and a belly full of gourmet food and cupcakes was a perfect way to turn 23.

I have had a very special and blessed week so far, and am looking forward to continuing the celebration for the rest of the month. And maybe even a bit into the month of March.

Off to Oxfordshire

If I could have a do-over in life, I would go back to my high school years and change my college dream of studying fashion in New York to becoming a Rhodes scholar at Oxford University.

Arriving in the city of dreaming spires this afternoon, I felt very much indeed like I was dreaming. Oxfordshire, England, or Hogwarts, is now one of my favorite towns.

The gorgeous gothic architecture towering high above the cobblestone streets made me feel as small as Alice after falling down the rabbit hole. Most of the limestone towers have been standing since the 9th century when the university was founded. And most of the limestone towers were also used in the filming of the various Harry Potter films. Imagine my glee.

I got off the Oxford Tube just in time for the 12pm walking tour. The guide, William, was a Oxford graduate himself, a student in the 1980s! It was excellent to have an insider's insight, but I couldn't help but wonder why an Oxford-educated man is making his living giving £8 walking tours of the college.

Moments after passing through the gates of Trinity college, I became green with envy of the students casually filtering out of the dining room and heading back to their "dorms" - which are gorgeous, old buildings surrounding meticulously groomed commons. Like this.

I learned that when one applies to Oxford, they have to apply to one of the 30 some schools within the university. Whatever school you get into becomes your home while you are at Oxford. Each school has their own little gated away buildings with housing, a garden, a dining hall, and a chapel. All one needs in life really! Shelter, food, and God.

Some of the schools are more prestigious than others - boasting a plethora of impressive graduates and rowing trophies.

Some of the famous Oxonians are J.R. Tolkien, Hugh Grant, Rupert Murdoch, Bill Clinton, C.S. Lewis, Oscar Wilde, and nearly every Prime Minister Britain has had. All from various schools.

The tour took my into Trinity, Queen's, Lincoln, and the oldest - University College, which was established in 1249.

Yes, that rights - 1249! Learned men were building the spires of Oxford and the US wasn't even discovered yet.

At each college, we walked around the gardens - where in the summer students play croquet, peered into the dining halls - where a full english breakfast had just been served to the lucky people who get to call themselves students, and popped into the Chapels - where we were greeted by a left hat or a candle lit as an offering.

After the proper tour was over - I headed out on my own tour, which I like to call "Pottering Around Oxford." First stop - Christ Christ College of course. Inspiration for Hogwarts Castle.

The main staircase is the actual staircase climbed by all the first years in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone before they enter the great hall and are sorted. So basically, I walked up the stairs to Hogwarts - grinning ear to ear and surrounding by other HP fans doing the same thing.

At the top of the staircase is the dining hall, which was the inspiration for the set built for the films.

I headed from Christ Church College to the world famous Bodleian Library, which was used throughout the movies as the library in Hogwarts - and it was easy to see why. They could not have a built a set that was more magical!!

The library is for all the Oxford students, and is a reference only library - as some of the treasures include a 14th century manuscript of Marco Polo's travels, the last telegram from the Titanic before it sunk, the Magna Carta, and Shakespeare's First Folio from 1632. The main shelves are stacked with the oldest, largest, coolest looking leather-bound, parchment-filled books you can imagine. They look like props - but are in fact some of the oldest books in the world.

The library is entitled to a copy of every book that is published in the United Kingdom, so they literally have a copy of everything - and receive about 5,000 new titles a week. As you can imagine, they had to expand their shelves to a vast underground network and a new wing. Sometimes students have to wait up to 3 hours for a librarian to retrieve the title they've requested. There's no wand-waving in the real world of this library.

On a typical day the Bodleian is full of scholars quietly reading their ancient books to research for a paper and prepare for a examen. But since it was a Saturday and afterhours, the library was closed. If I went to Oxford I would find an excuse to step into that room everyday. It was simply magical.

Last on my list was New College, where one can see the common area and tree where Malfoy was turned into a ferret by Mad Eye Moody in HP4. However on the way there I realized it was 5pm and I had eaten just 3/4 of a banana all day. Overcome with sudden starvation, I popped into charming little restaurant off the high street and ordered a roasted pumpkin and ricotta pizza - which to my waitresses complete shock, I ate in it's entirety. I felt exactly like Harry. Escaping London, coming to Hogwarts, and having a massive feast.

Sitting in my carb comma, I checked my Oxford Guide to see what sites I had yet to visit, and realized that as of 5:30pm - everything was shut to visitors. My bus ticket was not until 8. By the time I paid and got outside, it was dark, freezing, and everything was closed. Damn this country and it's ridiculous business hours!

I found myself near to the bus stop, and figured I may as well just catch the earlier bus back since everything was now closed. So after a few minutes standing in the freezing cold, the Oxford Tube pulled up, and I pulled out my ticket.

The bus driver, who very much resembled Dudley Veron, glanced at my ticket and said,

"That's for the 8 o'clock bus."

I explained my situation, and begged if I could please get on this bus instead since it was cold, and everything was shut, and there were loads of empty seats, and all the tickets were the same price anway. But Dudley was not having it.

"You have to take the bus that you bought the ticket for. NO EXCEPTIONS."

I stood pleading with him for a few minutes but he outright refused. I felt like telling him he was rude, and mean, and looked like a giant sausage roll trapped in a bus driver's uniform.

But instead I thought, "what would Jesus do," and I apologized, and stepped back into the cold.

I decided that with two hours to kill I was going to sneak into New College and see the Malfoy tree even if I had to pay the guard to let me slide past. As I approached the gate I rehearsed my lost student act, but found the post totally abandoned and walked right in! So much for security. If anyone asked I would be a lost student - new to Oxford from Sweden and not able to speak . (People always think I'm Swedish)

New College was definitely among the most beautiful, with a towering wall enclosing the college and gothic archways over doors leading to residences. As I approached the commons with the famous, ferret tree I heard an organ faintly begin to play, and followed the sound to the Chapel.

The Evesong was just beginning! Delighted, I stepped inside and found myself facing a towering, carved stone alter and choir of ruffle-necked little boys, singing like angels in a dark, candel-lit Chapel. The hour service that proceeded brought tears to my eyes. The organ, the choir, the magnificent stained-glass windows flanking the marbled nave of the chapel - it was too beautiful for words. And if it weren't for Dudley I would have missed the whole thing.

It reminded me that there is a reason for everything happening. I believe that stumbling upon that Evensong service at New College Chapel in Oxford, which was one of the most special things I have ever witnessed, was like a reward for keeping calm and carrying on when faced with Dudley Vernon, the sausage roll bus driver.

My day at Oxford could not have ended in a more delightful way. After leaving the service, I had just enough time for a quick cup of lavender tea before my correct bus arrived. On the way home, I worked on my application essay. I figure if I'm going to be a member of the Royal Family, I better have an Oxford Education.

Olé!

My excuse for not writing this whole week is that Joshua is back in town, and requires my constant attention and supervision, because he is, afterall, a man.

This week has been a whirlwind of fun and puddings, and it's about to get more fun because tomorrow morning we take off for Granada!

This will be my first time in Spain. Not my first time as a Parisian in a Spanish-speaking country though. Thankfully Josh is fluent because my Spanish vocabulary is limited to hola, tapas, amigo, and churro. And I don't think churros are actually even Spanish.

I am very excited to have a Spanish adventure! I am a bit concerned about Spanish desserts though, since the only one I know of is flan - and I think we can all agree that flan is the worst. I may bring some chocolate bars along with us in case I can't find anything delicious to satisfy my sweet tooth. The savory tooth is covered because my Granadaian flatmate recommended some of her favorite restaurants, and we discovered are going to be there over a big festival and holiday in which a lot of cooking goes on! Bring on the paella!

It's been a jolly good week in London. Due to Josh being on Fiji time for the last 2 weeks, he is waking up everyday at 5am, and thus waking me up everyday at 5am. This sounds like doom, but it has actually been really fun because we get a whole morning for activity time together before I have to go into jail (or what some refer to as work).

Yesterday we were at the gym at 6am, I did a full zumba class, we took a lovely walk about my neighborhood, and went for a delicious breakfast - all before 9am! It was amazing. By the time I sat down at my desk I was so wired from the 3 coffees I already had drank and so high on the endorphins from my workout that I felt like I could take on the world! I should start everyday that way!

I am trying to get Joshua to change his sentiments on London. He has never liked it here for some reason I cannot understand. My plan A is to get him to love London so he will want to move over here for the remainder of my year. If that fails, my plan B is to steal his passport so that he cannot leave.

I think I'm going to have to result to plan B because his attitude towards this city is not improving. For one thing it has suddenly become freezing this week - and he arrived from 2 weeks in Fiji - so that is not helping. He is also having a hard time dealing with the early closing hours of everything, and finding some random essentials he needs - like floss.

We had to ask three different people in the store where the floss was before we found it.

The first guy had no idea what we were even saying, so we left him and found another - who was equally as clueless, so he motioned over his friend-worker to try to help.

"Floss," Josh said clearly and loudly as the guy cocked his head in confusion.

"DENTAL FLOSS," Josh repeated louder.

The man then opened his mouth to reveal the most horrible set of teeth you can imagine and repeated with a thick, foreign accent, "Dental?"

Clearly flossing is unknown territory in this country.

Actually, I think all forms dental maintenance may be. But I love the English regardless of their tooth decay.

I really don't know anything about what the Spaniards are like - but can't wait to find out!

Going on what the Spanish dolls look like on the "It's A Small World" ride in Disney World, I'm imagining everyone in matador attire or long, ruffled skirts. Maybe Josh and I can locate these sort of outfits and mix in with the natives?

This is going to be my first weekend adventure to somewhere new since arriving, so I am very excited to swap out an English cup of Earl Grey for a Spanish glass of Sangria and get my salsa dancing on in the streets of Granada!

Olé!