The national treasures of Great Britain as ascertained by my twelve-year-old self

I am headed to the UK on Saturday to work out of my company’s Oxford office for a week. It has been 17 years since my first trip to England, but the impression the experience made upon me was indelible.

What follows is a comprehensive list of the very best things about England as determined by my very wise twelve-year-old self, punctuated with photographs of me at a delightfully awkward moment in my adolescent development.

Benetton sweatshirts
We arrived in London in June 1995, ready for a sunny summer week in Merrie Old England. Boy, were we surprised to discover that the high temperatures in London that week were barely going to reach the 50s Fahrenheit. Our Tennessee flipflops and tank tops suddenly seemed woefully inadequate. Possibly this was for the best.

I proposed that we take advantage of the plush spa robes in our hotel for outerwear:


But my mother did not think this was a tenable solution. So we had to make some purchases. Mama bought me a United Colors of Benetton sweatshirt, and by some miracle of the internet I have found a stock photo of the exact sweatshirt:


And just like that, I fit right in in foggy Londontown.


Take That
The only song in London that summer was “Back For Good” by Take That. It played on MTV Euro approximately a dozen times per hour. I became instantly obsessed. It was cold and rainy outside, and if I had had my druthers I would have spent the entire week ordering room service and watching Take That croon soulfully in a rainstorm on the TV installed above the bathtub in our hotel room.

Hearing the opening notes of this song still gives me a pang. I was furious when the song became popular stateside a few months later and my own private England song became available for public consumption.



tiny cars
We went to Lloyd’s of London headquarters to visit my uncle Larry, who was based out of NYC but who commuted to the UK regularly for work. We took a van so small that I probably could have reasonably brought it onboard my return flight to Nashville as a carry-on.



mango chutney
I had my first proper Indian meal in London that week. My dad and I went for a special dinner, just the two of us.



We were served fresh mango chutney. Our Middle American eyes had never seen such a condiment. We tried it--and we liked it. And then we talked about it for years to come. Mango chutney is still just about the fanciest thing to me.




Harrods
Apparently Americans aren’t the only people who enjoy a giant department store. Harrods is like Walmart, if Walmart was REALLY fancy. Their motto is Omnia Omnibus Ubique, which is Latin for Everything for Everyone Everywhere. (Name another country where even the department stores have Latin mottoes.) While I appreciate the jaunty Latin (and you know I do), I would amend it to Omnia Divitibus Ubique or Everything for Rich People Everywhere.

I begged and begged my mom to let me try the sushi at the famous Food Hall. She said I had to wait until we were back in Nashville where I could get to a doctor if I needed to. Sushi is dangerous business.


wax sculptures
I mean, we had to go to Madame Tussauds.







scones
A lot about English culture seemed really foreign to me, but they have one tradition that I found very easy to get on board with: afternoon tea. I truly don’t understand why Americans haven’t adopted this brilliant custom. Fancy snacks with tea? YES PLEASE. I had never had a scone before this trip. My family enjoyed afternoon tea so much that we had it every day we were in London. The waiter spoke with a heavy accent that has resulted in my family referring to to milk as “mik” for the last seventeen years. We are highly impressionable people.



stones of scones
Enthusiastic as I was for afternoon tea, I was STOKED about going to see the Stone of Scone. Just imagine my disappointment.



As you can see, I am pretty much an expert on England. That’s why I’m so looking forward to my glorious return. I have been promised a cream tea by my colleagues. I THINK THAT MEANS SCONES Y’ALL


Discussion question:
Have you been to England?

Things I think you should do in the French Quarter

Once again, I have been lured away from the YA I'm writing right now and back to ma blog to address a request. It seems that a number of my dear friends are visiting New Orleans this fall and need suggestions for things to do. Well. WELL.

Anyone lucky enough to be heading to New Orleans for the Mardi Gras can go armed with the sage knowledge I provided in my Mardi Gras Do's and Don'ts post, but what about folks heading to the Big Easy for the other forty-someodd weeks of the year? Don't worry. I've got y'all's backs with some hot picks from a former NOLA resident.

The French Quarter is only six blocks by thirteen blocks, but most people have a hard time remembering to go anywhere else when they come to New Orleans. There's just so much to do! French Quarter residents have reported to me that they've literally gone six months without leaving the bounds of the Quarter. So without further ado, I present to you:

QuidQuid's French Quarter Picks

FANCY FOOD

My pick: Galatoire's Restaurant


photo credit: jussissipi's flickr

You have to eat some French Creole food while you're in New Orleans. You just have to.

Maybe it's because it's the first place I ever ate in New Orleans, I don't know. There are a lot of fancy historical French Creole restaurants in the French Quarter--Antoine's, Broussard's, Tujaque's--but Galatoire's is the spot as far as I'm concerned. This is French Creole cuisine at its finest. I'd recommend something on the menu, but why bother? Chicken Clemenceau? Poisson Meunière Amandine? Close your eyes and point at one. It's all incredible.


I don't even know what this is and I'd eat it

It's expensive, but hey, this is the Fancy Food section! It doesn't' matter how much you spend, anyway. You will walk out of that place feeling like you should probably just Lieutenant Dan it into the Mississip' out of pure prandial delight. Just don't forget to have a cup of the turtle soup au sherry before you go.


NONFANCY FOOD

My pick: Verdi Marte


photo credit: melinnis's flickr

Sandwiches are a very important part of New Orleans cuisine. You've got your muffulettas, of course, which can only be purchased at Central Grocery. If you need a burger, you head to Port of Call. But far and away the most important sandwich in NOLA is the po boy. It's a sub sandwich done as only New Orleans can do it--on halved French bread with incredible fillings like fried shrimp, roast beef, or even french fries.


photo credit: Ryan Boren

If you need a po boy--and believe me, you need a po boy--you need to take yourself to Verdi Marte. You're going to get there and say Are you kidding me? but trust me. This is the best fast food in the city. It burned down a couple of years ago, but it's cool--Verdi Marte is back and better than ever. So go get you some.

You should probably also have breakfast at Mother's on Poydras (just outside the Quarter), lunch at Angeli on Decatur, and cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe du Monde across from Jackson Square. You're going to need to eat a lot while you're there.


JAZZ CLUBS

My pick: Snug Harbor



Sort of like you're going to need to eat a po boy, you're also going to need to see some jazz. Even if you think you hate jazz. Trust me. There's nothing quite like sipping a cocktail and listening to a little bit of jazz in the midst of your crazy New Orleans night.

The best jazz bar ever ever ever was Funky Butt, which, unfortunately, never reopened after Hurricane Katrina. It was dark and full of couches and shadowy nooks, the music was always hot, and the bartender Wheaties knew how to keep a glass full of Funky Butt Juice. Funky Butt was my go-to French Quarter hotspot. New Orleans perfection. RIP.

With Funky Butt dead and gone, I must send you all instead to a very different establishment: Snug Harbor. Snug, along with The Spotted Cat, is on Frenchman Street, which means its actually just outside the French Quarter in the Faubourg Marigny. But trust me, it's still the place to go. While four hundred tourists try to climb into Preservation Hall, you'll be up on the second floor with plenty of elbow room and a bird's eye view of the best jazz musicians in New Orleans. Charmaine Neville plays here on MONDAY nights, if that gives you any idea. Just look at this schedule. Definitely worth checking out any night of the week.


BARS

My pick: Chart Room (300 Chartres St)



If you are looking for a bar in the French Quarter, my friend, you are in the right place. You can't swing a whatever in New Orleans without hitting a bar.

First up, you have to walk down Bourbon Street and see what's up. Marvel at the flashing lights and all the drunk people. It's like an R-rated Disney World. If you want to party where your loved ones can keep tabs on you, go to Cat's Meow, which has a live streaming webcam of the karaoke stage. Take advantage of the lack of open-container liquor laws: buy a daiquiri or a hurricane at an open-air bar and then just walk back out with it to the street. I once--and this is 100% true--bought a frozen daiquiri in New Orleans so large that it came with a commemorative plastic tub and neck strap because it was too heavy to carry unassisted when full.

But when you're done with all that mess, check out one of the more chill bars. Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop Bar is (arguably) the oldest bar in the US. Hookah Cafe on Frenchman is now The Hookah on Decatur, but I bet it is still an excellent place to smoke hookah and get your drink on. I really adore Chart Room, a small rowdy bar on Chartres I love going to with my pal Karen. It's straight up French Quarter--open to the sidewalk, big beautiful bar, cheap drinks. It's an old familiar favorite.


THINGS TO DO

Food and drinking is enough to keep a person entertained in the French Quarter pretty much indefinitely, but I guess if you get bored with that somehow, you could...

Go shopping! Hit the French Market, or the antique stores on Royal Street. Be sure to stop by Fleurty Girl--I love their shop on Oak Street Uptown, and I bet their new Quarter shop is amazing too! If you're going to buy any souvenirs, do it at Fleurty Girl and support a very cool local business.

Get pierced! Rings of Desire might just be the best piercing parlor in the country. Elayne Angel, the master piercer, has pierced over 40,000 people. She has hands so gentle a person can barely feel a thing. And she's trained a whole team of amazing piercers to give the same kind of care. These people specialize in serious piercings, and they're they only people on Earth I'd ever trust to pierce my goodies with metal if I ever decided to go that route. Just don't try to do it drunk--they will not go near you if you are.

Go to high tea! After you get your goodies pierced, head over to the Ritz-Carlton for high tea. I can't explain it, but there is something really fun about doing something so proper in the City That Care Forgot.


Have fun!!!!



Discussion Question: What's the most fun you've ever had in the French Quarter?

you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains

Nick and I made it out of town around noon Monday, headed due west on I-40. I love how quickly the familiar Tennessee Valley gives way to hills and then mountains. For whatever reason I spent half the ride in a truly venomous mood, irritated with Nick and with the dog's incessantly digging toenails. Luckily, a first screening of Eminem's fantastic new album did much to rescue me from my aimless ire, as did a stop in Knoxville to inhale Zaxby's in the parking lot and talk endless shit about how totally unappealing Knoxville is.

Towards Asheville, the mountains began to rise impossibly out of the ground straight up for the sky, like the trees were rooted in each other's branches.


me and Boudreaux


Nick and Boudreaux


What if Boudreaux was the same size as us?

We reached our roadside motel around dinner time and lazily spent the evening eating Italian takeout and indulging in cable TV. I have to admit that the motel is delightful. Our room faced the backyard, which featured grills and picnic tables and a horseshoe pit and a pool and two massive poles that stretched up and up to hold a huge Exxon sign that bathed the yard in a soft blue light at night. Boudreaux in particular loved the motel's resident bunnies, which scampered across the grounds silently throughout the night.


Correct me if I'm wrong, but that does not look like an Exxon.


I hope you brought your own horseshoes.


Boudreaux says: Can't talk now, mom; there are bunnies.

Since we were due at Edisto Beach early afternoon, we got up early Tuesday to hit the road. Before Nick got up, I walked down to the breakfast buffet. Feeling virtuous, I passed over the pastries in favor of a big bowl of oatmeal and a few apples stashed in my purse for the road. Then I poured myself a bowl of Froot Loops and inhaled it standing up, since everyone knows it doesn't count if you're standing up.


Nick should have had more Froot Loops.

We drove southeast on 26 out of North Carolina and straight through South Carolina. The mountains rolled and rolled into hills and finally level coastal ground. We stopped for half a peck of peaches at a farm stand. The peaches are gorgeous, like jewels. While standing in the shade outside with Boudreaux, I am 90% sure I was solicited for sex. What kind of prostitute wears wicking clothes and brings her dog along? Apparently they do things a little differently in South Carolina.

We also stopped at a Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. All the signs inside were hand drawn with considerable panache. When I complimented the manager and told him it had been ages since I'd been in a store with handmade signs, he smiled and asked, "What do you mean?"

I found a pink Silly Band in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot that is shaped like god knows. Of course, I added it to my collection. Facebook blew up with suggestions, and though many were hilarious, none really convinced me.


A parrot? George Jetson's hair?

After that, it was a long flat empty drive to Edisto Beach State Park.

NEXT TIME: Setting up camp

Discussion Question:
wtf is that Silly Band??

* * * * *

This is part four in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.

one: we're on the road to nowhere
two: "Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"
three: miles covered
four: you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains

miles covered

I'm sorry but this song is still incredible.

I can't believe our August of Camping and Tramping is already over! We got back to Nashville yesterday, and Nick and I are both recovering and being spoiled at our parents' houses for a few days before we LEAVE FOR BOSTON SUNDAY!

How about some trip stats?



Miles traveled: 4,004
Days traveling: 26
Hours driving: 72+
Route: Atlanta, GA to Franklin, TN to Edisto Beach, SC to Franklin, TN to Jefferson National Forest, VA to Shaker Village, KY to Charleston, WV to Shenandoah National Forest, VA to Hatteras, NC to Emerald Isle, NC to Wilmington, NC to Conway, SC to Atlanta, GA to Franklin TN

This balls-out crazy trip surpasses our former record-breaking trips: Atlanta to NYC to Atlanta (1760 miles/30 hours) and Austin to Nashville to Chicago [to Berlin via plane] to Nashville to Austin (2682 miles/44 hours, not counting the plane trip to Berlin). We love to drive but even we have to admit that this was a little nuts. But my LORD was it fun!

As you can imagine, I have a lot of posting to do about our adventures! I'll be getting stuff up one post at a time over the next few weeks. Now that I've learned to use Blogger's handy-dandy blog-scheduling tool, with any luck I'll have blogs posting even after we leave for Boston Sunday. Have I mentioned that I'm moving to Boston on Sunday? I digress. If you want a little ~sneak peek~ of our adventures, check out my flickr for lots of pictures.

Stay tuned for all kinds of assorted fun.

Discussion Question:
What is the longest road trip you've ever taken?


* * * * *

This is part three in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.

one: we're on the road to nowhere
two: "Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"
three: miles covered
four: you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains

"Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"

"The Atlantic is not my Gulf, that much is true. She's choppier and grittier and colder, less inviting--just, I suppose, as she should be. But she's my ocean now."

I was splashing around knee-deep in the water at Edisto Beach when I composed these lines rather dreamily, dragging my fingers through the surf and squinting in the low sun. I got to But she's my ocean now at exactly the moment a three-foot wave overtook me from behind, knocked me off my feet, and swept my glasses from my face.



I grasped after them wildly as the wave pushed me, limbs akimbo, into shore and then sucked me back out again. I caught nothing but fleeting handfuls of churning water and sand.


they were my favorite pair.

I paid enough attention in grad school to understand the symbolism. No one knew about seeing and not seeing like the ancient Greek tragedians. And no one likes to talk at excruciating lengths about the tensions between seeing and not seeing more than classicists.

Remember Tiresias? The prophet from Oedipus the King and Antigone and Seven Against Thebes and lots of other incredible stories?


Sporting a sexy hipster beard on a Lucanian Red-figured calyx-krater c. 380 B.C

The whole thing with Tiresias was that he was blind, but he was a prophet, a seer. He couldn't see but he could see. Get it? Get it??


Get it???

Tiresias is emblematic of a recurring issue in Greek tragedy: is seeing knowing? Is not seeing not knowing?

As I groped half-blind and sopping for the shore, all I could think of was Tiresias. I knew this had to mean something, my new ocean blinding me. Maybe now I can see?

The only other time I've ever lost my glasses in the sea, they came right back to me, washed up at low tide and rescued by an alert lifeguard. I guess that's why I'm not too worried--they'll come back to me one way or another. And anyway, I had the foresight to bring a spare pair with me this time.



You got me this time, Atlantic. But I hope one day we can be friends.

Discussion Question:
When is seeing knowing? When is not seeing knowing?

* * * * *

This is part two in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.

one: we're on the road to nowhere
two: "Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"
three: miles covered
four: you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains

we're on the road to nowhere

Bangin new music video from Biscuits and Gravy, ie my best friend Emily and her friend Steve.

As many of you know, Nick and Boudreaux and I are celebrating our transition from the Dirty South to Yankeeland by taking a big aimless camping trip this month. Since I know you've all been losing sleep wondering where we were going to go first, I have decided to end your tossing and turning.

Tomorrow morning we're leaving for Asheville, NC, where we will spend one lazy night before making our way to Edisto Beach State Park in South Carolina. We'll be camping for three nights in a tent in a secluded spot in a live oak forest about 1.5 miles from the beach. How did we choose this particular locale? It's the closest place on the Atlantic where we can camp with our dog.


X marks the area we'll be camping in.

We have big nothing planned while we're there. The week will consist of

grilled peaches


sunrises over the beach

Edisto Beach State Park

farm-stand produce


meeting other camping hoboes

Edisto Beach State Park

shish kebabs for every meal


and most importantly

dog butt in the sand

artist rendering of Boudreaux

Wish us luck as we embark on the first 600 miles!





it's gonna be just like this, except with less snuggies and children


Discussion Question:
Where do you want to see Nick and Katie go on their month of Camping and Tramping?

* * * * *

This is part one in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.

one: we're on the road to nowhere
two: "Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"
three: miles covered
four: you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains

sojurn to cincinnati: biiiiiiiiitch, please!

Today's blog-readin music comes to us courtesy of Flogging Molly, the only band Irish enough to appear in this post.



A couple of weekends ago, still completely wiped from our whirlwind trip to New Orleans, I packed up and set off on a 48-hour, 1000-mile road trip to witness the blessed union of my dear friends Meghan and Ryan.

Meghan started off as what you might call a second-hand friend. Joe, my roommate/bff from my New Orleans days, was Meghan's bff in high school, so Meghan came down to NOLA to visit Joe pretty often. It wasn't long before I claimed her as a friend of my own.

Ash and Joe and Meghan and I have a lot of fun stories from those days. Actually, that's a lie. Those nights are mostly a smoky blur in my mind's eye. (As Lanier and I like to say, "Ah, those were the days. Wait...when were those days?") But a really FUN blur, and that's what matters.

Exhibit A:



Circa 2004 in Joe's bedroom. Friends don't let friends wear maroon lipstick.

So when the gorgeous vintage postcard save-the-date came in the mail, I did not hesitate to pencil the date in on my calendar. Knowing Meghan and Ryan and their rowdy Irish roots, I knew this wedding was not to be missed. Nick was super busy with school, so I decided to go solo. I packed up the old Spruce Goose and I was on my way.



It looks exactly like this except there's a disembodied baby doll head on the dashboard and an unsightly dent in the driver's door. The Spruce Goose!

Being far, far too cheap to pay for two nights in a Cincinnati hotel, I opted instead to spend Friday night with my parents outside Nashville. I drove up to Nashville on Friday night after work, got in after midnight, and spent approximately 20 minutes visiting with my parents in on Saturday morning before I had to keep on driving on to Cincinnati.

I planned the whole trip out very carefully, making a list of items to pack and printing off Google Maps directions to and from every place I planned to go. However, in my careful planning, I somehow neglected to pack any shoes except the brown Aileen Wuornos boots I had selected to accessorize the trucker-chick outfit I was wearing to drive in. I got to take a short detour in northern Kentucky to the Target to grab a pair of heels. I must have looked really strange.



Do these pumps come in a 10?

Things started to look up after I got into Cincinnati. On a whim, I tried my hand at Name Your Own Price on Priceline and ended up with a room at the Cincinnati Westin (4 stars!) for $70. It turned out to be hands-down the most pleasant stay I've ever had in a chain hotel. Check out this room!



just like the pictures!!



I was in Cincinnati for less than 24 hours, so the trip was kind of an open-bar, old-friends blur. Joe fetched me from the hotel, and we fetched Ash and Dave, and just like that the old crew was back together again.

The ceremony was held at Meghan's high school's chapel and it was gorgeous and appropriately Catholictastic.



After the ceremony, Ash and Dave and Joe and I headed up to the Something Heights for a couple of rounds before the reception. Joe and I adjourned at one point to go to the scenic overlook and appreciate the frozen, gray landscape of Cincinnati.





Joe and Dave sporting matching ties



yay weddings!

After a few rounds, we headed over to Krohn Conservatory for the amazing reception. I probably shouldn't say anything, but...things got a little steamy.



Meghan and Ryan rented the whole place out, so we got to explore the rainforest room and the cactus room and all of the neat ecospheres. Here's Joe and I enjoying Meghan and Ryan's signature Rainforest Cocktail in the rainforest room:



The whole thing was wonderful. So much talking and laughing and food and dancing and merriment.



family portrait!





gonna slap him if he's gettin too drunk drunk



amazing cake topper and homemade cake!

I would be remiss if I did not mention the quote of the evening, taken straight from Ryan's father's toast:



Here's to the heat!
Not the heat that burns down shanties--
the heat the brings down panties!



48 hours, 1000 miles, and more old friends than my heart can hold. Laissez les bon temps rouler, Erin go bragh, and Here's to the heat!