Mayo is the Worst

Honeymoon, Part 4

2010-08-14T02:26:00.001+01:00

Before we had left the resort in Bali, we killed an hour and the last of our rupiah messing around on the interweb. We noticed a little article about a volcano erupting in Iceland and potential delays to European flights, but didn’t bother getting too concerned. Fast-forward 5 hours to Kuala Lumpur International Airport: “It is an act of god. There is nothing we can do about it and don’t know when the situation will change,” the tiny Malaysia Airline representative shouted. “All flights into Heathrow are cancelled until further notice. We will be putting you in a hotel for one night and one night only.” A collective groan erupted from the few hundred people jostling for hearing position around. “Please follow the man in the green coat and do not lose track of him.” We surged ahead with the crowd and began our 10 day ‘bonus’ honeymoon.

After 60 minutes of sitting on a bus bursting at its seams (listening to an obnoxious Australian woman in a low-cut black dress complain about the delays and say repeatedly ‘How hard can it be to drive a bus?!’), and another 60 minutes travelling, we turned into a Marriott resort complex outside of Kuala Lumpur. Most people were in downright terrible moods, but we were all grins as we checked into the 5-star hotel. As it was already 2AM, we collapsed into bed but resolved to travel into the city the following day, as we knew the eruption wouldn’t be a single day disruption. In the morning, we dashed to the hotel’s business center to go online and secure the next night’s lodging. We quickly decided we should make the most of the situation and booked a room in downtown KL - I lucked out and found an amazing deal at a 5-star business hotel called The Traders. As we secured spots on the one free shuttle into the city, Mark quickly checked emails he had sent out to people who might be familiar with KL. Sure enough, his brother Bill had written back multiple suggestions and had included a link to a New York Times article on the city. As it turned out, the hotel we had booked was featured in the article and contained the best rooftop bar in the city complete with swimming pool. We looked at each other and beamed with excitement.

The hotel lived up to its reputation; we checked into our immaculate, modern-designed room after sipping freshly squeezed orange juice in the lobby. The hotel sits right on the corner of KLCC Park and has amazing views of the iconic Petronas Towers on the other side. From our room, Mark looked down at the mile long running track the snaked its way through the park, and anticipated the next morning’s run. After a quick freshening up, we went out to the aquarium and spent the afternoon ogling the exotic species, and feeling like we had cut school.

Mark in KLCC Park. The Petronas towers are behind him.

Mark, relaxing on the faux-beach at the Aquaria.

That evening we explored the city’s shameless modern obsession: indoor malls. We quickly found out there were (air-conditioned) malls strewn throughout the city and served as excellent escapes from the heat. The malls were meticulously designed and all served the middle to upper classes. We entered one where it was quite obvious that we literally could not afford one thing and got plenty of stares until we made our way out the other end.

The next morning we settled into our routine – we woke up, watched CNN or BBC news for updates on the volcano and both tried desperately to reach our airline to determine whether we needed to arrange another night’s lodging. Inevitably, we would be kept on hold for over twenty minutes at a time, be disconnected and forced to make another call (all, we should note, roaming on our work Blackberries). Then, there would be another mad dash to the Business Center of the hotel to arrange lodging. We were able to score a second night at the Traders Hotel, but eventually moved to another 5 star resort, the Royal Chulan for the next three nights.

One of the best places Mark’s brother directed us to was the National Museum of Islamic art. After getting incredibly helpful advice from a ticket agent, we negotiated a train and then a cab ride across the city. This gave us a view of a less modern city and brought us through the Islamic heart of KL. The museum contained various collections of Islamic art through the ages from textiles to inlaid furniture to paintings to an entire room showing models of the most important mosques of the Islamic world. It was incredibly interesting to compare and contrast the different styles and regions interpretations of a house of worship. Additionally the architecture of the museum itself was amazing to explore.

Each day, we tried to do something new in the city, but we also explored a lot on foot – the city was hot but it was bustling, and each neighborhood had hidden jewels of modern and old architecture, food stalls and markets. It was everything that we had hoped Ubud would be but wasn’t, and we sampled amazing food everywhere we went. One of our favorites was a tiny Indian restaurant with amazing briyani and dosas, and we came back several times. We wanted to get some pictures of the food, but sadly couldn’t wait to inhale it:

Near the train station.

Downtown, near the Suria mall.

Merdeka Square

KL Tower

The entrance to the Batu Caves (and most ridiculous taxi ride ever - so we took the bus home)

The Batu Caves. Home to very aggressive monkeys who like to stalk you with their teeth bared (I didn't like them any better in Malaysia than I did in the Sacred Monkey Forest of Ubud).

A pretty tasty Chinese meal.

Jalan Alor, a street that shuts down after 5pm for street food.

Delicious (and cheap) street food.

The best Indian I've ever had... Especially the dosas.

As our stay grew to a close at the Chulan, we started to get more and more nervous about the length and expense of our stay in Kuala Lumpur. The news stations were still talking about the eruption going on for months, and we knew we needed a more long-term solution. I did some more online sleuthing and ended up finding an apartment available in downtown Kuala Lumpur at a vacation rental website. I sent a panicked email, telling the owners we were stranded, and we got an immediate email back. Ana, the owner, was incredibly concerned for us and moved quickly to arrange keys for us – she was living in Chester, not far from our home in the UK, but her brother lived close by the hotel where we were staying. It turned out that the apartment was only a few blocks away and after her brother dropped off the keys, we raced over.

Not too bad, indeed! For 50 GBP a night, we were pretty psyched.

(The rooftop pool didn’t hurt, either)

Finally, on April 22, we received word that UK airspace was reopening and after a few additional last-minute dramas (we were booked on a flight, then we were removed; Malaysian Airlines lost our confirmation number; we had to rush to the central train station and wait with other stranded passengers and were tentatively booked on an unconfirmed flight; the flight was confirmed but diverted to Gatwick from Heathrow…) we were finally ready to go home.

But not before one last stop, at the indoor rollercoaster/theme park in another mall near our apartment. I hate rides like this, especially ones that go upside down, but I also knew Mark had been dying to go and within moments, I found myself upside down, eyes shut and tears streaming down my face. After the rollercoaster, an Indian family convinced us to go on another ride, the DNA Mixer, which flipped us upside down and shook us like a Heinz ketchup bottle. It hurt a lot, and we felt sick for hours afterwards.

The next morning, we packed our bags a final time and said good-bye to the apartment. We took a train to the airport and laughed about our adventures. At the check-in desk, however, there was one more wrench: we weren’t seated together, and the plane had been re-diverted to Heathrow, meaning our connection in Gatwick had to be changed. The front desk was singularly un-helpful on both counts, but after a lot of back and forth, told us they had found a connection, but couldn’t confirm before we boarded our long-haul flight. They gave us the flight number, promised it would be confirmed while we were in flight, and we resigned ourselves to our fates and dragged ourselves to our gate, which was absolutely mobbed with over-stressed UK travelers.

A few minutes before our flight was called, however, our names were called over the loudspeaker. Mark scurried up to the desk, shrugging as he returned and saying that our seats had changed. Then, in a quiet whisper, he said we had been upgraded to business class.

Can I just point out that if you are going to go on a 13 hour flight, business class is most definitely the way to go? OK, there, we said it: fully reclinable seats, ample legroom, complimentary (and unlimited) drinks, real silverware, 4 course meals, 2 (two!) desserts? Pretty awesome, and we appreciated it all the more after the drama at the front desk.

This would normally be the part where we would add a few final notes about the amazing an unexpected end to our honeymoon, and how Kuala Lumpur ended up being one of our favorite parts… but sadly, however, our adventures didn’t end there.

When we arrived at Heathrow, we were handed ‘Priority’ passes for Customs. We dashed by all the sorry saps waiting in the plebeian line and went to a special line for business class customers. Which was manned by a single Customs official, and he wasn’t moving quickly. Fast-forward 70 minutes and we raced down to baggage claim, found our bags amid the chaos and dashed out of Terminal 4. Except to get to Terminal 5, for our BA connection, involved a train to Terminal 3 and another to Terminal 5; each ran every 15 mins, and we missed both.

Of course we missed our connection, and went to the BA desk to figure out if there was a later flight. There wasn’t, and there was no record of us having been booked on the one we missed (thanks, Malaysian Airlines!). They could get us on one from Gatwick the following morning, but that would cost us over 40 pounds to travel on the airport shuttle. We looked at eachother and just wanted to get home – and we walked away from the desk to the car rental phones. At 1AM, we booked a rental car and Mark, the champion husband he is, drove us the four hours home to Liverpool.

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Moral of this (admittedly long, and long-overdue) story: when planning your honeymoon to an exotic tropical locale, do your best to 'coincidentally' find yourself stranded there for an extra week or so due to a natural disaster. It's totally worth it.

Honeymoon, Part 3

2010-05-29T09:37:00.012+01:00

As was becoming the trend on this trip when moving from place to place, we were both filled with a bit of sadness for what we were leaving behind, but also with excitement for the unknown of what was to come. We made it back to Bali by boat (thankfully sans the bongo playing Australian family), and met our driver. We planned on heading to Ubud next to explore a bit more of an urban center and some more of the Balinese Hindu heritage. I was super excited about getting back into some Hindu temples as I had not been in any since time I spent in India in 1997. I was curious to see how different this form of island Hinduism was compared to what I had seen in the past. We also planned on staying in a much nicer guesthouse. As this was our last real destination, we wanted to treat ourselves. However before we left, our good friends Spencer and Courtney informed us that they had already paid for our 4 night stay at the place we had chosen! Definitely an unexpected and amazing wedding gift.

The place was super nice and we had an entire wing of it to ourselves. It included a master bedroom, large bathroom, outdoor shower, huge veranda, and a little canopy hut sitting in a pond of lotus blossoms. To top it all off, as we approached we had heard the sweet, sweet whir of an air conditioner. After spending 9 extremely hot nights living in bamboo bungalows, sleeping in bug nets that did not necessarily allow any breeze, we were pretty giddy to get in the AC. However, there was one slight concern that we both had about the place. When we decided to stay there, we were excited to read about the views of the rice paddies from our veranda. However, what we did not realize was the there would be people working in the rice paddies from sun-up to sun-down, and only a very low wall separating things. We would both feel a bit guilty (and kinda colonial to be honest) as we sat out playing cards and drinking beers, while the villagers worked their asses off feet from where we were.

The next morning, we arranged a car to take us into Ubud. I had a list of temples I wanted to see, but first wanted to get into the Monkey Forest. Hanuman is the Hindu monkey god who rolls around with Lord Rama and swings a huge-ass club around at his enemies.

He is not my favourite (he is Ray’s though) and I was excited to get into this monkey preserve that both honors him and is home to a rather large band of Balianese macaques. Kathleen was as nervous as I was excited. Mere feet into the park and meeting some of its inhabitants, she began to mutter “I don’t like monkeys. Don’t like the monkeys” again and again. She loosened up after awhile, but they must have heard because one of them peed on her. Unfortunately the temple in the middle of the park was closed, but we got some pictures.

After the forest, we wandered through the city a bit and were thoroughly underwhelmed. Now Ubud is the setting for the awful (in my mind) book and forthcoming movie, Eat, Pray, Love. I never finished it but supposedly Ubud is where her final awakening occurs and she goes on and on about how amazing and spiritual it was. I am not sure if our perspective was tainted by Balian and Gili, but the place was just filled with tourists and people harassing tourists. This place seemed pretty much overrun and overdone. We did manage to check out a few super cool temples and a market, but ended up taking a very leisurely lunch.

After our exploration, we quickly realized there was no way we could spend 4 days here and began to seek out a new destination. But where should we spend the last 3 days of our once-in-a-lifetime honeymoon? Should we go back to Balian? Should we go back to one of the Gilis? We both decided we wanted to go to a beach, but were apprehensive about going somewhere that we had not researched. We also wanted to continue to pamper ourselves a bit (we talked to Mandala Desa and they amazingly agreed to refund the remainder of our stay so we could put it to our next destination). After discussing it a bit, we decided to go all out. It was our honeymoon after all and what couple does not deserve a 5-star resort stay for at least part of their trip? After a bit of on-line action, we booked a 3 night package at Ayodya Resort.

The Ayodya is located at the end of the island on the Nusa Dua peninsula. Our guidebook described it as ‘a gilded (gated) ghetto of enormous hotels. There are no independent developments, no hawkers, no warung, no traffic, no pollution, and no noise.’ We had prepared ourselves for the fact that we were essentially leaving Indonesia for this nation of upper-class conveniences, but we were OK with it. Apparently as we arrived and checked out everything the place had, I kept repeating excitedly “there’s no shame in my game.” The place had pretty much everything: pristine beaches, amazing bedroom, beautiful outdoor verandas and fountains, a humungous swimming pool, a big lake filled with 2 foot long aquatic lizards, and a great selection of bars and restaurants. We spent the next few days just taking it easy and enjoying things. We read, played a lot of cards, had some amazing games of poolysthide, and drank a fair amount.

We hit happy hour a few times and were even embarrassingly serenaded by a group of musicians whom we could not figure out if they were Indonesian or Mexican.

Not Sure

As the last day of our honeymoon unfolded, we reflected a lot on our trip. We had found an off the beaten path beach to stay and surf at. We learned how to scuba dive. We biked. We ate amazing food. Kathleen read 78 books (at least). I saw the sun rise over Indonesian mountainous islands repeatedly on during my morning runs. We explored temples and markets. Generally we laughed the entire time. And now we had pampered ourselves to the limit. It was super nice to be waited on and to live in this bubble of exclusivity, but we really could have been anywhere in the world. Kathleen and I both loved all the adventures we got into in Bali and Gili Trawangan, and they were by far the richer parts of our trip. I am absolutely positive all couples say this, but as we waited at the airport to board our flight, we agreed it had been the perfect honeymoon. Coupling this trip with our mini-honeymoon to Paris, we couldn’t think of anything that would have made it better. But by now I think you all know we were wrong and had some more surprises waiting for us…

Honeymoon, Part 2

2010-05-24T01:56:00.001+01:00

The day before we planned to leave Balian, Mark and I had a sudden thought – sure, we’d arranged for a car to take us from Balian to Benoa Harbour, and a ferry to take us from Bali to Gili Trawangan – but how would we get from the ferry to our hotel? We sent an email and had our reply in a few minutes – ‘Just hop on a horse cart and tell them to take you to Hasan’s place!’

Mark and I looked at each other and laughed – a horse cart?! But we were game, and at 5AM the next morning we wheeled our suitcases up the dirt road and waited for our car. The people at Pondok Pisces were so worried about us that they had someone wake up to keep us company, and when our car ran late they sent another person out to the main road to help the driver in case he was lost (he was). It was just another kindness out of many that made Mark and I so affectionate toward Pondok Pisces and Balian Beach – and made us promise, again, to return one day.

The car ride was insane – because the driver was late to pick us up, he didn’t want us to miss the ferry – and included higher speeds and running a few red lights. But we made it to the ferry along with a few dozen other passengers (including a gigantic Australian family who had kindly equipped all of their children with Bongo drums which made for a particularly noisy trip) and took off for Lombok and Gili Trawangan.

Dewi and and her husband Hasan own and run Gili Hideaway, the next stop on our journey. They had come highly recommended by a good friend who had lived in Indonesia and knew Dewi from their work with an NGO in Jakarta, and so we had been very excited to arrive and get an insider’s advice for things to do and see.

We disembarked from our horsecart and wandered into… the incorrect entrance to the hotel, waking up an off-duty gardener. But once the confusion had settled, we found ourselves in a little piece of paradise.

Immediately, Sam, on the hotel staff and an awesome help each day, set off to get us rental bikes for the duration of our stay. We were shown to our bungalow, which was adorned with a variety of handmade reed and flower decorations – the gardener had made them all himself, in honor of our honeymoon.

We immediately set off to explore the island, and decided to bike the perimeter. We made it about ¼ of the way before finding ourselves in deep, soft, unbikeable sand – so after a brief dip in the turquoise water, we turned back and grabbed a few refreshments.

There was a lot that we loved about Gili, not least the amazing food we ate or the views we had, but my favourite was the SCUBA diving. It was something I’d always desperately wanted to do, but was afraid that I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer, or that I would become claustrophobic. But after hearing one person after another extol their amazing experiences under the water, I knew we needed to do it. We confirmed our reservations with Big Bubble that afternoon, and brought our books home for a bit of poolside studying.

I don’t know how it happened, but by virtue of our off-season visit and our Tuesday start to classes, Mark and I enjoyed private tutoring for our Open Water dive course. We woke each morning to the sound of a few confused roosters crowing before the sun rose, and Mark would go for a run while I showered. Once we were both dressed, we’d emerge for strong coffee and omelettes or banana pancakes, then pack our backpacks and climb on our bikes to head to school. We had a brief instruction by a rather stern French man (and the complete stereotype from every Carribean SCUBA diver you’ve ever seen in a movie), but then switched to Andy, a Birmingham-born instructor, and Jin, our trainee instructor. This basically meant one-on-one attention in our pool sessions and under the water, and we had a completely relaxed and amazing time. We joked and laughed during the practice sessions, but I was almost hyperventilating as we took the boat for our first dive, that first afternoon. After a bit of a panicked descent (I tried to equalize my ears but ended up getting water in my goggles), I calmed down and looked around.

It was like being in a BBC documentary – but better than anything I’d ever seen in HD.

These photos are from some snorkelling we did (right off the beach from our bungalow), but it captures a bit of what we saw. We couldn’t take the camera with us to the depths we dove (12 and 18 meters, a total of 4 dives), and so you’re missing some of the more spectacular coral formations, giant turtles, and myriad fish and sights we glimpsed… I think both Mark and I were amazed at how much we enjoyed ourselves, and we would talk about each dive and plan for the next day at each meal. We slept hard, exhausted from the exercise and homework, but woke each morning excited for what we would see beneath the waves.

Additionally, diving has given us a renewed appreciation for ‘insider lingo,’ and we try to incorporate as many of our dive ‘signs’ as we can in normal conversation. It’s easier than you might think…

(also, for those non-strong swimmers out there, I did manage to pass my swimming test, although it was slow, alone, in the rain, while being watched solemnly by a large crew of hard-drinking German tourists)

Evenings were spent over leisurely meals and dark bike rides home across dirt paths and through deep puddles (there was a bit of rain while we were there). We would take a late-night dip in the pool, play a bit of cribbage or, once he grew more comfortable with us, get tutored in dinosaur facts by Dewi and Hasan's adorable four year-old son, Alfie, before crawling into bed.

Our last day we puzzled over what to do. The sands of the coral island weren’t too amenable to simply staking out a spot with a blanket, and we could only wade about 15m before encountering living reefs (at about knee-depth), so we decided to bike up island. There, we spotted a barely inhabited resort with a pretty spectacular deck and a great selection of reasonably priced beverages.

What else could we ask for on the best honeymoon I could have ever imagined?

The next morning was a bit harried, due to some confusion about payment (we forgot the hotel couldn’t accept credit cards), resulting in a mad dash by Mark to the island's only ATM, and probably some reluctance to move on to our next spot. But on the ferry ride back to the mainland, Mark grabbed my hand and squeezed it a few times. I think we’ll be back.

Honeymoon, Part 1

2010-04-27T20:28:00.008+01:00

Kathleen and I set out on our honeymoon to Indonesia early on the morning of Thursday, April 1^st. Roughly 22 hours later, we were at the Indonesian border pleading with some sketchy looking immigration officials to let us into the country. Kathleen had been doing a ton of travelling for work and space was running thin in her passport for stamps. For some reason, US passports reserve the last four pages for ‘amendments and endorsements.’ Despite the fact that other countries had used this area for stamps, the officials were claiming there was nothing they could do. They would get in trouble if they used these pages. We were shuffled in front of a few equally risk-averse officials and brought into a back office that was filled with armed men drinking tea and chain smoking cigarettes. All shook their heads one by one, and we were again brought back out front. At this point, I realized what being married is all about. I have been in similar sketchy situations in third world countries, and have always felt relatively calm and assured I would make it out with no issues. Not this time. I was sweating profusely, my hands were shaking, and my voice was trembling. My imagination was running wild and the thought of my wife getting trapped in the Indonesian penal system was kinda occupying my thoughts. It was pretty obvious these guys were looking for some cash, but I was worried that they would use any offers we made, against us as a way to extort more. Anyhow, Kathleen was cool as can be and after about 20 minutes of us not giving into their subtle (and not so subtle "We were hoping you could give us something for our trouble.") demands, they finally stamped us and away we went.

We eventually emerged from the airport and were hit with the heat immediately, which kinda felt amazing. At the exit, there were hundreds of people standing behind a barrier holding signs up with people’s names on them. The place where we were staying had sent a driver to pick us up and somehow we managed to find him. He whisked us away to his car and we settled into some much appreciated air-conditioning. Within the five minutes it took us to go from the exit to his car, Kathleen and I were both drenched with sweat. The next two hours were spent driving through the streets of Bali to reach our first destination: Balian Beach. Despite being totally exhausted we managed to stay awake for a lot of the trip, and I’m glad we did. The roads were pretty amazing to watch. There was only one lane going in each direction and it snaked up and down the hills of the lush green countryside. Balian drivers seemed to have developed some calm sort of etiquette and order to the chaos of the roads. Despite near misses virtually every second with oncoming traffic and crossing people/animals, horns blaring in all directions, and traffic doubled up passing each other regularly, I never saw any anger or ‘road rage.’ Everyone accepted and anticipated each other’s movements and two hours later we arrived at Balian Beach and where we were staying, Pondok Picses.

Upon arrival we were led to our river side villa and served fresh mango juice:

After checking out our new digs, we took a quick walk down to the beach. At this point I should say that although I initiated the idea of Bali for our honeymoon, Kathleen did most of the research into where to go. She knew I wanted to surf a mellower beach break and that we were not really interested in crowds or any sort of party scene. She did absolutely perfectly with this first stop. In fact she did so well, that people we met in the days ahead were shocked that we had found the place on our own and were not told to go there by others. 100 yards from our doorstep, we emerged on the black volcanic sands of the beach. Balian resides in a cove of sorts with the Balian River on one side, and cliffs on the other. To our backs were the 3 or 4 establishments making up the ‘village’, and straight ahead was a perfectly shaped wave. This was exactly what we were looking for.

For the next 5 days we settled into a very mellow routine: surfing, eating, drinking beer/milkshakes, napping, watching the surf, and more eating. The only reason people really came here was to surf or to relax while their family members surfed. There was nothing touristy about the place and everything was super subtle and mellow. Despite the fact that it was so surf-centric, it did not really attract your typical party dudes. There were people of all ages and everyone was super friendly. You met the same people eating breakfast, at the bar, in the line-up, and at dinner. All of the locals seemed to appreciate the visitors and there were a lot of people from the ‘village’ surfing as well. I was able to rent a board from Pondok and paddled out a number of times to catch some waves. The line up was mellow and most people seemed to be very friendly. Since these were my first sessions in a number on months I was a bit rusty and was definitely challenged. One day it was actually way too big, so I was on the sidelines. This was totally fine, because watching the amazing level of surfing was so much fun. The main restaurant/bar sits right on the beach and they had built the whole thing to allow for prime spectating. While I was surfing, Kathleen was happy to bury herself in the numerous books she brought along, or to sip milkshakes and take photos. One older surfing couple we met explained to her that in order to become the perfect surfer’s wife she needed to bring a long tripod and a video camera. I seem to remember someone getting a tripod for Christmas…

The surf:

The views:

The other amazing part of where we were staying was the food. We had delicious tuna, steaks, shrimp, chicken, rice, and a whole host of vegetables while we were there. The kitchen where we stayed served up all sorts of super fresh dishes at ridiculous prices. This place was not only cheap by UK/US standards, but as we found out by Indonesian standards as well. We loved coming here for breakfast and dinner. I was usually exhausted from the surf, and we would both drink a few beers, eat our grub, and play a few games of cribbage. Here is the view from where we ate:

I would say that within the first few hours of being in Balian we felt totally relaxed and so far removed from all the stress of work. I believe it was the morning of the first full day where I started talking about our savings and dreaming about how far it would take us down here. It was an amazing first stop on our honeymoon and I think if we were to have only been to Balian, that in and of itself would have been a perfect trip. However, we had much more in store for us and we were looking forward to the next stop. So we packed up and woke up at 4:30 the morning of our departure and walked up to the dirt road to meet our driver. On our way up we ran into an expat who seemed to be in his fifties and was married to a local woman. With a warm greeting he trotted by with his board under his arm and his dog not too far behind, to get some pre-sunrise waves. Amazing…

Treacherous and Greasy

2010-03-29T21:03:00.007+01:00

Those were the words that stood out the most during my pre-race brief on Saturday. Treacherous and greasy. “What had I gotten myself into?” I asked myself for not the first nor the last time that day.

Kathleen and I had arrived in the quaint seaside town of Little Haven in Pembrokeshire, Wales at about 7:30 in the morning. We were there for the Pembrokeshire Coastal Trail Marathon that I had been training the past few months for. The town itself was very small and was tucked in between two huge outcroppings of cliffs. Since we had arrived early, they allowed us to drive down and park in the town. The moment we parked and saw some of the competitors, I knew I was in for it. These were MEN and WOMEN. The caps are meant to denote just how fit and athletic looking they were. Most of the calf muscles we saw seemed to be the size of my waist. They were all decked out in the latest ‘adventure running’ gear and most were setting off or coming back from warm-up runs on the beach. As Kathleen turned and asked if I wanted help putting on the band-aids to protect my oh-so-sensitive nipples, I felt like a kid being sent off to my first day of indoor winter swim practice (sorry Mom, but that was awful). In short, I wanted to cry, turn around, and run home. However, not unlike those indoor winter swim sessions as a kid, I apparently wanted to do this. So we affixed the ‘nipple-aids’ and drummed up the courage to go off and register. By this point, we were both laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. Therefore, after registering, I placed myself front and center to practice my most intimidating stretches:

It was after that, when we realized that the start of the course did not follow the path with the slight incline to it. It was actually straight out onto the beach through the water:

So having my confidence shot right back down, I entered into the aforementioned pre-race brief:

As I said, I got real stuck on the words treacherous and greasy. Treacherous surprised me because I am not so sure I had ever done anything treacherous. I mean isn’t that word used to describe warfare and eat-the-person-next-to-you survival situations? Surely he must be exaggerating. And greasy. I mean greasy? What does that mean? I thought of greasy hair and greasy hamburgers (greasiest burgers ever), but a greasy course? Anyhow as I was left pondering these he went on to describe the other hallmarks of the course: large cows, rabbit holes, sprightly horses and ponies, sheep, cliffs, multiple fences to climb over, etc. He then also went on to remind us of everything we were supposed to be carrying: our own water, food, a hat, windproof jacket, first aid kit, an emergency blanket, mobile phone, emergency whistle… wait, whistle? “That was not on the list” someone yelled. “Oh… sorry about that,” he said. “OK so if you need help ASAP, just yell really really loud and hopefully someone will hear you.”

So with that, I quickly checked everything I had, gave Kathleen a kiss and a few furtive glances, and headed out:

Immediately, everyone’s feet were soaked despite the acrobatics in attempts of affecting a different outcome:

Here I am at mile six, one of the few paved parts of the course:

My quote to Kathleen here was “The one training scenario I forgot was through shin-deep cow shit.” Yep, somewhere around mile 3 we hit one of multiple farms and were shin deep in it all. Some people fell. Others, including me, attempted to climb a slight spine to avoid as much of it as we could. Regardless, we all got it some way or another.

Here are some shots of the trail:

I fell twice and stumbled often. The first time I went down I immediately understood how appropriate the adjective ‘greasy’ actually was for the type of mud encountered. I think I ran most of this race with my arms out to attempt to balance myself. If you have ever mountain biked on single track trails, the majority of the run was like a very wet single track ride, but with a 300 foot drop on one side and usually a barbed wire fence on the other. I constantly envisioned myself falling over the cliffs or impaling myself on the wire as a slipped and slid through the course. Some of the other obstacles encountered were the gates, fences, and cow grates. The trails ran through many different farms and through people’s fields. The gates were not bad and people were all very friendly in holding them open. I was thinking how very polite the Brits are but then I found myself doing the same - it was a great way to get a few seconds rest during the race! The fences that had no gates however needed to be climbed. The first few were ok, the fences were small, and there was ample room to get a foot hold. However by mile 15, things were getting more difficult. By mile 20 it was just silly how slowly these were climbed over. I felt like I was an old man lifting my leg 12” over the top rungs of the fence. The cow grates were just absolutely impossible and were just as funny as everyone slowed to a halt to gingerly walk across them mid race.

Here are a few more pics:

So, with all of that, I managed to run 26.2 miles on trails in 5 hours and 14 mins and came in 71^st out of 119 runners. I was happy with that. Once again, Kathleen helped get me through this race. She was there at the start to calm my nerves and reassure me. She made it out to mile 6 and provided some much needed laughter. She trekked out along the coastal path to meet at mile 22 (and waited a few hours there!) because she remembered me once saying this where I liked to see people the most. She was there to buy me a hot meal and a large Guinness at the end of the race. And to top it all off, she had booked us a stay at a spa over the weekend so were able to hit that up when the race was finished. She asked me multiple times what I thought of the race. I started out immediately saying it was ok, but I was not sure if it was fun and trail running was not for me. That moved on to me saying I had a pretty good time and that there were some highlights. It has eventually become, in retrospect, an amazing experience and one I think I would like to do again (although not in the next few months).

Oh, and the other piece I forgot to mention: this course was riddled with a surfable coastline. At times the waves were small, but around mile 17 I came out on a bluff looking over a group of 3 surfers getting barrelled in what seemed to be about head and a half high super clean surf. I was so jealous. That being said, in 3 days time I will be in Bali and will hopefully be getting some well-deserved waves as well.

Erin Go Bragh

2010-03-18T13:59:00.000Z

I think my desire to go to Ireland always began with my father. Every time I crested a hill in southwest Ireland and saw the vista of rolling emerald hills spread out before me, I thought of him and wished he could come see it for himself.

So when he started planning his trip to see us, I urged him to add a visit to Ireland to his itinerary. He was able to find a timeshare in rural Co. Clare, and soon my Aunt Cathy and Uncle Tom signed on to join Barbara, Liam and my dad.

Originally, I wasn’t going to be able to join them. With the visits home for friends’ weddings and our two week honeymoon in April, Mark and I had quickly consumed our holidays and I had resigned myself to making recommendations and picking them up at the airport on February 25^th.

When I was home in December, we unfolded the map of Ireland and plotted out a series of day trips – to Co. Kerry, the Ring of Kerry and Killarney, and the Brosna woods. To Galway, and to Dublin, and maybe even to Cork… It was a lot of fun to see how excited everyone was, and I was sad I would miss it.

Then I got a phone call in January, from home. My dad was in the midst of a battery of tests to determine the cause of some severe back and hip pain he’d had since a fall while ice-skating with my brothers. The calls continued into early February, with the final awful news that my dad was really sick, and for a while it wasn’t certain that he’d be able to come after all.

Everything rapidly went into perspective, and I found myself consumed with thoughts of home, and a feeling of utter helplessness. My dad, however, was determined to go on and make the trip happen, regardless of what awaited him upon his return. His doctor supported his decision and we hesitantly confirmed plans and changed seats on the airlines in preparation for his visit.

But I couldn’t sit by and miss the opportunity to spend time with everyone, not when they were so close. So I wrapped up a day trip for work the Monday and flew out to Ireland to join everyone on Tuesday.

I’m really glad I did.

As could only be expected, the majority of the travelling party was pretty car-ed out. There’s not a lot in Co. Clare, and there aren’t great roads for getting around, either. After a marathon trip around the Ring of Kerry before my arrival, I was happy to give everyone a break – and let some relax at the house while I drove others to Galway. The following day we caravanned to Dublin and saw the Book of Kells and made another trip to Guinness (where Liam impressed a couple of American university students by having his first Guinness at the ripe age of 12 in the best place to do it). Everyone was able to get their shopping done and though it was a whirlwind trip, I was pleased to see that everyone was able to accomplish what they’d hoped.

The last day in Ireland, we had a leisurely breakfast and packed our bags. Everyone asked me to estimate when we needed to be at the airport – for a 4:55pm flight, I figured we should be there by 3:30pm, meaning a 2:30pm departure. My dad wanted to stop by a shop in Bunratty to get a hat for Toby, so I suggested leaving another half hour earlier, at 2:00pm. But since we were all just really sitting around the house, we ended up getting in the car at noon.

For those of you who have shopped with my Aunt Cathy, you should already have recognized my error above. I’ve never seen her in and out of a store in less than 30 minutes. And my dad was just as bad this time!

On top of it all, we decided to stop in for a quick pub lunch after shopping since the airport didn’t have much. But none of us were keeping track of the time, and I was shocked to look down at the car clock as we left to realize it was already 3:35.

As we approached the airport, I had a niggling feeling that I was forgetting something else. And then it came to me – there are no fuel stations close to Shannon airport. So we pulled a U turn and rapidly headed back into a development where we were able to locate a gas station. Then we hurried back to the airport to find that we had to drop the cars off at remote parking lots and get shuttled to the airport.

And then we found out the check-in counter was closed – we missed it by ten minutes – meaning that we had to ‘gate-check’ the bags that my family had already paid €40 apiece for, but would now have to pay an additional €35 per bag at the gate. And take them to the airplane ourselves.

We made a comical sight, I’m sure, dashing down the hallways, getting deodorant and bug spray (thanks again for trying, dad) tossed in the rubbish at security, tears and sweat rolling down our cheeks as we rolled, lugged and dragged the oversized bags up and down ramps and stairs.

We finally arrived at the gate and stacked all the bags, only to find that they would only accept cash payments. That resulted in a noble gesture of self-sacrifice as Barbara dashed back out of security with an attendant and got the euros required.

The next crisis came from an unexpected source: my Aunt Cathy had misplaced her digital camera, which was loaded not only with her pictures from Ireland but also a recent trip to El Salvador with Project Smile. As she threw up her hands and told everyone that she would stay in Ireland another night, she needed the camera and wasn’t leaving without it, I ducked into a corner and called the car rental. While I was on hold, they ransacked the car and weren’t able to find it. They were informing me of this, and I was relaying it to Aunt Cathy’s stricken figure, when I could hear shouting through the phone. It was located! Now my Aunt Cathy dashed back out of the airport, through not-so ‘secure’ no entry doorways to meet the Hertz representative at security.

All this was witnessed by 200+ travellers in line to board the Ryanair flight, and a very patient Servisair attendant who did an excellent job corralling the Brosnahans and keeping us (relatively) calm. To commemorate this blog-worthy tale, I took a photo.

Note all the middle fingers and exasperated expressions. I don’t really know if it was anyone’s fault, but I quickly assumed the blame and apologized profusely. It doesn’t look like any of my apologies were accepted…

We arrived home to a fridge full of beer and 8 o’clock reservations at our favourite restaurant, Paul’s Place. Although I had warned everyone about the awful state of Irish cuisine, my family had clearly either disregarded or underestimated just how bad it would be. A couple of bottles of wine, excellent food and serveral of sticky toffee puddings went a long way toward returning the smiles to everyone’s faces.

The last few days were a bit less eventful, with a trip to Albert Dock and the Tate Modern extension, some more shopping, and an ill-advised dare between Mark and myself that resulted in a rather spectacular slip and fall into the disgusting, algae-filled water by the docks. You’ll all be surprised to know that it was Mark who fell, not me. Astounding, I know.

Even though the house was choc-a-bloc with people, and there was rarely a quiet moment either upstairs or downstairs, it was really hard to say good-bye on Sunday morning.

The Man (and his dog) in the Dunes

2010-02-21T17:28:00.004Z

We have been slacking a bit on the blog recently because things have been pretty mellow around these parts. Right before our last post, we were back in the US for Colin and Penelope’s amazing wedding in Vermont. It was about as perfect as one can imagine and pretty much made Kathleen and I salivate at the prospects of moving back some day (blue bird days at Stowe and drinking beer with your best friends can do that). Since coming back to the UK, we were hit with Kathleen’s ridiculous news about her car insurance (see last post). This also resulted in me being removed from the policy altogether until I get my UK license… awesome. Anyhow, we have not really taken many trips the past few weekends partly to save money in anticipation of Indonesia. However we have also been pretty low-key because I have reached the peak of my training for the Pembrokeshire Trail Marathon.

So yeah, some people have issues drunk-dialling whereas others have problems imbibing and logging into Facebook or sending errant emails. Apparently I am cursed (or blessed?) with signing up for long distance races when I am particularly drunk or hungover. My last half-marathon was a result of a pretty rowdy night out with Colin when he was visiting here in Liverpool. And while I was home before our wedding, I had had a few drinks and crept upstairs to google ‘Wales Trail Marathon.’ When I woke up the next day I found myself registered for my first ever trail marathon where I was required to carry my own water supply, windproof gear, and emergency blanket. I was pretty excited about the whole thing, however when I got back to the UK and mentioned a trail marathon in Pembrokeshire, people at work had varying looks of concern on their faces…

So trail running is not something I have ever really done. I mean I did a few races in Catamount, VT and have run through Beebe Woods in Falmouth, but nothing of any distance. However the more I read about it, the more excited I got. It seems to have less of an impact on the body, is more diverse, and uses slightly different muscles than straight road running. My biggest issue in planning out my training was where to find large tracks of trails that I could log anywhere between 10-20 miles non-stop. Simply ‘aiming for the muddy parts’ in Sefton Park was not really going to do it. Scouting maps of the surrounding areas, it seemed that the dunes up in Formby, north of the city would be my best bet.

Back in January, I did my first 10 miles in the dunes and it was pretty amazing. For those of you who have been out to Provincetown, think of the dunes between Herring Cove and Race Point and that will give you a good idea of what the terrain is like. However there is more. In addition to the sand and beach grass, there are areas of thicker beach pine, mossy fells, small ponds inhabited by Natterjack Toads, decrepit holiday parks, asparagus farms, and since we are in the UK there are sheep of course. I brought the dog, and we both had such an amazing time running up and down on all the interweaving trails (oh and they don’t have the huge erosion issues the Cape has so these trails are open to the public) Since that first run, Miller and I have gone back up bi-weekly for my longer runs. Since I lost my wheels, we have been taking the train up (Miller hates them more than road grates and awnings and rocking horses put together) and Kathleen has been so good in coming to meet us. We are now doing 20-mile runs in these dunes and as intimidating as they are on Friday nights, they really are a shit load of fun.

Here are some pictures of the dunes. They are not mine, but I am carrying enough these days on the runs so I don’t bring a camera.

Anyhow, needless to say the runs take a lot out of me (not so much the dog), but are getting me psyched for Pembrokeshire at the end of March. I will try to bring a camera on that as I hear the views are absolutely amazing, and the trail route is all along the Welsh coast. I think the race will be kinda heavy for me, but will be well worth it. Plus we have booked a 2 night stay at a ridiculous spa for that weekend. Oh and five days after the race, we will be sitting on the beach and surfing here.

Wherein I whine about how difficult everything is...

2010-01-30T11:42:00.006Z

When we moved to the UK, there was a lot to learn quickly. The insane tax system, with its mysterious income tax (you don't get the breakdown on your paycheck to know what money goes where), council tax (like a property tax, even though we only rent), the TV tax (which was significantly more if you dared have a color television), and the 17% VAT tax (that's a sales tax), was the first labyrinth we navigated.

The next obstacle was driving. It turns out that you can drive on a US license in the UK for 12 months, at which point you need to obtain a UK license. And there's no shortcut - you have to get the permit ('provisional license'), take the written theory exam, a 'hazard perception test' where you identify potential hazards in a series of 30-second video clips of driving, and the practical exam.

This wouldn't have seemed so daunting if not for a few things: my (admittedly minor) car accident one-hour into driving in the UK, a truly disastrous driving hour with an instructor recommended by a colleague at work (he picked apart everything I did - when I shifted, when I depressed the clutch, where my hands were on the wheel - to the point where I was literally afraid to do ANYTHING and doubted whether I had been fit to drive for the previous 9 years; it may not have helped that he had an inpenetrable Scouse accent and I had been in the country for about 4 days at that point), and the awful stories from everyone I met when I brought up the driving exam. I am not kidding - literally every person I told shuddered at the memory of their exams, told me they didn't think they could pass now, that they'd only gotten harder since. I met two people (2!) who told me they had passed their first time - everyone else told me it had taken them three, four, even seven times to pass the exam. A colleague who had grown up in the UK and travelled to the US to work for my company and had to get a US license called to tell me how much more difficult it was to pass the UK exam.

All this basically resulted in me relying on my favorite fallback option: procrastination. I elected to NOT think about it for as long as I could.

Each month, my boss would worriedly call me into my office and ask me about my progress. I would promise, each time, that I would make a more concerted effort to do something and then push the idea as far from my mind as I could.

I should add here that at this point, I had bought my own car with great difficulty - I have no UK credit, so obtaining financing was awful. I was denied seven times at a number of dealerships, until work was able to find a Ford dealership who offered me 18 percent financing over a term that lasted as long as my contract, no more. With the restrictions placed by work on the minimum model I could buy (a Ford Focus or larger, diesel, 2 liter engine), and what they had in stock, I was looking at my choice of 2 £6,500 cars. They were both 2005 models, which meant that I would be spending as much on my car here (without including financing) as I spent on my BRAND NEW 2005 Hyundai when I graduated college. But I'd be paying over 3x more per month for it, and it would have over 50,000 miles when I started. For those of you doing the quick math, that was over £300/month, or almost $500 USD/month I'd be paying for my used Ford Focus.

And that doesn't even BEGIN to address the difficulty I had obtaining car insurance. People literally laughed at me when I called for quotes, and when I could get a number from them it was generally between £5,000 and £6,000/year, or even higher. I eventually found a bare-bones plan from the Post Office that would take into account my US license, and my 3 years evidence of having made no claims on my policies, and offered me a quote of £2300/year. For those of you doing the conversion in your head, that meant I was paying over $3600 USD per year for my insurance. The last policy I'd paid for in the US was from Progressive, fully comprehensive, and cost me $400 USD.

But what could I do? I needed to drive for work, so I sucked it up as best I could and paid. All the while my boss harangued me about getting my UK license, he kept telling me how much cheaper it would be to insure myself. And that made sense, given my experience trying to get insurance on my US license, right?

Let's fast-forward. After passing my written exam and hazard perception test, I did a driving hour with someone recommended by a fellow dog-owner from the park. This experience was markedly different from my last, as he told me I was great and just needed to make the appointment and we'd practice some of the manouvers.

I made the appointment, but the soonest I could get was two months away, the day after we would be returning from the US for a friend's wedding. I was nervous, but before I left did a few more hours and I could feel my confidence improving.

I showed up for the exam and it was fine. It took almost 45 minutes from start to finish, but I answered the instructor's questions and made myself relax as we drove around town, parallel parking (they call it 'reverse parking' here) three-point turning, pulling over and doing my best to obey speed limits. I was pretty relieved I didn't have to reverse around a corner or backing into a parking place (though I had practiced them to death and was pretty sure I'd have been ok). When we returned to the test center, my instructor turned to me and smiled - she said it had been flawless, no marks, and I had passed the test. (Sidenote: you're allowed 15 minor infractions, like not checking your mirrors enough, doing things in an incorrect order, crossing your hands on the wheel, etc; but if you didn't check your mirror and there had been a car there, or you hit the curb, or continued with a manouver and there was a pedestrian anywhere nearby, etc, you would immediately fail)

I did a little dance in the parking lot, proudly showed my instructor and brought my test sheet into the office to show off. All day, I felt great, like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I got home, took the dog for a walk and gloated to all our dog walking friends about my success. They all encouraged me to call my insurance company when I got home, and that's just what I did.

That's where, if this were a movie, you'd hear the soundtrack stop and with stunning clarity you would hear the voice on the phone telling me that with my updated information, the computer model saw only that I was a brand new UK driver, without taking into account my years experience driving in the US, but apparently still taking into account my age and no claims (3 years, remember) from the US. And now my annual premium was £5036, which meant that the outstanding balance I had (to cover my insurance from January 26 to March 26) was £411.

I'm not going to lie, there were tears. I spoke to their manager, and their manager above them. I was informed that I could cancel the policy, but then I would be uninsured - and it was already 8pm, too late to call many companies to get a quote for a new policy. Additionally, by not finishing my year with a single company, I would lose any ability to claim the last year I was in the UK as a one year UK no claims bonus. I had a business trip the next morning, and didn't know what to do. I called my boss in Dubai and woke him up (it was midnight there) but he had no better ideas.

I was shocked, left without a choice, and subsequently made £411 poorer.

I'm still trying to figure out what to do next...

-----------------------------------------------------------------

On a lighter note, Miller is sporting some new head gear. We picked him up from the farm in Wales after travelling back from the US. As usual, he smelled awful but was bounding around as if he owned the place. We took him home, gave him a bath, and settled in.

A few nights later, we noticed he was scratching and biting a spot on his back where we'd noticed a bump before. The vet at the time had thought it was an ingrown hair and would go away, but now as we felt it we could feel it was raised much more and could feel other bumps nearby.

I took him to the vet Friday afternoon and she shaved off some fur to get a better look. The poor pup had so many bug bites! She suspected that it was an insect/flea from the farm, and said our monthly Frontline treatments might not deter all the different fleas. So Miller got a steroid shot, a fancy skin soothing shampoo, and a cone of shame.

The vet said he would get better about walking around it in, but as far as the furniture, stairs, and the backs of our legs are concerned, we haven't seen any improvement.

Scotland

2010-01-03T21:59:00.002Z

While Mark and I have made a few trips to Wales and Ireland, there was one remaining corner of the United Kingdom we had yet to visit – Scotland. And since both our offices were shutting down between Christmas and New Years, we had the perfect opportunity.

Mark was drawn right away to the Western coast of Scotland, which had been recommended by a colleague at work. There’s also a fairly well known whiskey distillery there… Coincidence? I somehow find that difficult to believe.

We were able to find a great ‘Twixmas’ deal at a lochside inn that accepted dogs, so the family packed into the car on Tuesday after Christmas and we headed north. As the drive was going to be quite long, we decided to stop along the way at Hadrian’s Wall. This barrier was erected around 125 AD, either to demarcate the boundary of the Roman Empire, or to serve as fortification from the unconquered wilds of the north (apparently people still argue about this sort of thing). As an interesting factoid, Mark claims it was also the first spot/time that passports were used for entry into and exit from the Roman Empire.

We delayed lunch to visit the site, and proceeded to drive in seemingly endless circles around snow covered farmlands until literally stumbling over a parking lot adjacent to one of the Roman garrisons along the wall.

Miller checks out what all the fuss has been about.

The wall

The wall was… Underwhelming. And it probably didn’t help that Mark had been getting me excited for a Hadrian’s Hamburger Hut that he hypothesized would be right next door… In reality, there was just a whole lot of ice and a Roman fort that was closed to the public for the season.

Not to harp on Mark’s unfortunate way of tantilizing me with dreams of food, but he then assured me that there was a McDonalds in the train station adjacent to the motorway where we had gotten off, so we then headed in that direction. I say unfortunate because it was only after getting lost in the one-way maze of Carlisle and its random traffic congestion in the middle of Christmas break that Mark admitted that he had never seen the train station before, and he didn’t think there was a McDonalds anywhere nearby.

Basically, all these delays meant that we didn’t reach our final destination until hours after dark. We had been in the car for nearly 8 hours, the last two of which were meandering A roads (imagine: Rte 123 in Norwell, or Rte 151 in Falmouth/Mashpee) covered in snow/ice/slush, poorly lit, with alternately majestic and menacing mountains at every turn.

The view's not half-bad, huh?!

This is Mark's new favorite face to make when I take pictures. He thinks it makes him look like a certain celebrity...

But we did arrive, which was the important part. While the inn wasn’t quite as nice as the website had led us to believe, it was warm and Miller settled right in. We glanced outside at the loch, with a snow covered mountain in the distance, and collapsed into bed.

The next day, we had a lazy morning reading by the space heater (that sounds so sad, but if you closed your eyes you could almost imagine it was a little fireplace) before getting back in the car. We headed another 20 miles north, to the town of Oban, for lunch and a tour of its distillery.

OK, so there’s definitely an alcohol/distilling/brewing theme to many of our trips, but I have to say that this was the coolest tour thus far. The Oban Distillery was founded in 1794, and the process and equipment has literally remained almost unchanged, with the exception of repairs and replacements to the stills and pipes. They employ only 7 people, one of whom gave us the tour; they work 24 hours a day, 5 days a week (2 people to an 8 hour shift), and shut down for 4 weeks a year (in order to make repairs). We were visiting during the shutdown, so we didn’t get to see the distilling in-process, but were able to see all the equipment and learn about each step in greater detail than anywhere else we’ve visited thus far. We were able to taste the whiskey at various stages in its development, including a 68% alcohol sample that had been aged 13 years in a cask; this final product is watered down and bottled after 14 years.

Oban Distillery

The gift shop; we weren't allowed to take photos in the distillery.

I really can’t recommend the tour enough, and we spent a pretty penny in the gift shop after savoring our ‘drams,’ including another scotch whiskey, Talisker, which I was informed ‘was not for girls,’ though I kind of liked the rollercoaster flavors. It’s a bit smokey, like the Oban, but there’s also a fiery pepper taste as you swallow before it mellows again to honey. Definitely worth a taste, though I think you could only have a bit at a time.

The village of Oban itself was nice, but the cold weather meant that we preferred ducking into cafes and the warmth of the car, rather than exploring much further. In fact, that was probably the only bad part of our trip – the wintry weather made the scenery all the more breathtaking (and Christmas-like) but it also meant we were confined to indoors for most of the time.

It's tough to see in the photo, but there's a pretty awesome mountain in the background...

The town of Oban.

We had another quiet night in the hotel before heading home the following day. Again, it was a long trip (with a shorter stop, this time in the town of Inverary, where Miller was welcomed into the guest shop and flirted with the lady behind the counter) but we made it fun with a bit of silliness and a stop to play in a brief snowstorm that hit at lunch time. Well, at least Mark and I were able to entertain eachother… I think Miller was a little sick of us.

Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssstmassssssssssss...

2010-01-01T11:06:00.010Z

One of the things that concerned both Kathleen and I was spending another Christmas away from our families. We both enjoy our families so much that is was hard to think of missing out on all the fun for a second year in a row. I know for Kathleen this includes an amazing seafood dinner at her Mom’s, some complicated game usually involving cards (that I suck at) with her brothers, and Christmas morning itself at her Dad’s. For me Christmas is a chance to just laugh a lot with my family. When the three of us are together, my brothers and I always tend to behave like idiots. However when you add in some holiday cheer (aka copious amounts of alcohol), it really is pretty perfect. However Kathleen and I resolved ourselves to Christmas over here in late summer and although there was a valiant (and very very touching) attempt to get us back there last minute, we had already put plans in place.

The tree was purchased and went up the first weekend in December. Although this was a bit early for me historically, it definitely got things kicked into gear quickly. That same weekend we bought Christmas Vacation and White Christmas on DVD and watched Elf for the first time. We also listened to the Elf soundtrack a good dozen or so times which insured that I had Christmas carols thoroughly stuck in my head for the next 4 weeks (who knew that I happen to run to the exact tempo of every carol every written?). Anyhow, this first weekend was when we also started to lay out the menus for our first Christmas as a family. We figured since it was just the three of us, we were free to experiment as much as we wanted with the food.

I was to be in charge of Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas breakfast. Kathleen took on the task of planning and executing the main event’s evening meal. Although it seemed like she had the tougher of the tasks, I did not know about the ace that was still up her sleeve. You see Kathleen had to travel back to the US for the entire week before Christmas. The morning of her departure (at least that is what it seemed like) she handed me a two page list of groceries to purchase while she was away. When I asked why we had to get everything so early she proceeded to tell me how chaos prevails during Christmas at the grocery store and the shelves will emptied like there was nuclear war imminent. I consoled myself by deciding that this surely meant I could add whatever things I wanted to the list including two bottles of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, sour cream and onion Pringles, frozen mini-pizza apps, and a package of Millionaires Flapjacks that the British creepily describe as ‘naughty’ but are ridiculously good tasting and awful for you. (Oh and for the record, despite going to do the main shopping 10 days early, we returned to the grocer three more times and it was never really that crowded nor bare of food).

The weekend she did get home, we received our first flurries of the year. Snow is just so stupidly exciting for me; I was automatically in an amazing mood. That Sunday we had also planned to go see the Messiah. I have seen it performed numerous times with my parents in the US, and when I lived in Japan I saw it done by a Japanese Catholic choir. Kathleen and I also saw it performed in Montreal at an old cathedral one winter and it was amazing. I also have fond memories of listening to this with my dad as he enjoys a glass of scotch and explains why everyone stands during the Hallelujah chorus. So this is a holiday must for me and we were looking forward to it in the modern Metropolitan Cathedral in Liverpool. To summarize, it was long, cold, acoustically poor, and the champagne spritzer served at Intermission was undrinkable... We made it until the end of the Hallelujah chorus and then jetted out the back door. Sure the head priest gave us a dirty look, but come on the man was wrapped in a heavy blanket like robe while the rest his flock was freezing! Ahh… the holidays!

Kathleen had to work on Christmas Eve despite her numerous attempts to change her bosses mind (as well as some direct email pleas/commands to him by yours truly). Miller and I woke up, ran, and then settled in to a three hour extended edition of Aliens while we waited for her to get home. I can say that watching this particular movie with my dog was pure bliss and relaxation. That evening I cooked a red Thai curry with shrimp. Despite our lack of religious beliefs, Kathleen wanted to stick with the seafood tradition, and we had fun drinking Irish whiskey and de-veining shrimp. The curry turned out pretty amazing. After opening one gift each, we settled in to yet another viewing of Elf.

We woke up around 9am on Christmas day which was actually the latest I think I have every gotten up. First thing was to take Miller out to Sefton Park and make sure he got some exercise. It had actually snowed a few inches the night of the 23^rd and that dog loves chasing snowballs. The night of the 24^th was super cold and the park was like a skating rink which made the whole walk even more amusing. He is just not too good on his feet (takes after his Mom I suppose). When we got back to the house we did the presents thing and we definitely made out like bandits. I guess everyone felt bad we were all alone?? After the carnage, I proceed to make Kathleen stuffed French toast. This was one of her favorite breakfasts we used to get at Blue Star in Winooksi. I did not do it justice, but stuffed hers with a ton of banana, and added fresh nutmeg and real Vermont Maple Syrup to add to the deliciousness.

Christmas dinner is where Kathleen took over, rightfully so. She had bought a pork loin from a local butcher and found an amazing recipe involving lots of spices and honey. She had it cooking in the oven most of the day and it definitely turned out delicious. In addition to the pork loin she cooked a sweet potato spinach gratin that we somehow convinced ourselves covered off the ‘vegetable’ part of the meal. To finish it all off she had baked a Waiting for Wilma pecan pie made with melted dark chocolate and dulce de leche. It was so sweet that we could only eat it slivers at a time, but was pretty amazing.

We capped off our celebration with a few beers watching the Johnny Cash Christmas Special from 1979. This was amazing in so many ways. It is too much to describe but I say watch it and get ready for the softer side of the Man in Black.

All in all it was a pretty great holiday. We definitely missed our families and spent a lot of time, calling, texting, and ‘web-camming.’ However it also pretty rad for the three of us to hide out over here and enjoy each other’s company. This whole year has just been amazing for us to be able to spend so much time together and I am not quite sure if we will ever have another opportunity to do so. I think it is a pretty good sign that we are not sick of each other yet as well.

Having thoroughly done the holiday, we started to pack our bags for Scotland!

Giving Thanks

2009-12-20T11:28:00.003Z

Almost a year ago, my mom and I started planning a trip where she and my brothers would come to visit. Originally, we had considered the spring but were worried that schedules wouldn't work out... And so our next thought was Thanksgiving, one of the most important holidays in the Brosnahan household - one could argue that it's even more important than Christmas (but I'm still partial to the latter). That's because it is a four-day gorgefest, with my mom cooking for days in the kitchen before laying out an awesome spread for Thanksgiving. Which we dip back into that evening before bed, then again at lunch the next day, and then again and again until Sunday when we all have to head back to the real world.

It was exciting to think about having the whole family over to Liverpool for the holiday, and it also meant a lot to me, personally, since this would be the first big holiday I'd be celebrating as 'Mrs. Yates.' And not in a 'I'm going to dress up like Mark's mom' kind of way.

Mark and I started looking at recipes several months in advance. I decided I wanted to make something the day that the family arrived, so that they could wake up from their post-flight naps to something smelling delicious... After a lot of web surfing, I decided to make these cardamom cinnamon rolls, from one of my favorite websites. I liked how it would all be from scratch (my first time working with yeast!) and my brothers and I have some mad love for cinnamon rolls.

We wouldn't be celebrating Thanksgiving until that Saturday, since they would arrive on Thursday (Thanksgiving) and I'd planned a day trip to Ireland for that Friday. Wednesday evening I baked two apple pies, but wasn't sure about how they'd turned out (the grocery store didn't have Macintosh apples, or the right kind of shortening, so there was a lot of last minute substitution... the pie dough was pretty different from my mom's, and then I had no idea how much sugar and flour to add to the apples...).

Thursday, the whole family arrived and somehow managed to fit in the house. I wasn't able to convince everyone to nap until after the cinnamon rolls were out of the oven, but later that afternoon we were able to go for a walk and show them the neighborhood. Mark made a batch of his version of my mom's meatballs (everyone was impressed and there wasn't much leftover). Then Mark took Mike, Sandy and Toby to a concert downtown while Mom and I made cranberry sauce (with fresh cranberries smuggled in from America) and went to bed early.

Friday, we flew to Dublin and jumped aboard a bus tour that took us all over the city. We didn't really have much of a plan beyond stopping off at the Guinness Brewery for another tour and a perfect pint, but we managed to get off the bus a few times and see a few other Dublin sights.

It was a long day but a lot of fun - and the best part was knowing all the food we had waiting for us the following day...

Mark and I were up early and drove out of Liverpool to a small family-owned farm in Warrington. We had ordered a 12lb turkey a few weeks before, and the family had managed to get one and butcher it for us for our holiday (turkeys are traditionally eaten here for Christmas, so we weren't sure we'd be able to get one big enough for our feast). It was gorgeous, but still had quite a few feathers... Meaning a bit more prep work for me.

We came home as everyone was waking up and having coffee. Our farmer's market was back, so everyone trooped out and had some pain au chocolat and walked around a bit while I de-feathered the bird and began to get prepped. My mom came back and we had a lot of fun getting the bird seasoned and prepped for the oven, and slicing a stale loaf of bread for mom's awesome stuffing. Next came the mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes (a stand-in for butternut squash) with VT maple syrup and pecans, and garlic green beans.

A pretty awesome Thanksgiving, if I do say so myself.

(the pies were the weakest part, but I'm sure I can pull 'em off better once we're home for the next Turkey day)

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A few weeks later, the night before I was supposed to return to the US for a business trip, Mark and I decided to return to Paul's Place, a tiny restaurant a few blocks away from our first Liverpool apartment. When he called to make the reservation, Paul himself answered and recognized Mark with a 'Long time no see!' Mark laughed and apologized, explaining that we'd moved but were excited to come back for another amazing meal.

We arrived in time for the early-bird special (we know, we're old) and sat down at a cozy table near the kitchen. We had just tucked into our appetizers and wine when the waitress came to Mark with a scarf in her hand.

The last time we went to Paul's was in March, when Mark's mom and dad came for a visit. He'd left his scarf but never thought twice about it since - but Paul had held onto it and reminded the waitress when we came that it belonged to Mark.

We had an amazing meal (clean plate club, no question), had a personal good-bye from Paul, and walked out into the cold night with their Christmas lights twinkling behind us.

This first year in Liverpool has been a lot of things - in some ways, everything I expected but in others, nothing like I could have imagined. It took seeing the city and our neighborhood through my family's eyes, and a moment with one of the many amazing people we've met along our journey, for me to realize what a special gift this experience has been so far. It's easy to get bogged down in our homesickness, to notice and make light of some of the great sadness that lives in this old city, but Mark and I need to make more of an effort to appreciate what's beautiful around us as well.

This year, I am thankful for my lovely husband, who laughs when I am cranky and walks the dog on Sunday mornings so I can sleep later. I am thankful that we have a lovely (if slightly water-damaged) home in a neighborhood where many of our neighbors know our names and say hello, and where our dog can walk off leash and meet his own friends in the park. I am thankful that my family was able to come and see us, and to share a special day that has come to mean a lot more than football and turkey. I'm grateful that we've had the chance to meet these people and make memories that Mark and I will cherish for years to come.

72 Hours in Paris, France

2009-11-03T21:40:00.013Z

For newlyweds not ready to commit to the traditional honeymoon, but lucky enough to live near a European discount airline hub, a ‘petit’ honeymoon in Paris offers a fantastic opportunity to stretch your holiday muscles before the real thing. The city offers activities to fit every budget, and its many attractions can be visited even on the briefest of trips – but may result in an incurable desire to come back again and again.

Thursday

1) 12PM: Get your bearings.

Drop your bags at the hotel, which may have your room ready as soon as you arrive. Open the French doors and survey the scene below before leaving for your first adventure: lunch. Pick a direction as you exit the hotel and start walking. The streets of Paris may offer a feast for your eyes, with monuments and parks at every corner, but your stomach likely requires something with a bit more heft. Pizza, which is not as readily available in Liverpool, is a great way to grab a quick bite and practice your French with a surprisingly encouraging waiter.

2) 3PM: Explore.

While Paris is a large city, it is very accessible on foot. The 6^th Arrondissement is home to a number of popular Parisian attractions, including the Jardin du Luxembourg, Medici Fountain, and Saint-Sulpice. Meander through its streets, heading toward the Seine in order to get a gasp-inducing vision of the Louvre and the Notre Dame de Paris. Join the crowds (though perhaps not the lines) and get a close-up view. A quick glance at the map reveals that your tired feet have a ways to go before the next stop, the Eiffel Tower, so why not take advantage of Paris’ comprehensive Velib bicycling program? A €1 ticket offers virtually unlimited access to the city, with bike stations located at every turn. Don’t be discouraged by the initially confusing process of purchasing a ticket, selecting a bicycle, and removing it from the locked stand. Instead, take this opportunity to practice your French on an unsuspecting customer service telephone operator. When the going gets tough, make up the words; then get on your bike and avoid highway on-ramps (ahem).

Jardin du Luxembourg

Saint-Sulpice

Louvre

Notre Dame

3) 8PM: A second look.

After a sunset survey of the Eiffel Tower, a quick washup at the hotel, and a fantastic Thai meal, jump back on a bike! These wheels come with headlamps and tail lights, so nothing is stopping you from another look at the iconic monument, this time with the benefit of the romantic atmosphere of a Parisian night. If you stick around long enough, irritating the other couples on the lawn with your stupid bicycle antics, you may be lucky enough to catch the hourly light show, where the tower goes dark before turning on thousands of twinkling white lights. The inner kid in you can’t help but love the spectacle.

Friday

1) 10AM: A few more sights

While one of you laces up his sneakers to explore the city at an eight-minute mile pace, the other should roll over luxuriously to take advantage of the additional mattress space. But don’t sleep in too long, as you’ll want to take advantage of the hotel’s breakfast in the basement (it sounds worse than it actually is). Though you may be dressed entirely inappropriately for the cold and cloudy weather that blew in overnight, be confident that your stubbornness (and proximity to multiple retail centers) will keep you relatively warm for the rest of the day. Walk down Montparnasse to see some of the local architectural gems and the Montparnesse cemetery, the final resting place of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre, among others. Don’t be worried if you only know these people by name and not necessarily through their work, as you can count yourself lucky to have avoided the Jim Morrison vigil in that other Parisian cemetery. Although you may be disappointed to learn that the Catacombs have been shuttered due to vandalism, promise yourself that you will see them on your next visit. Afterwards, warm yourself in one of the ubiquitous Paris cafes with a double expresso or café au lait.

2) 2PM: Modern Art and Architecture

The Centre Georges Pompidou is an example of high-tech architecture, a welcome change from the more traditional cathedrals peppering the Paris skyline. This building is either loved or hated by its critics, but don’t despair if you have a middle-of-the-road, lukewarm reaction. It’s just a building, after all. Skirt the pretentious street artist (really, why would you set yourself up for failure like that, getting all cocky about your ‘work’ when you’re immediately going to be compared to all the modern greats housed inside) and venture inside. There are a number of armchairs available to you as you contemplate whether it’s worth joining the long line to purchase tickets, and the Galleries Lafayette are a short bike ride away if you determine that obtaining a scarf, mittens, and hat are a better idea. The very best part is that there’s a great Japanese ramen place on your way, and a bowl of hot soup will go a long way to restoring your core temperature.

Pompidou Centre

Galleries Lafayette

3) 5PM: Evening shenanigans

Your bike ride back to the hotel should include a few detours: the iconic Arc du Triomphe on Champs-Elysées, and the Musée du quai Branly. The latter houses a comprehensive collection of indigenous art of Africa, Asia, Oceania and the Americas; it also benefits from much shorter lines. After you change into something more weather-appropriate, return to Montparnasse for a large meal of steak et frites, a French favorite. Then grab a bottle of wine and head for the left bank for a romantic evening spent swigging straight from the bottle, heckling tour boats and narrowly avoiding rats (dead or alive).

Saturday

1) 11AM: The other side

After your breakfast, get prepared for an uphill bike ride across the river to Montmartre to see the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur. Don’t be tempted by all the cheap tchotchke (why do they insist on selling little Eiffel Towers at every site?) and head downhill for your next adventure – the market underneath the elevated Paris subway, heading toward the cité de la musique. When you’ve had your fill of near pickpockets, grab a bike and pedal as fast as you can down the Avenue Jaun Jaurés. If you were smart, you purchased your tickets to the new Miles Davis exhibit online, and you can bypass the lines with your Montréal friends in tow. Catch a glimpse of Marcus Miller, the Grammy award winner and Miles Davis collaborator before putting your headphones on and listening to one of Jazz’s greats.

Sacre Coeur

2) 2PM: French friends

The best part of meeting an old friend in Paris? Getting their recommendation for a local spot for wine and food. Spend a few hours at the bar and hunkered at a small table, sampling local wines and savoring unidentifiable pates, pork rilletes, and cheeses on crusty French bread (order the charcuterie and fromagerie plates at Le Baron Rouge). You’ll pay a fraction of what you’ve spent on other meals and get an authentic French meal with great company to boot.

3) 7PM: Comfort food

You’ve done a lot over the past couple of days, so there’s nothing wrong with gravitating toward some comfort food (read: Italian) and tucking in early. Fall asleep dreaming of Paris, and remember that the literal translation of ‘au revoir’ is ‘to the next time we see each other.’

There are more photos online here and here. (please ignore my poorly spelled captions)

Old Friends and the Beatles

2009-10-23T18:46:00.011+01:00

This past weekend we had a mini-reunion of sorts in Liverpool. In 1999-2000, I lived and taught English in Japan. It was an amazing experience to learn not only about Japan, but about the cultures of all my co-workers from Australia, England, Ireland, etc: the important things like how to ‘take the piss' out of someone, the awesome disgustingness of Vegemite/Marmite, and the healing powers of Baraka. Anyhow, two friends who I lived with in Japan trekked up to Liverpool to hang out this past weekend. Dave lives in Melbourne, Australia, but was in the UK on business and Noreen lives a few hours south of us in Northampton.

They got here on Friday and we took them to the old standby The Moon and Pea. Our last experience here was very disheartening as the waitstaff and food quality both seemed to have dropped considerably. However, we had a great meal and the downward trend seems to be swinging back. Afterwards we had a quick drink at the Albert where we were afforded a direct view of some of our more unique neighbours. Unfortunately we did not get any pictures but our seats made us privy to not only their exuberant drug use, but also their penchant for deodorizing repeatedly in public.

Kathleen and I have had many visitors come through our fair city, but not one of them have had a remote interest in the Beatles. After Dave casually mentioned it would be funny to take a Beatles bus tour, I immediately started to look into it. There are many tours of this kind in Liverpool, but due to its name I figured the most legit was the Magical Mystery Tour. Now there are also private taxi tours, that were cheaper than £15 a head, but after a quick discussion, we decided the other tourists would be half the fun. Also a private tour might prove a bit awkward considering none of us really even like the Beatles.

We made it to Albert Dock just in time to hop on the bus. Immediately, we were a bit disappointed as our bus was not the colourfully painted bus on the brochure, but a normal coach. As we settled into our seats, Beatles music blaring in our ears, Kathleen took a quick video to capture our excitement:

I must also state here that out of all of us, Kathleen was the least excited. I had to sort of beg her to come along as she not only does not like the Beatles, but she actually kind of detests them. Who knew I married a hate-monger? Anyhow, she was a champ and came along with smiles (ok, maybe not smiles).

As our tour began, we quickly realized we were in for an hour and forty five minutes of pain. Our tour guide began the tour by pointing out the Anglican Cathedral and telling us how Paul McCartney tried out for the choir when he was a kid but was rejected (a fact he would repeat at least 5 more times during the tour, occasionally varying to say that it was another Beatle being rejected from another choir). However, it was not this meaningless factoid that alarmed us, it was how he told us. There is no way to accurately describe his manner, but it was pretty much how you would read a children’s book to a group of kids. Except, it was how you would read it if you were really annunciating every word and were reading your favourite book to them and in fact you were reading it aloud more to hear yourself than for the kids.

I won’t bore you with a complete play by play, but we sawmany sites including: all of their childhood homes (Ringo’s was not the nicest), Penny Lane (which Kathleen and I pass every day), a pub where one of their mother’s worked (scary), a cemetery where there is some woman’s gravestone (apparently no relation to any of the Beatles, but they took her name and wrote a song about it) and Strawberry Fields (I have no idea what this actually is/was). Here is where Ringo grew up:

We filmed the drive up Penny Lane, but it would not upload for some reason. Anyhow, here is a video of our stop at Strawberry Field (s?). We stayed on the bus and heckled a bit. You can get a great sense of the other people on the tour here.

However, the best part of the tour was completely unexpected: the average Liverpudlian’s reaction to us. Firstly, people still live in some of the houses we were gawking at. They were not too stoked on a bus load of people taking pictures, I’m sure. Additionally it seemed like a lot of random people had a certain animosity towards us and the bus we were on. At the corner of Penny Lane, two ‘lads’ returning from soccer practice mocked hysterical behaviour over the street sign. A few others were writing all over the sign. In one neighbourhood, two kids came running up when we were stopped at a light, and stood there repeatedly giving us the finger. This was a long light and the kids just sat there flicking us off in new and imaginative ways. It was really really funny. Also, as we swung back towards the city, another kid threw a tennis ball at us and struck Dave’s window. Totally amazing!

Suffice to say, we all had a lot of laughs over this all encompassing tour of Liverpool. We also learned a few things. It seems that John Lennon was a total asshole. I mean the guy got married and had a kid, but kept it secret from pretty much everyone because it was not considered rock star enough... Surprised that didn't work out. We also found out that a lot of the new Sherlock Holmes movie was filmed in our city. The tour guide continued to educate us with his narration. He trailed off often. A favourite was when he said “Ironically…” and then never finished his thought and started to mutter under his breath about some biker in the street. However, the most enlightening comment by the tour guide was: “And on your left? ASDA: part of the Wal-mart family.” Yup, the guide was sure to point out our local Wal-mart for us. Below is a picture at the end of the tour. I think you can see who had the worst time. Despite all my sarcasm, the tour peaked my interest in the Beatles, and I'd now kind of like to go to the Beatles Museum downtown. However, Kathleen refuses to come with me, so if anyone coming over is interested...

I think my friends had an awesome time. We went out for Indian food that night and just chilled on Sunday. It was super good to see them, and again it amazed me what close friendships I developed with people on the other side of the globe. Dave and Noreen: Come back soon!

Wales Wins Again!

2009-09-21T19:37:00.005+01:00

This year, New Balance UK will be staging their first half-marathon on home turf. It will be held in Warrington, but is called the Great British Half Marathon, because Warrington is really not such a nice place. Anyhow, I was excited for this as a bunch of co-workers decided to do it and I rarely get to run with people I know. However the date of this event falls on October 3^rd and as most of you know there is something slightly more important happening that day. Therefore, I decided to find another race and in an extremely hung over state (thanks Colin), I signed up for a half-marathon on Anglesey island. So this past weekend, we once again decided to set out for North Wales, which is really the most amazing part of the UK. Anglesey is an island off the coast of North Wales so we decided it would be fun to book a dog-friendly hotel and make a weekend out of it.

Despite the grey skies, we set out eagerly on our trip. Our first destination was at the furthest tip of the island, called Holyhead. There are huge cliffs overlooking the sea here and supposedly there are puffins as well, so we were super excited. When we arrived the scenery was incredibly dramatic. The sea was a few different beautiful shades of blue and although there were no puffins, there was a nice lighthouse to our North. The place felt a lot like our trip north of San Francisco last year and immediately made us both realize how importance the sea is to both of us.

We were also really excited to find out that something was being filmed. We saw three men dressed in ‘period’ clothing surrounded by a bunch of Americans filming and shouting instructions. A fourth actor came out and he even had an assistant. We both racked our brain to try and see if we knew who these people were. We finally decided we had no clue, but deduced that it was some B rated made for TV Sherlock Holmes thing. We watched numerous run throughs of a scene where they look over the cliff and discuss how best to climb down to the boat. They then started to film and during the second take, our good friend Miller shook his head violently making loud noises much to the dismay of the Production Assistant. He shot us a very American and very dirty look so we decided to be on our way. I thought it was pretty exciting nonetheless and Kathleen enjoyed the crew’s American accents.

At this point, it was getting a bit late so we decided to adjourn to Beaumaris where we had booked a room at the Bulkely Hotel. This was a hotel that was built in order to accommodate the queen a century ago. It was subsequently purchased by Best Western, who made it a much more ‘common’ lodging. As we checked in to our room, we noticed that a wedding was taking place there. Oh, cute we are getting married in a few weeks… yeah, more to come on that in a bit. The room was not the nicest, but we were stoked that Miller could stay. We spent the evening exploring the beach area and downtown which boasted ‘the most technically perfect medieval castle in the world.’ I still don’t know what that means, but it looked cool.

Rather than leave Miller in the room while we went out to eat, we opted to order from their Bistro menu and eat in the Lounge. Well… the food was pretty terrible. Kathleen had a leg of lamb that tasted like ‘what you remember bad lamb tasting like as a kid.’ My lasagne (usually a good pre-race meal) was some meat and weird saucy cheese liquid. I really think there was no pasta in it at all. However, the worst was the other people in the Lounge. Well these people were actually all the young kids from the wedding. By kids, I guess I mean drunk (really really drunk) 12-15 year olds acting very inappropriately, screaming toddlers who had way too much candy, and a few early twenty-somethings inhaling helium. Oh and they were all very interested in Miller who kind of had the best response to them by just growling away.

Needless to say, we booked out of dinner and decided to retire early. We watched some TV while Miller took full advantage of roaming freely on the furniture. At around 10ish, we decided to try to sleep. I could be wrong, but I think this was precisely the time the DJ decided to crank the dance music at the wedding reception. It was an awful, awful two hours. The only good thing coming out of this was we have a long list of Do Not Plays at the wedding including such favourites as:

YMCA – The Village People

Hips Don’t Lie – Shakira

Tell Me More – Grease Soundtrack

The Twist – Chubbie Checker

Kung Fu Fighting – God Knows Who

And much, much more…

I’m sorry if anyone is partial to these, but it just ain’t happening. After a very angry call to the Front Desk, they quieted a bit and then shut down at midnight. Then for the next hour there were the sounds of various drunken guests roaming the halls and urinating in the alley outside our window. I believe I fell asleep until about 4:30 or so only to be awakened to another post-wedding couple activity (our neighbours?) that I won’t go into detail about. Sooner (rather than later) my alarm went off at 6:45 for race day.

We got out of the hotel without any issues, but also without successfully getting our rate reduced. It was drizzling as we pulled out of town and to be honest, we were both feeling a bit surly. However, as we drove on a bit, the rain gave way to sun and a beautiful day opened up for us. We followed the directions we were given to the race finish. I was to register here and receive my chip, and then they would transport me 13.1 miles to the start. The worst part of a race is waiting around for it to start so I made sure I took the last possible bus. Kathleen and Miller put me on, like it was my first day of school, and off I went.

The race itself was pretty gruelling, but I pretty much loved every second of it. The beginning reminded me of that area in Welfleet where the Cape is at its narrowest. There were tidal flats off to my right during the first mile, whereas on my left were beach pines, very reminiscent of Truro. I have some pretty terrible shin splints these days, but the scenery helped me to forget. At mile 2-3, we turned inland and the surrounding became much more Vermont like (but with more sheep). The course was pretty hilly and wound through small towns and many, many farms. Off to my right rose the mountains of Snowdonia, still decked out in morning fog. The sun stayed out the entire time and I was definitely glad I had the hat my mom bought me before the Cape Cod marathon a few years back (thanks to Mom for the gift and to Kathleen for reminding me). As I said, my shins kept me a bit reserved the first two miles, but I was then able to open up. My splits were coming in faster and faster, and I even managed one of my quickest miles ever. Finally I saw the finish area, and as I came around the last bend, there were Kathleen and Miller waiting with big smiles, yelling and screaming. I had told Kathleen I would be in between 1:45 and 2:00 as I knew the course was pretty tough. Luckily she erred on the side of caution because according to my watch, I came in just under 1:42. Not my fastest, but quicker than Liverpool in the spring and this was a much more challenging course, so I was stoked.

Soon after, I was showered and hydrated, and we were headed back home. We decided to stop off in Conwy to have lunch. We ate paninis in the harbour underneath another gigantic medieval castle. Afterwards, Kathleen took a quick tour of the Smallest House, and we then meandered back to the car in the crisp fall weather. Despite a horrible night’s rest, our trip was pretty fantastic. The race itself reminded me of 100 on a 100 in Vermont and I would definitely recommend it to anyone. Anglesey itself, is extremely beautiful and worth a day excursion. North Wales is truly an amazing place and if nothing else, we are psyched to be able to spend so much time there.

Happy Days

2009-09-12T16:31:00.009+01:00

The past few weeks have been a flurry of activity - busy days at work for me and Mark, late dinners, and the weekends have seemed too far and few between. Nevertheless, we've managed to squeeze a lot of fun in, including the Wirral Food and Drink festival a few weeks ago.

As we've mentioned in previous posts, we're starting to pay a lot more attention to what we eat and where it comes from. The northwest of England is blessed with some great local food options, and we've sampled local ice-cream, lamb, cheese, fruit and vegetables. The food festival was a great opportunity to see more of these local vendors, ones with amazing food but a little too far to go for a weekly errand. The festival was held on the grounds of the Claremont Farm, our current source of fresh vegetables and meats, and we had a great time - sampling from the tents, horsing around and, of course, people watching.

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When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race. - H.G. Wells

Last week, a giant box arrived in the mail for me. Mark was good and didn't take a peek (I was away for work), but on Saturday we ripped it open. I'd ordered a bike from a little shop in East London, and we set to work trying to put it together.

In an hour or so, we'd assembled what looked like a bike, but it didn't quite work like a bike. I'd like to say that we soldiered on and made it work (ah, Tim Gunn, how I miss you), but Mark recommended that we take it to a local bike shop and have them make a few adjustments. After all, when you're talking about brakes, it's probably not the best idea to just ignore the problem.

We took it for a debut ride last Sunday, into town and then over to the farm, but it wasn't until today that we really showed her off.

Mark spent the morning skateboarding in Runcorn, and when he came back we grabbed the bikes and headed downtown to Everyman Bistro for lunch. Sated and happy, we then rode down to the docks and fooled around for a while - trying out some 'Agility Training' (sort of a private joke, though there is an Agility Training course near Liverpool where dogs can learn to jump through rings of fire... Mark really wants to enroll the dog) while thoroughly unimpressed pedestrians watched.

We rode along the promenade back to our neighborhood, then took Miller to the park. He's slowly getting used to the bikes, but I think his favorite part is the constant running and weaving between and in front of us to see our reactions.

After a little rest on the grass, we both felt refreshed. A pretty perfect Saturday afternoon.

PS. This was really all I meant to write today, but I just ran out and picked up a book at the library. Normally, this wouldn't be very exciting, but as the librarian wrote out the due date on the front page, I realized she was writing our wedding date.

WHOA. We are officially getting hitched in three weeks!

I got a little giddy (the librarian wishes us both the best) and practically skipped the whole way home...

Still Makin' It Happen

2009-08-31T18:51:00.012+01:00

One of the most difficult aspects of moving to Liverpool for me was the prospect of having less than ideal access to surf and snow. I have been super fortunate over the past 10 years to live within an hours drive of one or the either and consequently, these have dominated my life to a large degree. Therefore, as we began a New Year in January, I wanted to commit to doing something that would help fill this new gap. Skateboarding was pretty central to the early part of my life and it enabled me to avoid and get into all sorts of trouble. It provided me with a pretty damn good education as well whether it be learning to navigate the streets and subways of NYC to find the Brooklyn Banks or protesting a proposed act in my town to ban skateboarding. When I graduated college, my skating really cut down as I started to work full-time and got involved in other things. Regardless, I have always had a board and would get back on it once in awhile. I thought that our new life in Liverpool might give me the perfect opportunity to start skating seriously again.

And… it has been a pretty amazing and frustrating 8 months or so. It seems these days that skating has enjoyed a lot more public support and financing. Along with inevitable ridiculous marketing and commercialization, this has meant a lot of skate parks have been built. This article in the WSJ is something we would have never dreamed of as kids. Liverpool has about 4 parks within a 30 minute drive, and it has been a lot of fun getting to know the different spots. Skating as 33 year old (as opposed to being a 13 year old) has been pretty rad (although painful) as well. There is nothing like coming home from the park exhausted, sweaty, and bloody, and then going right out for beers with your fiancée.

In addition to the lack of surf and snow, I have also missed the feeling of having some close buds around to enjoy them with. Therefore when Colin decided it was about time he came over, I immediately told him it was going to be a skate trip. He landed on a Thursday and despite having been told his board could be a weapon, made it through with everything. After a quick nap and some lunch back here, we went out skating. That first day and for the next couple we hit up Runcorn. This is a concrete park built a few years ago by the Town Council. It has a sketchy half pipe, two small bowls, and all sort of hips and spines and quarters. It is a bit small but is in pretty good shape.

The park itself is situated next to some pretty awful projects. As one of the older guys I skate with who used to live there, ‘It’s pretty much like living in Beirut.’ Despite this perhaps exagerrated claim, the scene at the park is really chill and fun. There is an age range from about 4 to 54 and everyone is super psyched on each other. The only real trouble we encountered were a bunch of little kids throwing rocks at us while we skated the bowl. Not a big deal and they eventually bored of this. We had a lot of fun here over the past few days, re-learning old tricks, playing games of S-K-A-T-E, and generally eating shit. Colin got his pop heel flips back and I spent more and more time in the little bowls. It was so rad to skate with him again and it brought back so many memories of when we were younger. It is pretty awesome to meet a guy when you are 2, learn to skate with him when you are 10, and then be skating together in another country at 33.

Needless to say, a lot of beers were enjoyed after these sessions. Kathleen joined us in Runcorn and hung with the dog while we skated, but she jumped right in on the drinking sessions. She and Colin get a long amazingly well and we all must have looked pretty ridiculous giggling in a booth as we played dice using each of our iPods. Let’s just say that this night did not end up to pretty for a certain individual who has since been told he needs to practice a lot before his bachelor party…

As usual with the NW UK we were battling the weather throughout his visit. It would rain at least once a day but Runcorn usually dried up in time for a session. However on Sunday it was grey and rainy from the get-go so we decided to go to an indoor park called Rampworx. This was the place I first started skating back in January. The place has an amazing set up. It has a mini street course with a few hips, a table top, and some nice wedges. There is an amazing mini-pipe there that is so fun to learn tricks on. There is also a nice sized bowl as well. On top of this, there is a whole other side, that I have yet to really dial in. Check it:

Rampworx Skatepark 3D render from Rampworx Skatepark on Vimeo.

Weekdays between 6-8 pm are generally pretty mellow, and Sunday morning sessions are virtually empty (church and hangovers pre-occupy the majority of Britons time on a Sunday morning). Recently I had stopped going on weekdays though because with school holidays it has been awful crowded. There are a lot of kids all packed in here and a lot of BMX’ers and Rollerbladers. It can actually get a bit dangerous at times with people dropping in on each other and bikes flying everywhere. However, since it was rainy and a Sunday, I thought we’d be ok. This was our last skate session of the trip, but definitely was the best. We skated as much as we could and were both landing things that had not even been thought of for ten years or so.

Despite being pretty wrecked from the past few days of skating as well as a bit of beer drinking there was still one mission we had been bouncing around. Kathleen wrote in the past about our trip to Hell’s Mouth and with Colin here, we thought it would be a perfect time to head back and actually get some waves. The surf forecast was not encouraging, but Colin was super into the idea so we committed. We woke up early on Monday AM and shot Kathleen up to work. It was go to be pretty fast paced as we had to jet out to the break a few hours away, get a session in, and then be back in time to pick up Kathleen from work. All in all, the plan could not have been smoother.We hit Wales around 9:15 and Colin was super stoked on the surrounding scenery. Our highway twisted and turned along the sea, until it finally spit us out on the tiny Welsh roads we had grown accustomed to. Out first stop was Off Axis, a super dope shop in the heart of Abersoch. We rented a few boards and found out that the surf was “small but would probably pick up some.” We drove straight out of town into the surrounding hilly farm lands. After a few miles of single track, we ended up at the parking lot to Hell’s Mouth. A quick walk down a small path and the Irish Sea opened out in front of us and…

“It doesn’t look too bad. Look that wave has a decent shoulder.”

“Yup and this incoming set does not look that small.”

It was on and all I can say in summary is that we scored. First day out for me and second for Colin and we surfed our asses off. The waves were a solid chest high with a few larger set waves. We caught a dump load of long lefts and rights in an uncrowded and friendly line up. On top of that, we were surrounded by some of the most dramatic scenery you could imagine. Colin and I have surfed on the East Coast and down in Costa Rica, but this was a pretty amazing session. This is not my pic, but you can get the idea.

We were in the water for 2-2.5 hours before it was time to pack it up and head back to pick up Kathleen. I was pretty impressed that we were even a few minutes early. That night we had a few more beers and reminisced on a pretty awesome few days. It is pretty rad that you can know someone for so long, yet still continue to make new memories each time you hang out. And in addition to getting some more skating in, it has gotten me really psyched to surf more. We are headed back to Wales next weekend and at least once more in September. Then I should be all primed up (at least surf wise) to meet back up with the boys back in NYC and MA before the big day!

Hilbre Island, Part II

2009-08-10T20:45:00.007+01:00

Two weekends ago, we ventured back to the Wirral peninsula for a visit to Hilbre Island. With the sun shining, we packed towels, wellingtons, and the pup in the back of the car and headed into the tunnel in downtown Liverpool.

We emerged on the other side and headed to the coast - and had an amazing afternoon hiking across the flat sand and around the cliffs of the island. (There were also seals, but I didn't get any pics)

Afterwards, we had some truly sub par 'homemade' ice-cream and headed further into the Wirral. This time, we trekked to Claremont Farm, and stocked up on goodies. We learned about the farm from one of my birthday gifts for Mark, the book Home Grown. It profiles chefs of the Northwest and the resurgence of haute British cuisine focusing on local ingredients.

We loved the farm, and have already been back. We can stock up on tons of fresh veggies, fruit, and good-quality meats (and have yet to spend more than £10). Yum!

Miller Guest Post (as requested by Spencer)

2009-08-01T08:43:00.003+01:00

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July in Ireland

2009-07-20T20:21:00.007+01:00

Mark joined me at the tail-end of a whirlwind business trip in Ireland(to be honest, there’s really never any other kind) to spend the first weekend in July in Cork and Co. Kerry.

Mark arrived on Thursday night, and I was pretty wired about an important sales presentation the next day. That meant a pretty mellow evening, but we still stumbled upon a great bar, Pavilion. It’s an old art-deco movie theatre, and the upstairs features dancing and live acts while the downstairs boasts a long bar, cool lights, and plenty of seating on the sidewalk outside. We enjoyed a pint or two of the local brew, Murphy’s (amazing, it was introduced to me by Char in Montreal as the best way to close out a cinq à sept) while waiting for a table to open up across the alley, at a little Mexican restaurant. The food (and company) was great, although we could have done without the play-by-play of the golf games of our nearest neighbors, an irritating foursome of US tourists.

The next day I went to visit a few customers while Mark worked from our not-so-great hotel room, until noon when he walked diagonally across the block to our mega-sweet-hotel room. We scored an awesome room with a last-minute booking on Expedia; the view was amazing, with a balcony overlooking the River Lee and much of the town, and only a few blocks away from High Street (the city center).

(On my way to the hotel, I swung by the airport and picked up our rental car. Normally, I would not bore you with these details, except: I got a Fiat. And some of you may be thinking - what do we have coming with the Chrysler buyout – and all I have to say is that I loved the Fiat Punto. It’s awesome, it’s little, it handled really well and I just loved it. Mark made fun of me for it, but I literally did a little dance every time we walked up to it in the parking garage.)

Friday night we had a few pints with my colleague Matt, who had a late flight back to Liverpool and thus got a chance to hang out with us and make us feel less anti-social. We spent some time in the sun outside Pavilion before grabbing some truly mediocre eats at an Italian restaurant nearby.

After we’d walked Matt back to the hotel to pick up his stuff and get a cab to the airport, we walked across the River Lee to another hopping area of Cork – this time, to find a bar we’d read about in a recent 36 Hours In… travel piece with in the Times. Unfortunately, we took a slight detour into a truly authentic old man bar. What is it with you and old man bars, Mark?

We don't have photos (Mark wouldn't let me) but there was two guys at the end of the bar, surrounded by a five foot wall of farts. They were incredibly drunk, but the reason they drew us in, the reason we politely ignored the aroma and initially didn’t notice the drool – were their hand puppets. One resembled a fox in a three piece suit, the other was a badger in similar attire, and they were both waving up in the air, singing Irish songs, and taking swigs of their own beer (resulting in some very wet sleeves). Amazing.

Anyway, we finished our beers rather quickly and headed down the street to the real attraction, Sin E. This pub used to be a barber shop, and still has barber chairs sprinkled about the place. It was full of people and had a great atmosphere from the moment we walked in. Mark grabbed a few pints, and we grabbed a few stools by the wall. We were seated right next to a corner table packed with a mixture of young and old fiddlers, flutists, drummers, and guitarists. We got comfortable and enjoyed the Irish music, played jam/jazz style, for a few more pints (and would have stayed longer, if only my head wasn’t drooping closer and closer to the bar).

The next morning we had a quick breakfast and got in the car for a trip to Killarney, in County Kerry. The family of Colin O’Sullivan, one of Mark’s friends from Japan, still lived in Killarney and Mark had met them years before, so we decided to take a drive. It took a few hours, but the countryside was beautiful and we got to have an quick visit with the O’Sullivans, which was great:

While we chatted with Colin’s family, I mentioned that my family was from the area, and they asked my surname. I was surprised to find out that Colin’s mom was a Brosnahan before she got married – and said, ‘wow, you’re like, family!’ The awkward silence that followed ensured that I stopped bringing up the whole family thing for the rest of the trip (really, how many Irish Americans do that? Cringe.).

We had a pub lunch before getting back in the car and heading toward Cork – and Mark was happy to find that we would make it in time for a visit to the Jameson distillery, in Midleton just outside the city.

It was actually really interesting, and we had a great time (but I could have done without the gazillion references to the ‘Jameson Experience,’ which was a bit cheesy). At the end, Mark volunteered to taste a variety of whiskeys and became a certified Irish whiskey taster! Seriously, we have the diploma and everything, so feel free to send all whiskey-related queries his way. It’s practically a PhD.

By the time we made it back to the hotel, we were both pretty tired but were trying to rally each other. But a 6-pack of Tuborg and two trays of sushi later, we were laid out on the bed flipping TV channels until we passed out. Only three cans into the six pack.

The next morning, we packed up our things and decided to go on one more road trip – to the end of the scenic drive along the southeast coast of Ireland. We basically headed toward Waterford (making it as far as Dungarvan) before ducking down a tiny road and following the farm roads back along the coast. I saw a bit of this on my last trip and was eager to show Mark, but I have to say that the view was way better at high tide.

All in all, we had an amazing time. I think we both had visions of moving to

Ireland

as we sat in the airport that Sunday, and we hope to head back soon.

Hilbre Island Run

2009-06-20T19:59:00.006+01:00

For my birthday this year, Jeremy sent me a dope book called Born To Run, by Christopher McDougall. It is written by a journalist who spent some time down in Mexico with the Tarahumara Indians who are apparently amazing long distance runners. It is not terribly well written, but it tells a great story and is full of all sorts of interesting information (at least interesting if you are in to running at all). Since the book begins with the question, ‘Why does my foot hurt?’ he spends a lot of time discussing the merits of barefooted running. I won’t go into too much detail about the theory behind this, but essentially the theory goes that shoes are blocking important information from reaching our body, which does not allow it to react accordingly and hence the reason running injuries have increased since the invention of the modern running shoe (1970’s). He does not really go into the fact that this could be because the number of runners have increased dramatically since then, but I’m sure he can find a way to make the numbers work out.

Anyhow, a lot of what I was reading did actually make sense and I thought I should give it a go. I decided to run 3 miles Friday morning without my sneakers. It went pretty well despite all of the stares I got running down Lark Lane to the park barefoot with my dog in tow at 6:00am. My legs felt great, but I did have some pain on the bottoms of my feet (wow, surprising huh?). Anyhow, I emailed Kathleen my accomplishment and her response was: “In Liverpool? That is not safe.” Fair enough, after all I did see a dirty diaper on the sidewalk the other day, and there is usually the one two combination of broken beer bottle on one block, human vomit on the next. Regardless, it left me wanting to try a longer run barefoot. On Friday afternoon, I started to hunt around on the interweb to see what I could line up for Saturday. The weather was questionable, but I knew I wanted to get out with Miller and try to get a run in as well. That is when I came across Hilbre Island.

Hilbre Island is a tidal island located in the Dee Estuary at the edge of the Irish Sea. At low tide, you can walk the two miles to the island and explore it and two smaller islands. I quickly checked the tides and saw that they were perfect for an afternoon excursion. I figured I could go out and around the island and back which would be roughly 6 miles round trip. Perfect. I spent Saturday morning cleaning as Kathleen would not be too into the dog hair and beer bottles in the apartment. I then set out and I got to the parking lot around 1:15 where I had a brief moment of indecision. I wanted to bring the leash, my camera, and some water. However since I only have two hands something had to go. I had run 20 miles before with no water breaks and pretty much hate carrying water bottles, so I gave Miller a big bowl full and put the bottle back in the car.

It was a bit crowded going straight to the island so I took a wide arc around the first two smaller ones to get to the main. Miller was off like the greyhound he has in him and I could tell he was having a wonderful time. It reminded me a bit of Provincetown Bay at low tide. There were some dry sandy patches, some wet muddy areas, and a lot of pools of sea water that had not yet drained out. When we came around the far side of the island, there were some rock shelves covered in shell fish and seaweed. This slowed us a bit but within no time we were on the island itself. From the far side we looked out and saw a few seals hanging out. At this point we had come about 3 miles and I took stock of how I felt and how Miller looked. Absolutely amazing, I would say for the both of us. So instead of heading straight back, we cut across another tidal flat that brought us over to the next town (even though the website expressedly said not to cross this way, but I figured we had plenty of time before the tide changed). Finally we came ashore near a promenade and a life saving station. I still felt really great, but I could tell Miller was feeling a bit parched, so we headed back.

This run was nothing short of fantastic. I can’t describe how much fun it was running for so long on the tidal flats and the beach. I was able to let Miller go as far ahead or behind as he wanted and I did not have to worry about cars. Whenever we would get too hot, I would vear towards a tidal pool and splash through. I felt so great running that we were just flying around aimlessly just simply enjoying ourselves. We would pick a landmark in the distance and head for it. Then when we got there, we would just choose another. When we finally got back to the car, I was surprised to find out it was already 3:00. I figure that with the amount of time that had elapsed, we probably ran about 10 miles. Now, I won’t lie and say I did not feel a thing, but all in all my body felt great. My strides were much shorter and I was landing on the balls of my feet rather than my heels, just like I had read about. Of course this was 10 miles barefoot on the beach and not 10 miles barefoot in the mountains. I am not ready to throw the shoes in the garbage and quit my job, but I think this is something I will definitely play with more.

All in all, I am so psyched we found this run and I can honestly say the Hilbre Island Run is in my top five (others being in no particular order: 4 miler in Falmouth from my parents, Shelburne Farm in VT in the winter, the NYC marathon, and the Lake Champlain causeway in Colchester, VT). I am now enjoying a frosty beverage and slow cooking some chicken for burritos. Thanks for the book Jerm!

Here are some pics. And I know there are a ton of dog ones… sorry, I am officially a weird dog owner.

Wales is Just Rad.

2009-06-13T19:48:00.006+01:00

As you all probably know, Kathleen is back in the US seeing some friends, hitting the beach, and enjoying her time off. In the past when she has left me alone, I generally turn it into a Boy’s Weekend of sorts which means my friends come over and we drink a lot of beer, eat Crab Rangoon, and usually surf. However since 3 out of those 4 things are not currently available I had to think of another way to ‘seize the opportunity.’ One of the things I have learned about Kathleen is that she absolutely hates to get out of bed in the morning. It does not really matter what is planned for the day, weekend or weekday, she likes to sleep in. As do I, but my idea of sleeping in is to about 7:00 am or so at which point I am ready to take on the day. Since we had come back from Wales, I had been thinking about hiking the tallest peak in the country – Mt Snowdon. The problem is that there is only one small parking lot from the trail head and everywhere stated how early it filled up. Considering we are about two hours away from said car park this would mean that if I were to climb it, I would have to leave the house early… like early early. So when I saw the weather was looking decent for today, I began to plan it all out.

My day started at around 4:15 AM. That is when the alarm went off and my partner for the day, Miller, was at my bedside immediately licking my face. I took him for a quick walk, and then debated whether I should feed him so early or wait. I figured it is not great to hike on a completely full stomach so I fed him quickly and headed out. The drive over was pretty painless and we were making good time. That was until the sat nav told me to get off the highway and I found myself on the scenic route. Oh yeah, Welsh roads… I had forgotten how they are like mountain biking single-track through the woods: Narrow and windy with not a lot of room for forgiveness. We wound our way through some amazing countryside and picturesque towns until we reached the trail head. Luckily, there were some parking spots left and we quickly geared up and headed out.

Our route was to follow the Pyg Trail up until it converged with the Miner’s track. Here the incline would increase dramatically and I had heard tales of people down on all fours climbing. I was a bit nervous about Miller as this was a pretty hefty hike with some supposedly technical ascents and some very steep faced ridges. I should not have worried one bit as he did much better than I. Although he’s no Darryl Strawberry (well I mean, who is really?) catching fly balls in the park, he is one agile little mutt. This part of this hike was absolutely outstanding view-wise. I had heard many people compare this hike to those in the Scottish Highlands and I was not disappointed. We were surrounded by sheer rock cliffs and clouds you could nearly touch. Below us were a series of lakes, which I had promised Miller we could hit on the way down. The weather was at times sunny and bluebird and then pouring down rain. It was a bit windy but the air temp was good though so we were doing well.

Miller even met some friends.

He was also good at blending in with things.

Well, only in Black and White.

As much as I was looking forward to the hike itself, I was not looking forward to the summit. They have a steep railway up to the top and I had heard on nice days it can be a mob scene. Additionally, word was they built a café on the top and today was opening day! However, I was going to overlook these as I was really there for the hike itself. Miller was not too excited about the summit either though.

Luckily the crowds were scare because the summit was socked in with cloud cover. However, this did impede my views.

On the way down, we took the Miner’s Track in its entirety so we could hit the lakes. Miller swam a lot, much to the enjoyment of a group of school kids.

Overall the hike was amazing, but not nearly as long or difficult as I had thought. It was only 11:00 when I got back to the car. Since the sun had come out (for good it looked like) I decided to take Miller down to Criccieth. This was a small sea-side town where Kathleen and I had visited earlier. I remembered the beach was pretty decent so we packed up the car to head down. As we were doing so, I found a small surprise in the back of the car. It seemed Miller does not really like Welsh roads either and my decision to feed him first thing this morning was a bad one. Vomitous dog!

After a quick clean up we drove down to Criccieth (this time I tried to drive more slowly). We parked at the beach and walked a ½ mile down or so to avoid the crowds. The water was actually clean and there was no litter. There were a lot of rocks on the beach, but it was great. The sun was out and Miller swam a lot. I even decided to take a swim as well, however Miller was not into the two of swimming together. At this point, I must admit I began to miss the Cape and Surfing a bit. However, seeing the old Criccieth Castle sticking out on the horizon to my right:

and the mountains of Snowdonia to my left:

I was pretty damn psyched to be in Wales!

On our way home we had another harrowing drive on the Welsh road. This time there were runners as well! It seems like there is some sort of large scale relay race here, similar to Vermont’s 100 on 100 (fitting, no? Vermont=Rad, Wales=Rad).

I weaved my way through the runners, on-coming traffic, and some bikers as well. I am not sure of my time, but as you can see I finished the leg.

The rest of the drive was uneventful: Miller stinking up the car and me fighting yawns. I got back and took a long nap. I am now enjoying a well-deserved glass of Irish and trying to decide what to plan for next weekend!

Maydays, Maydays, Maydays

2009-06-10T22:43:00.008+01:00

It’s been a crazy few weeks, and I’ve owed an update to the blog for some time now. Since Mark’s last post, we’ve welcomed the other Yates brother to Liverpool, explored Manchester through the lens of 80s post-punk bands Joy Division, New Order, the Happy Mondays, and others, celebrated a birthday (Mark’s thirty-third) and I’ve visited Finland, among other marathon business trips, for work. After all that, I was left holding down the fort in Liverpool with Miller while Mark headed home for some much-deserved R&R and time with friends. I kept meaning to post while he was gone, but we got some long-awaited sunshine and warm weather, and I found myself restless in the house and every time I opened the laptop, I would shut it again to grab Miller’s leash and head outside.

First things first: besides the Factory Records tour in Manchester, we also showed Bill some of the local sights here in Liverpool, including another visit to Crosby Beach. I think we can all agree that we don’t need to take anymore people here. Plus, it just seems to get sadder and bleaker with every visit (see previous references to British litter).

But his trip was quick, and before we knew it we had dropped Bill off at the airport. That night, I took Mark out for a great meal at 60 Hope Street, our new favourite restaurant in the city, as part of a belated birthday celebration. Then, it was off for a few nights visiting customers down south and then back to Liverpool to catch a flight to Helsinki.

I had been really excited for my Finland trip, but I can’t say that it was particularly memorable. I hadn’t mentally prepared myself to spend over nine hours a day in a trade show booth, and our hotel location (abutting the airport, a €30 taxi ride from the city) didn’t lend itself much to exploring. Nevertheless, we managed to see a bit of downtown and enjoyed the crazy daylight hours (the sun didn’t set til after 11pm each night) while walking the cobblestone streets of Senate Square. I also managed to convince my colleagues to spend our final evening having dinner in this gem of a restaurant, and I highly recommend you take some time to explore the website and the dinner menu. I had the sautéed reindeer, which was… interesting. Glad I tried it, but don’t know if I will be having it again any time soon.

My arrival home was bittersweet, as I only had two nights with Mark before he departed on his own trip. I dropped him off at the airport at 445AM, bleary-eyed and with a confused Miller in the back, and couldn’t help but feel jealous.

That weekend, to stave off depressing homesickness and loneliness, I took Miller for a long early morning walk (we’ve got some friends along the route, now) and returned home to find 20 roses on our doorstep; a seven-year anniversary gift from Mark.

I cleaned up the flowers and then headed in to the farmer’s market. There was fresh rhubarb and tiny strawberries, asparagus, lettuce, and all sort of other gems. I found myself filling my bag with all sorts of vegetables, fresh bread (though, to be honest - £2 for a loaf of bread is just stupid), and some spicy North African merguez sausage, pushed into my hands by a very vocal butcher armed with a knife the size of my thigh. I couldn’t say no.

The streets were also full of photographers, armed with digital SLRs and patrolling our little street and the Lark Lane market. I did a little sleuthing online and discovered this flickr photo set and thought I would share. The shots of the street full of plantings and flowers is our street, and the guy with the crazy hair is our kayaking neighbour. I think his name is Steve, and he literally kayaks almost every day - though I’m not sure where. All the flowers are grown and taken care of by another neighbor, Brian, who is also helping me plant some flowers in our backyard.

The rest of the weekend was spent doing errands, cleaning, long walks with the dog, cooking some more and trying desperately not to eat all the strawberry rhubarb crumble immediately. I succeeded, but only kind of. (I saved a bite for Monday morning, just so I could say it lasted three days).

And, actually, the rest of the week was sort of more of the same.

I have to confess, another reason I haven’t posted is because I’ve been fighting a sort of, not really, but kind of can’t ignore maybe-depression. Chalk it up to homesickness, belated adjustment to a new home, or a combination of other things (and those of you we’ve been speaking to know what I’m talking about), I’ve just been finding it more and more difficult to ignore. I am trying to stay focused on the positive, though, and am looking forward to my own trip home as a way to recharge.

So, come to think of it, I’d better head to bed. My 4AM wake-up is only five hours away...

36 Hours in Belfast, Northern Ireland

2009-05-05T18:15:00.010+01:00

A lot has changed recently in Belfast, despite the unfortunate violence a few months ago against British soldiers. For those who find themselves with a day and a half to spare, there are a plethora of great restaurants, new shopping centers, and of course pubs to keep you busy. Additionally there are monuments, murals, and sites in abundance for those wishing to try to make sense of and reflect upon ‘the Troubles’ of the recent past. And for those who are willing there is even a marathon to throw into the middle of your visit!

Sunday

9:00 AM
1) Dog Drop Off

First ‘to do’ for any dog-owning couple embarking on a journey is to make sure your bud will be well taken care of while you are gone. Kathleen and I had somehow managed to arrange for a colleague of mine look after Miller. What had started as a genuine inquiry about local kennels, eventually turned into my colleague’s two children bragging to all the neighbourhood about how they were getting a real American Dog for a couple of days. We had pre-arranged a meet up in the park last week to be sure that Miller got on with the other two dogs in residence, and all had gone smoothly. So we (almost tearfully) dropped Miller off to the open and very willing arms of my colleague’s family.

12:00 PM
2) Lady Dixon Park and Guinness Pies

We had no problems getting our flight over to Belfast and I would have to say it was one of the fastest flights I have been on. We were up and down in under 30 minutes. We hopped a cab into town where we met up with a shuttle bus to take us out to Lady Dixon Park to pick up my race number. The shuttle took almost as long as the flight and only ran every 40 minutes. This turned out to be my first experience with the poor race planning. When we eventually got back to the city we were starving.

Belfast has many places to sample the local food and drink and emerging from the shuttle bus, we stumbled into one that had actually been recommended. The Crown Liquor Saloon is a beautifully restored ‘Victorian Gin Palace’ that stands out by it’s ornate architecture from down the street.

Upon entering, you are immediately drawn to the series of private booths that line the right hand side. These are fully enclosed dining booths with doors on them to provide privacy. Apparently they were not originally designed for private dining, but were created so that folks could slip in and have a pint or two without the whole town being aware of it.

Unfortunately, these were full at the time, so we took our seats at the bar. One look at the menu and we both immediately ordered the Guinness and Steak Pies which were absolutely wonderful. Kathleen was able to accompany hers with Guinness proper while my ‘training’ dictated I abstain.

2:30 PM
3) The Falls Road Walk

After checking in and a quick sniff of our rooms unique aroma (as of March 31st, all rooms are non-smoking!), we decided to spend as much time out in the city as possible. There are not too many things to do and see in Belfast, but both Kathleen and I wanted to check out the Falls Road. This is a road that runs through the traditional Catholic and Republican centers of the city and was the focal point for a lot of the rioting and violence that occurred in the recent past. We walked about 15 minutes from our hotel and crossed over a large bridge. As we walked further on, we notice more and more graffiti. Some simply read ‘IRA’ whereas others were much more provocative and violent. One of the scariest things we saw were the words: ‘There is more to come – RIRA’. The RIRA or Real Irish Republican Army was one of the groups claiming responsibility for the killing of British soldiers a few weeks back.

We continued on up to the intersection of the Falls Road and Grosvenor Road where there was a park. This park was nicknamed Looney Park due to the fact that it faced an old insane asylum.

Taking a right on the Falls Road, we saw many buildings, monuments, and murals that all referenced ‘the Troubles.’ One of the most moving was a large mural on the side of the Sinn Fein headquarters of Bobby Sands who died leading a hunger strike in prison. On the side of this mural were the words ‘Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.’

Further down the road was the Garden of Remembrance, as well as various murals painted in solidarity with the Republican cause.

All of these juxtaposed a Loyalist Mural we saw earlier in the city of a masked man holding an AK-47 announcing: ‘You are now entering Loyalist Sandy Row, heartland of South Belfast Ulster - Freedom Fighters.’

All of this gave me a lot to think about over the next few hours. I was surprised to see so many of the emotions and views out in the open and on public display. Real or imagined there was a sense of eeriness in the air. Kathleen remarked how she felt like we were being stared at and on our walk over we watched some kids climb onto a shopping center roof and throw rocks down at a pedestrian. There was also a sense of sadness that seemed to pervade a lot of the city. Our walk reminded me in some ways of Pnomh Penh, which is another city I have been to that has experienced some absolutely miserable shit (albeit on a much grander scale). However despite the awfulness of what happened, there was clear logic to the feelings you experienced wandering the city. I mean the Khmer Rouge were real bad and I don’t think many people would argue you on that. Here your emotions were not as black and white. The murals and memorials brought forth a whole host of conflicting thoughts and notions. At a very base level our walk really showed us how fucked up things got over here and made me realize again how lucky I have been over the years.

5:00 PM
4) Dinner and a Movie (or vice-versa)

At this point both Kathleen and I were a bit tired (physically and perhaps emotionally as well). We had initially planned on going up to Shankill Road which is at the heart of the Loyalist sections of the city, but decided against it. Instead we went to catch a movie before having dinner. Our supreme sense of direction dictated that we see ‘State of Play’ rather than ‘Wolverine’ (we got lost and were too late for the latter) and we both enjoyed it. Afterwards we grabbed a quick pasta meal at Maggiono’s. Despite being a chain, the pasta was quite good and just thing to carbo-load for the next day’s activity. After dinner we had a leisurely walk back through the city to our hotel. The smell had not really dissipated and I was feeling a bit anxious about the next day, however a few Tylenol PM ensured a good night’s rest.

Monday

9:00 AM
5) 26.2 Mile City Tour

OK, so my sleep was not exactly ‘good.’ Despite the wonders of modern over-the-counter drugs, I still managed to get up and use the toilet about 8 times. I finally got out of bed around 7:00 AM to face the inevitable. It wasn’t that I was not excited about the marathon, but I hade been having some shin issues for the past month or so. It was nothing debilitating, but enough to cause me some anxiety and question things a bit. Additionally, a few days prior I had the bright idea of actually investigating reviews of the course online and let’s say I was not super amped on reading about chaotic relay check points, walkers starting in front of runners, industrial estate backdrops, and apparently some cobblestones at Mile 21. So it was with some trepidation that I slowly did all my pre-race rituals and we headed down to Starbucks for a quick dose of caffeine. Over coffee, we plotted out Kathleen’s best viewing options and then set out to the start.

True to the online reviews, the start was kind of a shit show. People seemed to be jammed in everywhere with walkers mixing with runners mixing with staff mixing with relay runners mixing with spectators. There were barriers up but these meant nothing. A quick kiss to Kathleen and I pressed my way towards the front. I never even heard a start but people began to move forward en masse so I threw on my headphones and was off.

The first six miles were essentially a run out to the airport and back to the city. On my way out I was a bit concerned as my shin starting hurting from the get go but these concerns gradually yielded to the more pressing matter of the auto traffic just feet away from the course. This was the first time I understood that they really did not close most of the roads on the course, just simply thinned them out a bit. Regardless, I came back into the city feeling strong and my shin mysteriously began to numb itself. I caught Kathleen right where she said she would be and then headed back out of the city. The next few miles were through various neighborhoods of Belfast, starting with the Falls Road from yesterday. Some areas were bleaker than others – mainly those that featured a few armored cars and cops with machine guns. Not sure if this was because they were the only personnel available, but they definitely served to remind you that you were indeed in Belfast and that last years race had to be diverted a bit due to a bomb scare.

The course continued outside of the city into the suburbs and along the slopes of Black Mountain. There were some great views of both the city and the Irish Sea below. Spectators were sparse out here and many seemed more interested in watching us idiots undergo our self-induced pain rather than cheering. However there were the odd few who were really into it and every so often a cute little kid holding out candy or high-fiving runners. At one point I saw one older man with an NYPD shirt on and got excited. However rather than making any sort of sense in my attempts at communication I simply made a few gestures and spat out “New York” with my fist in the air. The guy stopped clapping and just kind of stared at me wondering who the hell I was and what I was trying to say. Pretty funny.

Around mile 15, the course started to turn back towards the city. I was still feeling quite good at this point and my splits were looking just fine (in fact at one point I apparently did a 7 minute mile, but considering that this was followed by a 10 minute mile, I think the markers were a bit off). My shins were fine, I was amply hydrated, and ready for the second half of things. Unfortunately, at this point the course turned along the harbour. On paper this looked to be a great section of the race, but in reality it was awful. It was simply a bike path with a large hedge on one side and the M2 motorway on the other. People talk about hitting ‘the wall’ when running marathons and I guess this was mine. Around mile 18 I realized I was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and actually just bored. There was no scenery, were no spectators, and nothing to do but keep moving forward. The only thing I kept on saying to myself was ‘this is why I have been training’ and ‘this is why I have been getting up at 5:30 every morning.’ I guess it was my way of guilting myself into running harder – I mean I am Irish after all.

To top all of this, I came around a bend to read a sign ‘Marathoners Caution: Controlled Crossing Ahead.’ It seems they thought it might make sense to allow an open road to cut through the race at intervals. All of a sudden we were about 40 runners backed up, running in place, and waiting for a traffic cop to let us through. Well runners are kind of pig-headed and really self-important (me being the exception of course) so when we waited about a minute without being let through we simply ran out into traffic en-masse. The crowds that were there burst into cheers as we all flooded out and back into the race.

Kathleen chose mile 21 to wait for me and I could not have been happier. I had been through the worst part of the race and had just gotten through the deadly cobblestones. On top of everything, she even chose to trade me a nice dry headband for a dirty, sweaty hat on the spot! It must be said now that she pretty much rules for putting up with all my bitching and moaning while I train for these things, and then actually coming out and spending an entire morning trying to catch a fleeting glimpse of me while I run by.

The next five miles were back through the city and around Ormeau Park. For the most part they were incident free, but there is still something scary about running right next to road traffic so late in a marathon. At mile 25 or so I finally allowed myself to start believing that I might do pretty well in this race. As I said my splits were looking really good throughout the race, but my superstitious self would not allow me to actually envision beating my best time of 3:54. However when I saw the finish line I knew it was certain and pushed on the last few yards to cross in 3 hours and 46 minutes! The next 15 minutes were a blur as I drank everything in sight and stumbled into the Tennis Center to pick up my bag. It was standing there unpacking my dry clothes that I realized how psyched I was. The past five months had been a real pain in the ass training wise which meant I was not feeling super confident about this race. However, I managed to get myself through it and do better than I had allowed my self to consider. It is kind of crazy. Here is my amazing medal:

3:00 PM
9) Guinness, Powers and George Best

After the race, Kathleen and I hobbled home to our hotel. I was taking it slow and Kathleen was delighted at the opportunity to break into ‘Lean on Me’ whenever I staggered or slowed down. I iced down my knee and showered, and then headed out to lunch (the room still had that smell to it). We grabbed lunch at a noodle shop and planned on heading back to the Crown for some victory brew. I had snuck a taste of Kathleen’s Guinness the day prior and she had promised to buy me some post marathon. Unfortunately, the pub was closed so we went to a place that looked like it had the right combination of authenticity and sketchiness: ‘The Beaten Docket.’ Sure enough we were right. There were horses on the TV’s and our bartender was a young man who was missing his front tooth (presumably in a fight) and served us pint after pint of thick black stuff that Kathleen thought tasted reminiscent of vanilla ice-cream. Additionally, she even sprung for a few shots of Powers to celebrate (yet another reason why I have chosen to marry this girl). We ended up getting in a multitude of conversations with our bartender and the few locals seated around us. All were very friendly and talkative. Kathleen impressed them all with her knowledge of beer at which point they rightfully guessed she was Irish. They were suitably impressed with my morning’s activities, and were very interested in what brought us to this side of the pond. We learned that although they might love the football none of them really enjoy the city of Liverpool that much. One of the guys spoke briefly to Kathleen about growing up in Belfast (said the violence did not affect him to much) and we told them all how much kinder on the ears their accents were compared to the Scousers in Liverpool. However, I think the most important thing we learned was how much they all hated George Best. Apparently he was a football star who got cirrhosis of the liver at which point his notoriety enabled him to get a liver transplant. Afterwards he never quit the drink and died two years later. Now the Belfast City airport is named after him much to the chagrin of all our new drinking friends.

Finally we realized that we had better get to the airport as we thought our flight left at 8:00. Turns out we were wrong and spent an extra hour sitting at the airport reflecting on what a great weekend was had.

Final Thoughts

All in all, it was a pretty fun adventure. We got to travel somewhere neither of us had ever thought of going to and I think we were both moved by what we saw and the people we interacted with. My race was pretty much amazing despite the all the logistical issues and I am already plotting my next one (even though I said no less than a week ago that this was my last). Miller was amazing and the envy of the neighbourhood and has a standing invitation to return to my colleague’s house. It is Monday and I have been working from home and hobbling around the house. Miller is a bit peeved since I walk so slowly when we go out, but we’ll be back running again soon. However before I start training for another marathon I have a lot of skating to do…

... And we're back!

2009-04-28T20:21:00.008+01:00

For those of you still reading, we are still here, we're good and we're sorry we've left the blog alone for a few weeks. We could blame it all on Miller, but the truth is we haven't had much to write about.

Well, beyond how much fun it's been to have that little furball waiting for us every evening when we come home. We've been spending as much time as we can out in the park, in the early morning hours and after dropping off our keys and grabbing Miller's ball at the end of the day. Mark's been having Miller join him on his morning runs (only a few more days til the marathon!) and has actually been able to have him off lead. I know Miller's enjoying it because I walk out of the shower in the morning to find him curled back up in his bed, sleeping after the exercise and his breakfast.

This past weekend, the weather forecast was touch and go until Friday afternoon. When we saw the predictions of sunshine, Mark went online and found a hike in the Lake District, several hours north of us.

Saturday morning, we packed up our bags and coaxed Miller into the car. Two hours later, we had left the industrial flatlands behind and found ourselves surrounded by rolling hills and cosy villages. After a bit of difficulty finding parking, we were off:

While the six miles weren't the most grueling we'd ever done, it felt great to get out of the city and see a bit more of the country. It was my first trip to the Lake District, and Mark's second. Keswick, where our hike started and ended, was a pretty little town with a market in full swing. After dodging raindrops on our return, we stumbled into a small vegetarian cafe with a bicycle shop attached. They sweetly welcomed Miller in (we were prepared to sit outside in the rain on benches to eat our lunch) and we had a great meal. Including Miller, who got four dog biscuits at the end for being so good.

The rest of our weekend was spent wedding planning. We've picked our readings and have sketched out the majority of our ceremony service with Carol. I've begun sketching out a website for our guests to learn more about the area and our plans. We've also picked out wedding invites, which I will be printing, assembling, addressing and posting while I'm home in June. We're picking out our wedding bands and trying to pick an engraving.

While at times we've both grown a bit stressed, I know we're both looking forward to the big day. It's just a bit difficult to stay focused on the end goal, and trying not to sweat the small stuff. I've found myself growing increasingly homesick, and I think that's definitely coming into play. It's hard not to feel out of touch and a bit sad when we keep imagining and planning having all the people we care about together - only to realize how far away that day is.

It will be good to head home in a few weeks...

Early wake-up

2009-04-13T17:27:00.004+01:00

So as Mark has already mentioned, Friday was amazing - it was an early, long gray ride down to Heathrow, but Miller recognizing us and seeing that face and the wagging tail - totally worth it. Especially since Mark drove the whole way back, so I could pass out in the front seat.

We got home and took Miller out to Sefton Park where he was able to fetch one of his new toys and smell all the new England smells, and then returned home to have some Jamaican Me Hungry jerk chicken and watch TV with Miller at our feet. All in all, a great but exhausting day. We briefly discussed the merits of Miller joining us upstairs to sleep, or whether we should try to crate him to get him used to being away from us (the separation anxiety is still a little cute, but we probably shouldn't encourage it)... The decision made, we bade him good night and crept quietly upstairs.

We all fell asleep in moments, which is why it was so disconcerting to be woken up with a loud car alarm in the middle of the night. I lay awake in bed, my eyes squeezed shut, counting on its owner to come out and turn the alarm off. It paused briefly, but began again and I thought to myself - shit! I have no idea what our car alarm sounds like! - so scrambled out of bed and pushed the shade, glowing a soft orange, aside. I stared in disbelief, then reached back to the nightstand to put on my glasses.

What I saw was this (but imagine that it's darker, and thus more ominous):

"Mark, Mark! Wake up! The car's on fire!"

(admittedly, a little ambiguous, but I was sleepy)

"..."

"Mark, I'm serious! Wake up!!"

"Shut up."

"MARK, I AM STARING AT FLAMES OUTSIDE. There is a car on fire, we've got to move our car! We need to call the fire department!"

At this point, Mark started cursing and joined me at the window. When he saw the 10 foot flames climb higher, he jumped into action. I started throwing jeans on and ran downstairs. I picked up the phone and tried to remember the emergency number we'd seen posted in London (they don't have 911 here) while Mark scrambled down the stairs looking for the car keys.

I called 999 and watched as Mark ducked into the car. At this point, the fire had moved from the back of the pickup toward the cab of the truck, and we both worried about the gas tank exploding. Unfortunately, our street is very narrow and at night there are cars parked on both sides. We always turn our car around when we park (for an easy exit the next day) but that forced Mark to drive slowly (and closely!) by the burning truck in order to move the car far away. I watched as a horn began honking (I thought it was Mark freaking out, but the extreme heat and the alarm on the truck caused the honking sound).

Suddenly, I remembered I was on the phone. I heard a woman's voice repeating itself:

"Miss, ambulance or police?"

I tried to explain that there was a fire but she just kept repeating her question. I finally took a stab: "Police, please" and again tried to explain where we were located but found that I was speaking to no one - I was being transferred. I explained myself to the police woman who answered the call but she said we needed fire. I told her our address and she hung up to contact the fire department.

At this point, Mark ran back into the house and said we needed to get out. We took Miller out of the crate and I put on the first shoes I could find. As we ran out of the house, we could hear small explosions (at the time, I thought fuel, but in retrospect I think it was the windows exploding from the heat) and ran to the end of the street. I looked up and could see a fire engine struggling to pull down our street (it only made it part way) and the firemen running to the fire.

After another five minutes or so, a young man in a leather jacket ran out of the house three doors down from us and toward the fire. A woman in a bathrobe came out of her house at the end of the street and chatted with us briefly before returning to the house. I think she made fun of us for evacuating our house, but Mark could verify.

It turns out that the truck belongs to the young guy, our neighbor. He seemed OK about it (as OK as you can be at 5AM on a Sat morning upon discovering your car is ablaze) so Mark is thinking insurance scam. I think it's a cigarette butt, or possibly some of the kids down our street who are out all hours of the night, playing ball where it is clearly marked "Polite Notice, No Ball Playing." The saddest part is that the next day, we peered into the back of the truck and it was full of Easter chocolate, now charred and inedible.

Also, guess who joined us in the bedroom at 530AM? And has been sleeping with us ever since?

blah blah blah dog blah blah blah

2009-04-12T18:53:00.008+01:00

So this has been a pretty fantastic weekend thus far. In addition to the fact that we got four days off for the Easter holiday, and that two of those days have been blue bird and sunny, our good friend Miller aka Millhouse aka Milldog aka Miller Time aka Ole Dirty Miller (notice I did not mention ‘Mi-mi’ Nikki!) has finally arrived on our shores. As most of you know we have been eagerly awaiting this and spending a lot of time stressing over it. We both heard a few horror stories about dogs coming over and not having their paperwork in order and having to go into quarantine. Therefore despite the fact that we checked all of the details a million times, we were both a bit nervous driving down to Heathrow on Friday morning.

However everything went perfectly according to plan. We got down to the Animal Reception Center, signed in and waited about 10 minutes. Soon enough they called our name, we signed a quick document and they walked him out. He was cowering a bit and nervously shaking his hind quarters but he saw us and his eyes lit up. He even came right over and licked my face just like the first time we met. This coupled with the fact that he urinated on the floor due to nerves assured us that all was exactly as we had left. Kathleen took him out right away and they frolicked a bit.

We drove him home and immediately took him out for a long walk around Sefton Park. Here he immediately fell in love with his new ball thingie with feet and horns and showed off how well he has gotten at fetching. He was incredibly jet lagged though so we called it an early night and put him to bed rather early.

We did not have a completely restful night, but Kathleen will fill you in on that next post.

On Saturday we headed down to the river to check out the promenade. On the way, we discovered Pleasure Island (or what is left of it) but this again will have to wait for another post. As I said earlier, it was a beautiful day and it was perfect for just bumming around down by the river. Miller met a few friends and was again the envy of pretty much everybody. We then headed over to an outdoor beer garden and posted up with the pup for a few pints. It was one of those perfect spring days to sit in the sun and have a few drinks. Easter weekend is pretty rad over here…

Today is Sunday and we knew it was going to be sunny again, so we took Miller to his third country: Wales. We took him to Conwy for a six mile hike up and across the ridges of Mt. Conwy. At only 995 feet, it was not the most strenuous hike, but it sits right on the coastline and there were some killer views. There were also feral ponies that sparked a discussion on how much time really needs to pass between feral and wild. We also wondered why little girls want ponies so badly. Kathleen was really no help in this department, but she said a few times how much she wanted one when she was younger.

After descending the astounding heights we had reached, our hike cut through a few sheep farms. Again, I was amazed how so much land here is okayed for public use. We just walked through people's farms and it was no issue at all. Well, not to the farmers anyway. Miller distinctly dislikes both sheep and lambs. He does not really enjoy being close to domesticated ponies either.

We made it back to town alright and I grabbed a few paninis while Kathleen and Miller hung about and watched traffic. We have noticed that he has gotten some separation anxieties, but who can blame him? Whenever one of us leaves, he freaks out a bit until the person returns. It is kinda cute at this point, but hopefully will not get worse. We did leave him alone in the crate for a few hours yesterday and he was cool.

So all in all, we are feeling pretty great to have him here. So big thank you’s to all who helped us get him here, especially Nikki and Dave and my parents. You will now go to Heaven. I found out today, so you are psyched.

Oh yeah. I got a sunburn today on my bald spot. That kinda sucks but is funny too.

T-12 hours

2009-04-09T20:48:00.009+01:00

Last weekend we were blessed with a truly rare occurrence in Northwest England: an entire weekend of gorgeous, sunny weather.

What else... Oh, yes! You may have already heard, but Miller Brosnahan Yates is due to arrive in the United Kingdom in twelve hours. In fact we might have already told you, ad nauseum, about how much we missed him, how we counted the days until he would join us, how teary-eyed I became while watching ten second videos sent over by his Aunt Nikki. Allow me to nauseate you further.

Saturday was spent driving out of the city to suburbia and strip malls... Home of 'Pets at Home,' our closest pet supply store. There Mark and I wandered the aisles examining unfamiliar brand names and debating the merits of attractive packaging and pronounceable ingredient lists. Having settled on 15 kilos of food for Milhouse, we then made our way to the bed section, unloading our entire Miller-is-finally-joining-us saga to an unsuspecting couple purchasing a new bed for their dog while we pulled beds out and debated the value of houndstooth patterns vs. a supportive mattress. Our selection made, we then filled the rest of the cart with assorted toys, treats, shampoo, brushes, toys, treats, a new leash and collar... All to the tune of £130. Which really is just a drop in the bucket, considering how much his one-way airfare cost.

And it's all worth it. Though I have to be honest, the cookies at the end are really more about Mark finishing his last ginormous training run (twenty miles!) before running the Belfast Marathon on May 4th. Because I want to be sure to replace all the healthy things he did, like burning calories, with butter. And Green & Black's chocolate.

************

The video below has been making the rounds at work. I cried the first time I watched it and then immediately grew suspicious that I was being 'had,' as they say. A quick check on Snopes.com verified the story, and I convinced a few colleagues to watch it again today. And I cried, again. I may be a giant sucker, but let's just say that Mark's Flip camera might be recording a few poignant moments tomorrow afternoon, and we'll see if I'm the only one crying this time...

Outlaws!

2009-04-04T12:49:00.011+01:00

One of the best parts about living in Somerville was that we were in very close proximity to my parents. Most couples would worry that being so close to parents (especially retired ones) would result in surprise visits and a lot of obligations to spend time with them. I think the opposite was true for us, as we were the ones who would most often drop in on them for the weekend, take up residence, and not go home until the last possible moment. My parents must have realized quite soon on that they would miss our constant presence and hearing the senseless bickering of Kathleen and I, because they started to plan their visit relatively soon after we had left the US.

They had set their trip up so that we would have to minimize the time needed off from work and yet they would still be able to spend a lot of time with us. They would spend the weekend with us, then take a trip up to Scotland and the Lake District, and then return on for a long weekend back here. This also turned out to be a good plan, because there just isn’t a lot to do around here for long stretches at a time, and having the trip split up took some of the stress of.

For the first weekend, we decided to give them an intro to Liverpool and Manchester. It was a beautiful day on Friday, but unfortunately by Saturday it had turned grey and cold. We did the usual rounds of museums and sites, but where we really scored again was with the food. On Friday, I took them for an amazing lunch at Leaf which despite the horrid sausages Kathleen had on our last trip serves up some amazing other dishes. My parents noted that they felt like they were in Brooklyn and I realized again how much I loved the vibe of the place. That night for dinner, we went out to The Moon and Pea. I still cannot get over how amazing this food is. It is one of the least pretentious environs I have been in, yet the food is incredible. Anyone who comes to visit us should demand a visit here! On Sunday we went to the Museum of Science and explored around the city a bit more.

Since we were looking for new things to do, we decided to ride the gigantic ferris wheel in the city. Kathleen was a bit… well you can see the picture:

She is apparently afraid of heights but managed ok, and we were all proud of her.

The following week at work was super busy for myself and Kathleen had to travel. I skated at night and just generally relaxed while my parents were off having adventures of their own (including clipping a woman’s handbag while they were driving, but I am not going to go into that…).

Kathleen and I were off the following Friday and we took my parents up north to the beach at Formby. I remember one of my parent’s favourite parts of our trip to the Netherlands was just seeing the beach, so I showed them what our beaches look like. Again, they were a total mess from trash but the Irish Sea was quite dramatic. The wind was blowing hard on shore and generated quite a bit of wind swell out in the sea. The waves were not really clean at all but there was some size to them and a few shoulders could be seen… I can’t wait to surf again!

We dined at Paul’s on Friday night which was again excellent, and explored the cathedrals in Liverpool on Saturday. Again, everyone preferred the old traditional Anglican, rather than the new modern Catholic. Kathleen commented about how intimidating it was and I thought a lot about how some religions really profit on putting fear into their congregation. As much as I love the look and feel of the place, it did make me look at in a different manner.

One of the reasons my parents decided to come when they did was that I had signed my mother and I up for the Liverpool Half Marathon. Although the numbers did not fit in exactly with my training, I played around with the schedule a bit and made it work. The race was set for Sunday morning and with all the wind and grey skies the few days prior, we were a bit nervous. There was no need to worry however because we woke up on race day to absolute blue bird skies! It was so bright and sunny, it seemed like the perfect day to get out and run 13.1. Kathleen and my Dad once again got prepared to deliver us to the start, planned out where they would catch us half way, and made arrangements to get to the finish line in time. I’d have to say they both make running these things much easier in terms of transportation, ‘sherpa’ing, and supporting us both. The race itself was wonderful. We ran from downtown Liverpool, through Albert dock and up into some of the better parks in the area. It then wound down to the river and the final 4 miles or so were a long the banks of the river Mersey. It got a bit tight at times so I found myself weaving between people a lot but everyone was in great form and the sights were amazing. However one of the most memorable parts was at the start when my father disappeared amidst the thousands of people gathered. No sooner than we noticed he was gone, we heard a familiar American voice booming over the PA system. He managed to get on the mic and wish my mother and I luck for everyone to hear. I think he enjoyed himself. All in all a great race day and I would highly recommend it for any runners looking for a new race.

Kathleen had to head down to London for some science thingie, so Sunday afternoon and Monday were just my parents and I. Both my mother and I were wiped from the race so we really just relaxed around the house and watched some movies. We decided on the Moon and Pea for dinner again (it does not get old) and then went to a local open mic night that an acquaintance of mine put on. He had wanted my Dad to get up and play his new banjo, but we were all exhausted and called it an early night. All in all, it was a great trip and I was glad to have my parents travel abroad again to visit me. Some people would not really enjoy being abroad with their parents, but I would have to say mine are pretty laid back and it was great (the two bottles of Irish they brought with them were nice too!). I think I give them a good excuse to get out of the neighbourhood from time to time and it was great to have a piece of home around for a few days.

Now it Saturday morning and I am sitting in our dismal Laundromat. I ran 20 miles after work yesterday and it was pretty tough, but the sun is shining and it promises to be a great weekend. We are headed out for a long walk in a bit and then off to the pet store… I think the next post will have some recent pictures of Milldog if we can take the time away from him to update this!