I got home from vacation a few hours ago. I love to travel, and it was a fantastic trip, but I'm so very glad to be home. About five minutes after I got home, the kittens emerged and Boo curled up in my lap. I'm glad they remember me.
Glasgow was cold, wet, and windy. However, the Rocky Horror Show was brilliant, as expected. I had front-row-center seats both nights I was there, and not only was it worth hauling my butt to Scotland for, but it was worth seeing twice. David Bedella is an utterly brilliant Frank-- he pays just the right amount of homage to the Tim Curry character, and yet manages to own the role with his charisma and just the right amount of camp. Christopher Biggins, a Transylvanian from the movie, was a fantastic narrator. He played to and played the audience with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.
The sun came out while I was on my way to London, and I had a couple of the most beautiful days I've ever seen in that city. On Thursday night I saw James Earl Jones in an all-black cast of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Holy crap was that amazing-- a total theatrical home run.
On the train to London, I saw something that reminded me of an old friend from about 15 years ago. I found him online and pinged him, and was delighted to discover that he now lives in London. Friday we got together and downed a couple of bottles of wine, including a very strange sparkling shiraz from Australia, while catching up and reminiscing. It seemed like a good idea at the time. When we were done, I trotted off to Harrod's while well and truly sloshed. This too seemed like a good idea at the time.
Saturday I caught the first Eurostar to Paris, so I could visit a young friend who is studying at the Sorbonne. I love the fact that I can land on my feet in a city where I don't even speak the language, and navigate the transit and city streets with no problems at all. I made a brief stop at the Maison Europeenne de Photographie to see their exhibits, including works by Man Ray, Helmut Newton, and Henri Cartier-Bresson. I then hopped over to the Louvre and met up with Caroline, where she gave me the art history student's tour. Is it wrong that I found the Mona Lisa underwhelming? It looked just like every photo I've seen of it, and it wasn't really worth fighting the crowds for.
We had drinks and dinner, then I realized that I had to dash back to Gare du Nord to catch the last Eurostar. I was in a bit of a panic because I was late, but I navigated the Metro without problem, ran through the station, and made it onto the train with three minutes to spare. Yay running! I quite literally ran from the metro up to the Eurostar check-in area, then from security to the train.
The flight home was largely unremarkable, as it should be, but I spent about 20 minutes staring out the window at Baffin Island as we flew over. The play of light on the snowy, rugged mountains was unbearably beautiful.
I'll quit now. I'm even boring myself.
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