Brighton in June

 

 

Meh: The National Gallery

Given that it poured rain for most of the weekend, it seemed like the best possible outing for Jed on Sunday wasn't to the park (aka: mudpit) but a museum. Having never given the National Gallery a proper viewing, I decided that we would give it a go. (Also, it's a single bus ride away... big advantage!)

Unlike the Met, the Chicago Art Institute, and the V&A--all first-rate museums with a massive variety in their selection--the National Gallery is just one old painting after another. Needless to say, Jed made it about a half hour before asking to retreat for the indoor picnic lunch I'd promised. Can't say as I blame him!

He really wanted me to take a picture of him laughing. This was the closest I could get.

He did tackle his PB&J with gusto. Mind you, in the UK, that "J" is for "jam" and not "jelly."

 After lunch, we tried the Impressionists. Jed was taken with Degas, and feigned interest in Van Gogh, Cezanne, Gauguin, and pointillism generally, before sitting in front of some Titian painting for 15 minutes and peppering me with questions about the women bathers: "Will they wash their hair? Why are they taking a bath outside? Are they taking their clothes off?" You get the gist.

After that, I was done and we went to play by the fountains out front for a good bit.

Jed is standing by the rear end of a giant lion statue, in case you were wondering.

Too bad that crumby camera on my phone doesn't do this justice!

The Griswalds Go to Plymouth

One of the great things about moving to Europe, we figured, is that we'll be able to travel more and see some beautiful countryside. All of which is true, except that we didn't know how much I would be traveling back to the US (ha!), not to mention how bloody expensive it can be to get around. Still, we were given an offer we could hardly refuse to visit Plymouth (in Devon) with some friends, and off we went for Easter weekend.

After a grueling train ride that I shall not recount here (it was like traveling into the Heart of Darkness at times), we arrived at Newton Abbot and were whisked away to the picturesque hamlet of Lustleigh. As if the BBC-costume-drama of a name weren't appeal enough, there was a quaint pub! Thatched roofs! (Not Thatcher roofs, Gramps, sorry!) Sheep! Babbling brooks! In short, it was everything I had learned to want of England from my repeated viewings of Shadowlands at age 12.

This house is just a house. Someone lives here. It dates to the 1500s. We were just walking by. You can tell this just kills me. "You mean they don't have a place like this roped off??"

Jed explores some local throne that disturbingly reminded me of The Wicker Man.

From Lustleigh, it was off to Plymouth. I could report on the Easter Day drunken hoardes and DJs, or the tasty, tasty meal we had at the River Cottage Canteen, or the vaguely post-Soviet feel of the "city center," but why? We all know I was interested in one thing, mostly: pilgrims.

Jed, not grasping the historical significance of the place, indifferent my Miles Standish jokes, and otherwise primarily interested in the here and now, preferred the boat ride. For him, this was Plymouth's equivalent of Space Mountain.

Other sundry images and videos below. Even with the 8+ hour drive back in standstill traffic (past Stonehenge, so tick that off my to-do list, as the drive-by seemed enough), it was a trip well worth it.

On Estonian Food

To add my own two pence to the Estonia footage here...

After walking around for a bit in the sub-zero temperature, Jed began moaning rather uncontrollably in the stroller. This earned him a stop in a local pastry shop, where he promptly picked out the biggest, most dramatic treat in the case.

Dave ordered blood sausage and mashed potatoes. That's bacon on top, and sour cream and jam as a garnish. Strikingly tasty.

 

Fried pigs ears!

More photos from Estonia