Home, Sweet Home

Extensive traveling does two things: (1) allows you to see and appreciate other cultures and (2) allows you to yearn for and appreciate your own. I have such an intense fascination for learning that I was {almost} overwhelmed with going abroad. The history is unparalleled, and the nuances in lifestyle genuinely piqued my interest. In Prague, I fell in love with the wall graffiti. In Germany, it was the endless bike paths. Paris amazed me with the Arc de Triomph. As for London, I am still boggled why they chose to drive on the left side of the road, but their public transportation system more than makes up for it {plus, I have a small obsession with their style}. One of the other things that I loved about Europe was their abundance of fresh fruit stands. It's no wonder they are all so thin. They eat fruit like Americans eat Snickers bars and gas station hot dogs. 

While traveling, I quickly learned the priorities of my regular life's guilty pleasures. Aside from the standard yearning for my family and friends, my body craved some American specialties {most of which are comparable to Snickers and gas station hot dogs when it comes to caloric intake}:

1. Powerade Zero {orange}
2. Skyline Chili {4-way with beans}
3. Qdoba {naked vegetarian burrito with queso & guacamole}
4. Brookside Chocolate-Covered Pomegranate
5. Pizza {from one of the many locally owned shops in Louisville}
6. The Bachelorette {shhh, I know, I've been watching it since college}
7. My bed {for obvious reasons}
8. My closet {I made it 18 days on 4 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shorts, 2 skirts, 7 tops, and ONE purse}
9. My cell phone {wifi is awesome, but life without 4G gets a little ridiculous}
10. MY PUPS {oh. em. gee.}

Now that I've been able to get my grubby little hands on these goodies, I can {more deeply} sit back and appreciate the arduous adventure that has now come to a close. It is so easy to look at other countries and imagine an alternate universe, but the learning happens when one can recognize how similar we really are {as human beings}. Ultimately, we are all connected, and we grow when we see how other people of our same age, job or social status interact with their geography. Traveling only made me realize that Ponyboy knew his stuff oh-so-long ago: “It seemed funny that the sunset she saw from her patio and the one I saw from the back steps was the same one. Maybe the two worlds we lived in weren’t so different. We saw the same sunset" (The Outsiders).

Prague's Graffiti // "Before I die I want to ________."

Germany's Bike Paths // view from one of my morning runs

France's Arc de Triomph // Paris

London's Hipster-Prep Style // Gap skimmer jeans {sold out, but loving these} + black tee {similar here}, Polo Ralph Lauren cardigan {similar here}, Inga Creations tusk necklace + leather wrap bracelet, Michael Kors jet set watch & Jessica Simpson captoe flats.

The Pups // they have staked claim on my side of the bed

Style Stats: London

If Urban Outfitters had a city in which to epitomize its very being, it would be London. While I found Paris to be somewhat anti-climactic, London far exceeded my expectations; I felt like I could relate to their vintage-hipster-prep style, which made shopping a real delight {plus, Jordan and I found an amazing street bizarre in Old Spitalfields Market with fabulous local goods}. At moments, I felt like I was reliving 1999 with all the cut-off Levi's and exposed bra straps floating around {think Saved by the Bell}. Any London fashionista willing to ask the tough questions learns that shopping at cliche stores in the city just isn't cool {despite the fact that they have the most amazing mall}. The "cool" kids frequent Brick Lane where there are rows upon rows of unique consignment shops. Jordan has more patience for this kind of shopping {I can browse online for hours, but I can hardly stand second-hand shopping for more than 10 minutes with the extreme patience it requires to thumb through row upon row of articles}; therefore, to please me, Jordan and I also hit up the most epic department store. Six stories and one entire city block are home to Harrods where private appointments are made on the top floor and a bellman holds the front doors open for you. The shoe department took my breath away: Jimmy Choo, Valentino, Tory Burch {and the list goes on}. At one point, I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing. Some rules for surviving in London:

1. Own a pair of cut-off denim shorts {or two or three}.
2. If it's vintage, rock it.
3. Bras are an accessory.
4. Preferably, show your midriff with baggier assymetrical tops.
5. Bring your Tom's for the walk to the tube {train}.
6. Use the word cue in place of line when shopping {it sounds much fancier}.

Aside from some super-trendy threads, London also gave me a new-found appreciation for public transportation. The logistics of their metro system are remarkable. Before we knew it, Jordan and I were cruising the Jubilee, Central and DLR lines as if we had been doing it our entire lives {after our driving fiasco, this was a comforting surprise}. In fact, we often times found ourselves knowing more than the locals who hardly leave their areas of the city. Because they don't have cars {for obvious reasons}, they hardly venture outside of their small sections of London {unless they are going to work, of course}. I was surprised by the number of people who did not know areas of town when we asked to get from one place to another. When we called our hotel upon arriving in London to ask for directions, the front desk girl's response was, "I'm sorry, let me transfer you to someone who drives." For a city built upon such a communal means of transportation, we were shocked at the isolation of those individuals. We traveled farther in 2.5 days than most of the locals had traveled in years. It made me think about how {un}well-traveled I am in my own country {let alone my own city!}. After seeing Buckingham Palace with my own eyes, I walked away with the feeling that a DC trip is in order. Bring on the White House!

Denim Shorts for Days

Vintage Shops // Brick Lane

Box Park // Transportable Boutique Shops made of Storage Boxes

Street Bizarre // Old Spitalfields Market

Street Vendor // XL Pocket Tees & Sweatshirts {loved this tiger!}

(left) red bow dress {similar style here for purchase here}, silver flats {here} & pearls // (middle) linen tee {here}, black skinny jeans, navy Tom's {here} & black tote {here} // (right) linen yellow skirt {here}, black tights, tank, patent flats {here} & nude tote {here}

London Hipster // dress, tights & neon pumps + denim & high-waisted shorts + bandanas & scarves

Loving this Brit's outfit! // white + navy dress {here}, navy blazer {here} & nude pumps {here}

Style Stats: Paris

I have made up an unofficial saying for Parisian women: less is more. Our stay only lasted for a little over 24 hours, so I kicked myself every time a scantily clad {usually bra-less} female walked past and I did not have my iPad ready to shoot {looking like the usual tourist, of course} for I wanted to show you an entirely honest view of Paris style {in all its glory}. Unfortunately, I didn't escape with any great shots, but I did get some adorable collections. There are a couple must-follow rules:

1. {as stated} Wear as little as possible.
2. No bras allowed.
3. Carry a Louis Vuitton bag.
4. If it's couture fashion {a.k.a. expensive}, own it.
5. Smoke. A lot.

In all sincerity, Paris didn't really do it for me like I thought that it would. Viewing the 100th finish of the Tour de France was a remarkable event {almost as remarkable as the six-floor Louis Vuitton store}, but it was disgustingly hot, ridiculously expensive and entirely unfriendly. Granted, we arrived on day 13 of an 18-day vacation, which means that we really had to kick our attitudes into high gear for the sight-seeing portion of this trip. Having never been on an extended vacation, I didn't realize that I might actually get sick of taking photos. Don't get me wrong, the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomph held a magnificent glamor about themselves {and we did not have enough time to experience the iconic museums situated within the city}, but Germany left such an {unparalleled} pleasant impression on our hearts that Paris just could not match. Maybe a second trip will be in order to reassess our initial impression, but one thing is for sure, we will need to learn French {no English allowed here, people}.

white lace dress {similar here} & blue cut-out dress + black flat sandals {similar here} & crossbody clutches {similar style here and here}

cream tee, red pleated mini, brown braided belt & white + brown crossbody bag

(left) green gingham 1/2-sleeve dress, red handbag {similar style here} & white canvas flats {similar style here} // (right) floral dress with exposed back zipper, blue handbag {sold out color, but same style here} & gold flats

Eiffel Tower // Forever 21 striped tank, Kensie pleated corduroy shorts {similar color here & similar style here}, Coach Madison Lindsay crossbody {sold out color, but available style here} & Tory Burch aviator sunglasses

Amazing Race: London

I have always had a secret fantasy of being on the game show Amazing Race. Couples race around the world performing physical and mental tasks in order to reach checkpoints first in hopes of winning $1 million at the completion of the event. I have always surmised that my husband and I could dominate such a game {pardon my lack of humility}. Jordan and I were both college athletes, and we are both fairly intelligent; more importantly, we are both two of the most competitive people I know {like can't-play-a-game-of-cards-without-rubbing-a-victory-into-the-other-person's-face competitive}. The problem with this competitiveness, however, is that it can work against us in a scenario where we must work together as a team to make progress {as witnessed in Amazing Race}. For those of you who have ever played shuffleboard with me and my husband, you will know how heated we can get with each other if one is "under-performing." We may or may not have gone home from a picnic or two on bad terms because we failed to win a game of cornhole {true story}.

We arrived in London on my Birthday, and my husband {bless his heart} wanted to make sure I had a wonderful day {after waking up at 4:30 AM to catch our flight from Paris International Airport}, so we rented a car thinking we could get to our hotel quicker; plus, we thought we'd want our own transportation to get around the city and countryside. Hindsight: Terrible idea. The English drive on the left side of the road. We should have known what we were getting ourselves into when we got in the car, and my husband {car keys in hand} opened the passenger door while I sat down {as the passenger} in front of the steering wheel. We were {at least} smart enough to rent a wifi hotspot that would allow us to use our iPhones while driving. My heart started palpitating at the first turn, the wifi hotspot wouldn't turn on, and my husband was asking me for directions in a city I had never been before {terrible combination}. After leaving the airport Enterprise, realizing we had a faulty wifi hotspot, and then returning to the airport Enterprise based on our own sense of direction {since we were GPS-less}, we were finally able to embark on our journey {some 40-odd minutes later}.

When we pulled our hotel up on Google Maps, we learned that the airport was on the far west end of London and our hotel was on the far east end; what we also learned was that central London is comprised almost entirely of toll roads, which meant that we needed to drive {literally} an entire circle around the city in order to avoid the tolls. Google gave us a travel time of approximately 1 hour and 15 minutes {if only we had been so lucky}. London's interstate system is a joke. There is a round-a-bout every mile {or kilometer, or whatever they call it}, and I'm pretty sure Siri (1) was confused herself on how to give directions and (2) could not keep up with the fact that we were forcing her to "re-route" every five seconds because we'd miss the third exit on the five-outlet round-a-bout. I couldn't find a road sign to save my life {because I'm pretty sure they don't have them}, and I'd {attempt to} relay Siri's directions to Jordan in more detail, but I would inevitably fail.

We got to the hotel two hours later and after discovering how fabulous the public transportation system is, we decided to simply {or not so simply} return the car; however, this decision meant {once again} driving to a nearby Enterprise. At this point, we are reliving Just Married {you know, the  movie where Ashton Kutcher and Brittany Murphy go on their honeymoon only to come back divorced because everything that could go wrong, does go wrong on their vacation}. I'm closing my eyes deep in prayer that we don't die {not because of my husband's driving - he did fabulous - but because of the other drivers who have zero cares for anything going on around them}, and I'm nearly on strike for giving anymore directions. We drive to one Enterprise and don't see it, only to drive to another one that doesn't actually exist, only to return to the location of the first Enterprise {which we'd missed by one street} where the staff stays 30 minutes after closing so we can actually get rid of the metal nightmare. I'm pretty sure that if hitting and hair pulling were legal marriage moves, we would have been doing both simultaneously at this point. It's his fault for not listening properly {so I say}; it's my fault for not speaking properly {so he says}. Hashtag: Amazing Race losers. Hastag: relationship drama. Hashtag: let this day be over!

Fortunately for me, I have a thoughtful husband, so when I childishly stomped off to the bus stop with my it's-my-party-and-I'll-cry-if-I-want-to face, he quickly grabbed me and gave me a big hug. We moved from bus to light rail and found an amazing pizza joint with a live band playing in the basement. We chowed down on an exorbitant amount of food {including the best macaroni and cheese I have EVER tasted}, and I was lucky enough to get a little Birthday delight at the end of the meal. More importantly, my husband and I honed our teamwork skills, which we will most definitely need when we are asked to be the next set of contestants on Amazing Race {fingers crossed}.

Driving on the "right" side of the road

On the double-decker bus {finally!}

Restaurant: Pizza East {London, England}

Wood-fired Pizza Man

Birthday Dinner // Marguerite Pizza, Sausage + Broccoli Pizza, Mac + Cheese & Butter Leaf Lettuce + Avocado Salad

Birthday Dessert {go, Hubby!}

Bar: Concrete {underneath the restaurant} // Band: New Build

Proud to be an American

Traveling abroad has sealed within me a deep appreciation for my country. With every bite of imitation American cuisine and every un-air conditioned store I walk into, I yearn for the good ol' U-S-of-A. Don't get me wrong, Europe is beautiful {stunning, really!}, and I have uttered on more than one occasion, "Wow, I could live here!" The quaint architecture, the beautiful town squares and the epic vineyard-views are enough to make any girl squeal with delight. Plus, for a runner like me, I am overcome with joy to find miles upon miles of bike paths at every city we visit. Yes, in fact, I could live here.

A couple days ago, however, I felt such an allegiance to my country, I could not imagine living anywhere else. On our bus trip from Germany to Paris, we stopped in Luxembourg to visit the Luxembourg American Cemetery and Memorial. It started as a plot of land rented by US General Patton before "The Battle of the Bulge" during WWII. It became home to thirteen-thousand soldiers who lost their lives in the war. Many of those bodies were shipped back to the United States, but the space still houses 5,000 heroes in a sea of white marble crosses. The names of the soldiers are engraved on the backs of the crosses, facing their home country, and General Patton's grave sits at the front of the memorial, facing his troops. I found myself crying for a throng of people whom I had never known, and yet it was like we were all related. We shared the same blood: American. This doesn't seem to hold the same value as it did for those who lived through such a tragedy, and I don't know if it ever will, but I do know that I was sobered by the experience. I wished I could bottle the emotion and share it with my national comrades who {naturally} want to ascribe to Republican or Democrat, pro-life or pro-choice, black or white. These men died for one label, and we are remiss to ignore such a powerful common denominator. Unfortunately, life happens and we are forced {too often} to make a choice that divides our oneness.

When we arrived in Paris, I was reminded of a powerful tool that serves to unite all of us by our common denominator: sports. Through the work of {what could only be} Divine intervention, we were privy to the finish of the 100th riding of the Tour de France. Flags littered the air and chants resonated on every street corner. My husband quickly found a group of Americans, and for a small moment in time, we were home. U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

Entering the Luxembourg American Cemetery and Memorial

White Marble Crosses

Group of Americans camped out at the Tour de France

100th riding of the Tour de France {entering the Arc de Triomphe}

Some old red, white & blue // Citizens of Humanity Avedon velvet pants, Gap striped tee, Vans satin boat shoes, Inga Creations leather wrap bracelet & Michael Kors Hamilton Bag + Jet Set Watch

Style Stats: Germany

On a river cruise, there are not a lot of opportunities to go out and explore port cities in the evening, so the highlight night of our trip involves carnival rides among German locals. When we docked in Wurzburg at 10 PM {the night before our pizza adventure}, we saw a neon flame in the distance drawing us in like moths: a large pole jutting into the night sky with neon swings flying in circles around its center. Whatever was going on in this place, we knew we had to be a part of it. What we found was an epic festival in honor or St. Killian. We chowed down on German pretzels and bratwursts and prepared ourselves for an evening of barf-inducing rides. The best part: it was ladies' night. We were privy to a throng of ladies, young and old, walking around in traditional German threads {called dirndl - don't ask me how to pronounce this}. These dresses were taken right out of a traditional Disney movie {think Snow White}. It was unreal {and absolutely fantastic for this fashionista to witness}. As we travel around Germany, I am confronted on the daily with store fronts showcasing these dresses {yes, I have been tempted to buy one}. I am just amazed at the preservation of such a cultural masterpiece. What would Americans wear if such a tradition existed? I imagine something like outfits from our colonial period {think Gone with the Wind}. I can not stop chuckling at the idea of such a sight.

When it comes to modern style in Germany, black tights, neon and colored denim are still taking over the world {in case you were worried}. I have my sights now set on the fashionista icon stationed at the end of our cruise: Paris! So close, yet so far away.

St. Killian Festival

Ladies' Night

Dirndl at its finest

German store front

Cute boutique window in Bamberg, Germany

Neon store front in Heidlburg, Germany

My American garb <3 // Target Merona chambray,  Gap geometric skimmer jeans, Coach Madison Lindsay crossbody {sold out color, but available style here}, J. Crew Factory coral bow flats {old, but similar here}, Inga Creations tusk necklace + leather wrap bracelet & Michael Kors jet set watch

My hubby getting some pup love in Mainz, Germany

Excuse Me, You're in My Seat

On a river cruise, meals are very regimented, so the dining hall is always full. As human beings, it is our natural inclination to form cliques, and these dining experiences become a breeding ground for this grouping. Jordan and I immediately made friends with three other couples a few hours into our trip {the only three couples to find our passport mishap most amusing}, and these friends naturally became or dinner mates {and so much more, of course}. Last night was the captain's farewell dinner {ironically, it is not actually the last night, but rather the second to last night} and the tagged "mama bear" of our group went downstairs to grab our table. Surprise! Another group had taken our seats. So, naturally {but not without complaint, seeing as how we had sat there for every meal for the last week} her and her husband went and got the opposing table across the room with sufficient seating for our posse. The group who had spent the entire trip sitting at our now "new" table did not like this one bit. They made numerous complaints about how we had taken their spot, but "mama bear" was not moving, so there was no chance of table surrender. When the rest of our group finally arrived, we found our new location {plus a lot of drama}. We looked confusingly on our stolen table and saw the couples high-fiving each other. High-fiving? I'm sorry, did we do something wrong? Okay, so we're the loud group - the ones who talk when they shouldn't be, the ones who take just a little longer to linger on "just one more photo" while the guide {and the group} waits impatiently, the ones who laugh loud during meals and get a lot of stares. But, we're not selfish; we're the first to buy extra water bottles for the group, take a picture for you with your significant other, or donate our earphones if you forget yours for the tour. For whatever reason, these people just wanted our table, and for whatever reason, they had made it personal.

It took everything within me {within each of us, really} to not say anything. As a high school teacher, I thought of the advice I would give my students: just let it go, it's not worth it, be the bigger person. But, at that moment {and only that moment, of course}, I wanted to kick that little voice square in the face and be the small person. Do we ever really leave high school? Fortunately, my foot didn't have to do anything and the scenery did the face-kicking for us as our side of the ship drove by beautiful vineyards and gorgeous small towns and our old side passed shrubs and weeds with no picturesque value {giggle}. More importantly, we had another dinner amongst great company, and we didn't change a darn thing {except for our seats, of course}.

View from Marksburg Castle on the Rhine River

View from our "new" dinner table

Sharing seats {for the photo}

Captain's Farewell Dinner // Modcloth "Shoreline Soiree" dress, J. Crew Cece flats & Michael Kors jet set watch

For the Love of Pizza

When you get a food craving in a foreign country, you're pretty much {for lack of a better term} screwed. You can search and search to find an authentic restaurant, but more often than not, you will find the food and it will taste like a washed-out cloned copy of your original heart's desire. Even our staple fast food restaurants from the states will have an international flare in foreign countries. Ironically enough, I will not touch a McDonald's in America, but give me a McDonald's in Prague and I will run to it like the Prodigal Son.

When you get a food craving on a cruise ship in a foreign country, you are even more {for lack of a better term} screwed. Your craving is heightened by the sheer isolation of eating only what is on the ship; plus, Jordan and I are doing a river cruise, so our meals are very regimented. At this point, we have been on the ship a week, which is nearly an eternity in our life without consuming a single slice of pizza. While enjoying a rather fancy dinner on the boat while docked in Wurzberg, Germany the other night, Jordan comes up the most brilliant plan of his entire life {aside from marrying me, of course}: we will order a pizza to the ship. Yes, brilliant. Jordan pulls out his iPhone, Googles pizza, and within seconds me have a variety of choices. Jordan dials the closest location, and after being passed off to a gentleman who could understand the smallest amount of English, my husband asks for "the largest pizza on the menu." The gentleman responds with "46." What?! A 46-inch pizza?! I mean, yes, but how in the world do they even transport a pizza that size? Will it be done in time {we were set to depart within the next 30 minutes}? No, we can't order a pizza that size. Jordan orders the next size down, gives the gentleman his cell phone number, and hangs up the phone.

At this point, everyone starts taking verbal bets on whether or not the pizza will actually arrive before the ship departs {captains don't wait on anything, even pizzas}, and we sit. Finally, a beacon of light comes towards us: two gentlemen with a pizza box approach the side deck where we are waiting. There is only one small problem: the ship is prepared for departure and the docks have been raised. There is one dock sticking out from the boardwalk, but it juts into an unknown room. The hotel manager generously gives Jordan the number, and the two run down to the room like schoolboys. Knock. Knock. Who's there? A couple from our home city that we had just met upon boarding the ship! The wife {thankfully} allows the two to enter, and the pizza man runs down to the dock to make the exchange. Jordan slides open the glass window. The pizza man gets to the end of the dock. And, holy {expletive}, the ship is setting sail. Slowly by surely, we are getting farther from the boardwalk. Jordan climbs out of the room, stands on a small metal plank on the side of the ship, and reaches as far as he can for this little box {later we found out that the hotel manager was humbly grabbing the butt of his pants to keep him from falling into the water} while exchanging an overgenerous amount of Euro for the pizza man's efforts. Success! Pizza victory. Craving satiated.

This has now become the joke of the ship {as if anything less was expected} since our program director relived the entire moment in front of the whole ship's audience the following evening post-dinner {of course, Jordan and the hotel manager re-enacted the full scene of events}. The only sad part was our moment of stupidity in thinking that we would get a 4-foot-tall pizza. Europeans use the metric system. Our pizza was only 32 centimeters {12-inches!} of goodness. Bummer.

A view of the original Wurzberg Castle from our ship

A very blurry view of the pizza-money exchange

Our 12" pie of pepperoni goodness {being shared with a fellow on-looker}

Dinner Date // J. Crew skirt {old, similar style here}, Target Xhilaration long & lean tank, DV Dolce Vita Archer sandals (gold), Michael Kors jet set watch. Cara NY spike bracelet & Inga Creations tusk necklace

Here's to History.

We have spent the last few days moving throughout Germany - Nuremberg to Wurzberg to Rothenberg -  and I have one word to describe the country: Cool {really cool}. It is a place filled with a remarkable history, and I am in awe of the locals' dedication to that history. They are obviously home to a catastrophic international event, yet it is not a source of shame for the current population.  From what I understand, it took awhile to get to this point. The peoples' initial response to Hitler's devastation was embarrassment; they sought to destroy everything that remained of the Nazi party and concentration camps because they did not want to explain the horror to future generations. It wasn't until many years later that they realized the disservice they were doing to their country; they weren't learning from the mistake because they were being ignorant to its existence. If anything, they were contributing to the initial devastation because they thought they could will it away with the naivete that it would never happen again. Finally {light bulb!}, they poured their energies in the opposite direction: learning as much as they could about the experience so it could never {and would never} happen again.  As I stood in the middle of the Nazi Rally Grounds a couple days ago, I really began to wonder about my "historic" human errors: Was I sweeping them under the rug, acting like they've never happened? Or, was I owning them {in all their ugliness} as a means of preventing them from ever happening again? Germany's restoration came through answering yes to the latter, and my introduction to Germany is challenging me to do the same.

Entrance to Nazi Rally Grounds {aerial view}

Memorial at Nazi Rally Grounds for Concentration Camp Victims

Rothenberg, Germany

Kensie pleated corduroy shorts {similar color here & similar style here}, Gap polka dot chambray, Zen Threads American Apparel bike tee, Nike lunar glide +4: Livestrong edition, Coach Madison Lindsay crossbody {sold out color, but available style here} & Tory Burch aviator sunglasses

A pup working in a shop in Bamberg, Germany