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

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