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

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

Party Foul.

Note to self, when traveling abroad, keep close tabs on your passport.

Sunday morning, Jordan and I were required to have our bags in the hallway of our hotel by 7 AM. If you know me or my husband, it should come as no surprise to you that we woke up at 6:50. It should also come as no surprise to you that I packed the night before while Jordan did not. I frantically rolled my bag into the hallway while glaring at my {always cool} husband who nonchalantly packed his suitcase at 6:55. Tension mounted as he rolled his things out at 7:05, and we continued to get ready in preparation for our 8:15 AM bus departure. By 7:45, my nerves got the best of me, and I excused myself to get breakfast. I walked into the hotel restaurant, Jordan followed immediately after, and we both waited in a 20-minute line to get an omelet {I know all you married people are following the relationship dynamics of this little fiasco}.

I'll spare you most of the ridiculous details and let you do the math. I got to breakfast with 30 minutes left before departure. I waited in a 20-minute line. So, I scarfed my small breakfast and left Jordan {still eating} to confirm our bags on the correct bus. Suddenly, the bags are confirmed, the bus is leaving, Jordan's still eating and I'm frantic. I run back to the lobby, tell him to hurry up {lovingly, of course}, and sprint back to our seats. Jordan strolls on 2 minutes later with his cunning smile and ridiculously handsome charm. Phew. We made it. Tension gone. A new adventure begins.

Until. Approximately 20 minutes into our three-hour bus ride to Nuremberg, our tour guide proceeds to remind us that only Euro will be accepted in Germany. Jordan starts searching for the Euro we had purchased at the New York airport. Briefcase? Front pocket? Middle? Zipper? Nope. Where is that Euro?! Then, the face. Oh, that face followed by, "Steph, did you get our passports and money from the safe in our room?" Stomach drops. Heart skips a beat. No. No. No. NO! I quietly walked to the front of the bus {from the back seat, mind you} to tell our tour guide of our predicament. We are already that couple; now we are going to be THAT couple. She looked at the driver and uttered those fearful words, "We have to turn around." Is this really happening? Yes.

I did the walk of shame back to my seat with encouraging words from our bus mates {thank you, experienced travelers}. Jordan, being the gentleman that he is, accepted all responsibility {and offered the entire bus a round of drinks on the boat and a free room at the Kentucky Derby}.

The best part: laughter. Jordan and I could look at each other and find comedy in such a traveling faux pas. Marriage isn't easy by any means, but life together is made in these small moments. We're okay with being THAT couple {at least for this trip}. Yes, our fellow travelers will proceed to ask us if we've forgotten anything for the next 9 days as we traipse around Europe together, but we've created more relationships {which means more memories}. More importantly, we get to spend another day in this crazy place called life {and make it back to the good ol' U-S-of-A with the proper documentation}.

Scenery from Prague to Germany

German Architecture {love!} // College Dorms

German Cuties {Pup AND Pumps} // striped tee {similar here}, coral scarf, Nine West red suede pumps, & pleated skimmer khakis {similar here - wishing I could find those pleats!}

On Board! // J. Crew maxi skirt {old, but similar here}, DV Dolce Vita Archer sandals (gold), Target Xhilaration long & lean tank +  Merona Chambray, Tory Burch aviator sunglasses, Coach Madison Lindsay crossbody {sold out color, but available style here} & Michael Kors jet set watch