Rome-ance with a capital R

I have to say that Rome was never on my list of Places To See Before You Die. I mean, I'd seen Gladiator, right...really, what more was there?! So when Matt brought up a little four-day city escape I thought more along the lines of hot & tropical than old, colossal ruins. So, in response to his suggestion...and in a fit of blondness...I said "Great! Then we can save money by not staying in a hotel because our friends live near there."

The silence was deafening. "Are you still there?" I asked, thinking we lost the cell phone connection. He must have been in shock because at least 45 seconds went by and he still had not uttered a single word. Why you ask?

Our friends live in Athens. GREECE.

Yes. I know. I am indeed, an idiot. I also realize that I may never...ever...live this story down. Ah well. Let's just say that geography was never a strength of mine. And blond hasn't been my true color since about the age of 10.

So back to Rome. Talk about one incredible city! From the moment we stepped off the Leonardo Express (a train from the airport), we felt like the city just surrounded you and made you feel welcome. The people were friendly, the weather was beautiful. It could be the only place on earth where the cabbies hound you for a date instead of a fare.

We stayed at a beautiful hotel called the Hotel Eden and it was utterly fabulous, romantic and oh so shi-shi. We were just a quick walk from the Metro station, the Spanish steps and this little shopping area with all my never-frequented yet absolute-favorite-and-if-I-had-the-means-I'd-live-in stores: Chanel, Prada, Dior, Gucci, Hermes (by the way...FYI don't touch their bags or you'll get yelled at like I did), D&G, Louis V and Armani. It was quite a material playground for those with bank accounts sitting off-shore in the Caymans.

On our way to the Spanish Steps:



And here is the view from them:


And in case you'd like to find the material mecca:



The night we arrived we stumbled upon a little gem of a restaurant. The food was delicious, the ambiance was decent but the best part was the wine. Actually, it was crap to be honest, but it was only 8 Euros for an entire carafe. We would find, in the nights to come, that an 8 Euro bottle of wine was more difficult to find than a bar without stripper poles. (I'll explain that one a bit later).

There is SO much to see in Rome that there was no way we could have done it all in two short days. So we rounded down our sightseeing into three main things: Piazza San Pietro (St. Peter's Square), the Sistine Chapel and the Colosseum.

Our first stop, after having a pizza for breakfast, was St. Peter's square which is in the Vatican City, directly in front of St. Peter's Basilica. Did you know that the Vatican is a country in and of itself? I had absolutely no idea (by now, that's probably not surprising to many of you I'm sure. Ha.Ha.). As we're waiting in line, taking the obligatory self-portraits


we hear about a "free tour for English speakers". Instantly my BS radar goes up and out pops cynical Kerrie. So, for the hell of it, we tag along and as the guide is talking about the square, it's obelisk and the history of it all, I begin to question his motives. By now the crowd has grown and we're pushing our way through the crowded line. Consistently and methodically we were, as a group, jumping the line...ahead of people NOT on the tour. So while cynical Kerrie is waiting for the shoe to drop, competitive Kerrie is stoked because we're "legally" and quite unabashedly queue jumping. Surely the man has never been to England. By the time we arrived at the entrance of the Basilica we were given headsets and were officially caught up in tour.

Standing in the square is quite a feeling. You look around and on all sides you are surrounded by greatness and the sense of history is almost overpowering. I just kept wondering to myself how on earth all of this was created and how remarkable the architects and people of that time were. The number of Saints looking down on you from above almost outnumber the pigeons.





Here is the Holy Door that is only opened during the Jubilee Years.



And the view looking back on the square from the steps of the Basilica:



The first thing you notice when you're up close to the Basilica is it's sheer size. It is astronomical. It covers 5.7 acres and can hold up to 60,000 people inside. Here's some perspective...the Air Force Academy Football Stadium can hold about 54,000 people. The following picture doesn't do the size justice.



The dome, designed by Michelangelo, is almost 400 feet in height.



Below it resides Berninis canopy, a 90 ton bronze altar and below that, rests St. Peter, peaceful in his tomb. Or so we were told...wikipedia however says that's not true. Some tour guide huh?! And of course, there is Michelangelo's Pieta, one of the most beautiful and moving sculpture ever created. Since a crazy Eastern European tried to destroy the sculpture with a hammer, they've put her behind bulletproof glass. Bulletproof glass does nothing to aid in the ability to take good pictures so I borrowed this one from the web (thanks again wiki!).



Once the "Absolutely Free" Basilica tour ended, he was willing to take us all on a much more elaborate tour of the Sistine Chapel for 25 Euros a piece. We figured, why stop now. We were escorted to a nearby cafe where we handed over the cash and in return were given small yellow stickers in the shape of a dot. It was supposedly to ID us as "PAID" and part of his tour group. I merely stood back and watch, secretly hoping to catch his gang of gypsies spotting the easy marks. I mean, it wasn't hard...we were all sportin' the bright yellow dots for crying out loud! Just in case this guy was a real sleaze though, I took his picture. That way, I could show it to the cops if anything shady happened to us. Yes, I've watched too much C.S.I. At least I didn't go so far as to leave my hair all over the place for the DNA...but it certainly crossed my mind!



Well, the Pope must have known that the Dunkers were going to be in town because he made no plans that weekend. And if we hadn't already signed up for the Chapel tour we'd have joined him for a big ol' glass of Merlot. You can tell he's home since he's shudders are open (2d from the right, top floor).



Turns out, all in all our guide was decent. We were pretty happy we got sucked in and were more satisfied that it wasn't us that ended up the easy mark. The poor gal that did however, had a southern drawl so thick that I think the gypsies picked up on it just by reading her mind. Picking pockets in the Vatican...I'd love to be a fly on the wall when that guy tries to explain that one to St. Peter!

Off we went in search of the Sistine Chapel. On our way we saw the hall of tapestries and we were able to bear witness to many of Raphael's frescos. Once we were in the chapel however we were speechless. It is such a sight to behold and I can find no words to accurately describe the feeling you have when standing there staring at the ceiling. You aren't allowed to take pictures because of what the camera flashes will eventually do to the ceiling. So, I didn't use a flash and had Matthew run some interference. The first picture below is of the actual ceiling. I had to lighten it up a bit after but it's not bad if I do say so myself! The second is of a poster showing the back wall...my picture didn't turn out at all.





We had had big plans to eat early, take a nap and then go out for a night of bar hopping and wine tasting. We managed the early dinner and the nap but unfortunately when we woke up at 9 AM from said nap, but by that time, the 'getting a drink' bit didn't sound so appetizing. Instead we got a $12 cappuccino the size of one of Avery's miniature toy teacups.

Day Two was our day at the Colosseum. We managed to fend for ourselves and not get sucked into any freebie tours. As soon as we walked out of the Metro station...there it was.



Huge. Massive. Colossal. Again, another sight I have trouble accurately describing. Upon entering the Colosseum I was struck by how cold it was and I couldn't help but wonder if that had something to do with how many souls were lost during it's heyday. On more than one occasion I found myself with chills while looking into the animal and slave cells that were just below the Colosseum floor.



These days though, the only beast roaming this stone structure is that of this little ferocious one:



Since we had some time to kill we took a walk through the Palatine Hills. This area is one of the most ancient parts of the city. To this day they are still excavating parts of it and in 2006, archaeologists found the Palatine House. Supposedly it was the birthplace of Rome's first emperor, Augustus. We didn't know where it was but here are some great pics of the hills and some of the amazing structures in it.




The rest of our time in Rome was spent wandering the streets, checking out the stores and staring, in awe, at the architecture. Every street held something beautiful and so full of history you get the goose bumps. And that dear friends, was about it for our trip to the wondrous and romantic city of Rome.

...

Oh yes, I almost forgot. The stripper poles.

So it's our first night and after dinner we thought we'd go find a bar, hang out and have a few beers to celebrate our mini-getaway sans children. We thought it was early (we failed to change the time on Matt's watch) so we wandered around for awhile with no luck. It was about 1:30am and most everything was, of course, closed for the evening. But we managed to keep running into mafia-looking men in long coats standing outside certain drinking establishments. We purposely steered clear of those that had flashing, neon "LAP DANCE" signs but were finding those more often than not. However, as we approached one little place, there were no signs and the man out front was very pleasant. He looked like anybody's grandpa.

As soon as I stepped foot into the bar I was struck with the sight of two brass poles in the middle of the floor, set atop a little platform. Immediately I turned around to Matt and muttered under my breath...THIS IS A STRIP JOINT! He looked at me like I was crazy and said..."it is not". As habit would have it, the second thing I did upon entering the bar was scan the room. Here is what I saw:

1. Hardly any tables but LOTS of couches.
2. Way too many mirrors.
3. Very old men dancing incredibly close with women 30 years their junior.
4. 10 to 1 in favor of men.
5. Glittery, sparkly eyeshadow, 6 inch heels, some seriously blond wigs and red lipstick on everyone but the 4 men the joint.
6. Woman in the corner, sitting alone smoking a cigarette with one of those long plastic thingys attached to it, dressed in all white leather, black hair and wait...that's not a woman. Man trying to be a woman...

OKAY. I'm OUT. We're done here. But no. My innocent, dear sweet Matthew was still in denial that this was a bar of ill repute. Hmmm...you're probably thinking this was intentional? Believe it or not, I don't think he had a clue. Only after I dug my nails into his arm and led him back out the entrance did he notice that the poles were, in fact, not there to hold up the ceiling. Perhaps we should have noticed the mirrored windows on our way in...I actually just thought they put them there so us chicas could check out our hair :)

Up for a brief tour of our lil' pad?

If I had a picture of a welcome mat, I would insert one [here].

I figured that before too much time passed, I should show you all where we live. As you may have noticed, I affectionately refer to is as our little ghetto. In England however ghettos are referred to as council estates. Although that sounds posh due to the use of the word 'estate', it's actually quite a slam. For instance, if you wanted to make fun of someone for what they were wearing you could say "wow, you like you just walked off a council estate." Supposedly it's where all the chavs live. Explaining chav, well...that in and of itself is another post entirely so I'll move on.

This is a council estate:



Pretty, don't ya think? No, thankfully, we don't live in a council block building. However I would much rather pay their rent per week than ours! To me, these buildings are high-rise hell but the rent is controlled and for some, it's the only way they can financially survive living in London. Instead of living in one, we live right next to one of them and there are about 5 more in the surrounding area. They are quite an eye sore but we've learned to see past their awful exterior and windows with bed sheet curtains. We've embraced the fact that we are roughing it in a very shi-shi part of London. Not only do we live right under one but so does Bob Hoskins, Sadie Frost, David Walliams. They all live right down the street somewhat near another fine work of architectural engineering...a council block. So, I don't feel so bad livin' in the ghetto. If they can do it...

Our home is considered to be a townhouse of sorts. It's not what you'd call pretty by any means but it suits our needs while we're here. We've got off street parking (HUGE plus in a big city) and we've even got our own garage. Not that we'd ever be able to fit our car into it, but it's the thought that counts, right?!




The house is a mere three stories: Ground floor is the kitchen and dining area with our laundry room, loo (aka bathroom) and access to the backyard. First floor is the reception room (aka living room), sitting room and playroom. The third floor has three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. It's quite spacious by city living standards and has drastically reduced my time on the stairmaster at the gym. It makes us laugh every time we walk up and down the stairs because while house-hunting, we avoided anything above a 2nd floor walk up. We didn't want to be bothered with stairs. Silly silly us.

So, it's not the tidiest of kitchen pictures but if I waited for a clean kitchen before I took a picture, I'd never include the kitchen in this post. So, deal with the mess...I do.



The following pictures will show you our reception room and sitting room. It's one of my favorite spaces in the house and is finally, partially rid of toys.






Next is the playroom. We've learned from living in the romper room for the past few years, that a playroom is an absolute must. When Avery was born I wondered what she was going to do with herself as she grew up because, at the time, we had no toys. Then one day, we woke up and found ourselves buried in Barbie, Legos, Playdoh, Crayola and My Little Ponies. I don't know how it happened...really I don't. Since, this room is totally a space for the girls, we rarely tidy it up because really, what's the point?




I'm not putting any photos of the bedrooms on here because, well, they're just that. A place to sleep and I'm not a bed maker...not even for pictures.

And our garden is our little piece of paradise. Yes, I realize that it in no way, resembles a garden. However, a garden to the English is a yard to the American. There is a slight difference though...a garden needs no grass to be a garden. It can be patch of grass, patio, cement slab, mess of bushes and trees. What it can't be is what we Americans call a garden. There is generally no fruit or vegetables inhabiting it. Better for me since I have yet to establish my green thumb. Anyway, our yard may be small but it is one serious commodity out here. This summer, all I will have to do is open up the door and the girls will have free reign. ..then I guess I'll have to learn how to use a mop b/c the ground never quite dries out from all the rain.Here's the view of our little heaven from our master bedroom and below it is some of our neighbor's pads.



Well, that's about it. Hopefully the pictures give you a pretty decent portrait of our home in Londontown. Until next post...

A birthday party for an American in a French Restaurant in London. Of course!!

As most of you know, I'm not the most proactive of planners. It's actually quite surprising considering my mom has apoplexy if things aren't sorted at least 2 weeks in advance (smile mom, just a little joke). So when it came to Avery's birthday celebration for big ole #5, planning crossed my mind in about December. December 31st to be exact. Her birthday is January 12th mind you. When I actually got my bum in gear however, it was about the 5th of January and everything worthwhile was booked 6 months in advance. Luckily I was able to swindle a little deal with our local Leisure Centre and I was able to secure the date of 11 February. Ah...so only a month behind. Not bad. Now, ask me if I've started planning Sloane's party for May and all I can muster is a big hearty laugh.



Her party was absolutely FABULOUS and we couldn't have had a better time. We invited her entire class and a few other friends we've picked up along the way. We headed to the Leisure Centre where the kids had a ball at Rascals, a gigantic playplace. Imagine the coolest playground with tunnels and chutes that tower about 3o feet in the air. Not only did the children have fun but it was one of the only times they allow the parents to partake in the activities too! We got to climb 20 foot high slides and throw plastic balls, play football and basketball and act like children again. It was incredible!



Once we had our fill of the balls it was time to fill our bellies. So we walked the gaggle of boys and girls and headed for Bradley's...a very shi-shi little restaurant right down the road from us. In we walk with about 10 adults and a total of 20 children all ready for a fine dining experience. I thought the kids would be crazy but they were on their best behavior and acted like they'd grown up eating in a fancy restaurant. Now that I say that, most of her classmates probably have grown up in fancy restaurants! (ha ha). We are soooo far out of our league!



I have to tell you all a funny story about the restaurant. When I called (with much trepidation) to ask if I could have a party there, the owner Simon, said sure. I clarified a bit and said...would it be okay for about 30 five-year-olds...he responded with "35 year olds? Sure, no problem." Again, I re-clarified and said no...thirty...five-year-olds. The response was....."ER.....ER....well?" Needless to say, I convinced Simon and he worked with me on the menu and all the fixings.

As I mentioned, it was fantastic and it was the first time that my expectations of services in London have been exceeded. They've never had a party for a munchkin before but it seemed like they were old pros. The restaurant had 4 on staff for the party: a waiter, waitress, bartender and chef. Each child was served pasta and chicken like they were the only one in the restaurant. They opened the bar for us, served the adults trays of canapes and made sure we had our coffee and capuccino's. There was NOTHING for Matt and I to do...we just sat around and watched the kids have a ball at the party. The best part was the cake...they dimmed the lights and helped us sing Happy Birthday to Avery. Immediately they cut the cake in the most perfect little squares, put them on fancy plates with a scoop of ice cream and dashes of powdered sugar...it looked as though our cheap little CostCo cake came from Wolfgang Puck himself.



Overall I think the kids had a super time and Avery felt like she was on top of the world. It was one of those things that I think she'll remember forever. She did however, miss her friends back home in Jersey and wished they could be there to share in the fun. There really isn't a day that goes by that she doesn't mention them....so, all you little ones at the Westfield Y pre-school....WE MISS YOU!!!!! Below are some pictures of her friends at her new school...

And we've got snow people!! SNOW!!!

Anyone have a car snow brush for your car I can borrow cause I certainly didn't bring one to the UK. Instead, two days ago I was forced to improvise. And can you guess what I used? Yes, that's right folks...a spatula. I stood outside my house and scraped the snow off of my car with a spatula normally reserved for inside jobs like flipping burgers. My neighbors think I've gone and lost my mind. But then again, they probably just shrugged and said "stooooopid American."

Regardless of what an arse I was about to make of myself, Avery, Sloane and I were so excited when we woke up and saw the beautiful snow on the ground. It was awesome, sparkly and gave us a nice little winter wonderland. Wet and sticky, the perfect snow for snowballs and snowmen had fallen on London. Actually, it was the perfect snow to be removed with a spatula come to think of it. Lucky me. Unlucky however were the folks traveling on the tubes that ran above ground, those waiting for a bus or anyone else reliant upon a form of public transportation. Delays were upwards of 50 minutes and many busses just stopped running their routes. Happy was I with my years of upstate New York and Colorado snow driving experience...I laughed in everyone's general direction when I saw all the hazard lights on and the speeds well below 20 MPH. I giggled when thinking about how many Brits probably enabled the 4 wheel drive on their Range Rover after eyeing the roads. For once, since we've been here, I felt mildly superior to those around me merely because I didn't bat an eyelash when checking out the one measley inch of snow.

The girls and I had big plans after school to make our own snowman but alas it was not to be. In a few hours after the snow fell it was gone, only to be replaced by hideously large mud puddles and a random patch of ice here and there. I should probably bring the spatula back to the kitchen but for now I think I'll keep it in the car, just in case the weathermen are right again and we get another inch.