We fought through jetlag and went to the Natural History museum.
The dodos were fake, unfortunately.
Cthulu is everywhere.
Waiting for our train at the Eurostar station.
Notre Dame statues look quizically at the dude holding his own head in his hand.
Amour en Paris.
Free bikes! Too bad the machine woulnd't accept our debit cards (for liability reasons) so that we never got to ride them :( ... why doesn't Portland have a system like this?
Watching street performers. The guy in the orange shirt wasn't part of the troupe, but insisted on participating anyway. I think he entertained the crowd more than the actual dancers.
Poker is popular in France, apparently. Or maybe it's just Tom Dunn.
We went to a bar in the Latin Quarter with crazy red lighting.
The anarchist angel. 
Relaxing in the Tuileries gardens, feeling like a character in a Henry James novel. From the Oxford World Classics Introduction to Henry James' The Portrait of a Lady: "In 1869, [James] took his first journey to Europe alone and sent back ecstatic letters about his adoration of the ancient cultures of France and Italy, places that seemed steeped in rich history against the thin soil that barely supported American letters... One of James' abiding themes was the encounter of the Old and New World, in an era when political and economic power was inexorably shifting toward America yet Europe retained much of its cultural authority." (pgs. vii-ix)
It's always one shoe that's randomly lost in the metro or the street, never both. Someone should discuss the mathematical law explaining this. I guess the shoe isn't really "lost" if its mate is present.
We ate crepes in a classically cramped Versaille apartment with our friends.
We visited the founding place of Truth, Beauty and Love...
.. but mostly found sexy toy shops instead. (See England? Paris doesn't hide its sexytoys!)
Amusing poster inside the bathroom of a cafe--just in case you were confused as to whether or not you were in the right one, I guess.
Obviously the French hippie house in Montmarte, the Amelie neighborhood.
By the Bastille.
Walking around the Pompidou (modern art museum).
Amusing street performer.
At first I thought this sign was saying that you weren't allowed to do sit-ups, but I guess all it meant was no lying on the grass.
We ate escargot and rabbit at this really great resteraunt called Chez Paul that Emily took me to the first time I visited Paris. It was good.
Then we drank beer and Pisco, which was wretched and made me ill.
I liked documenting the random graffiti.
I liked the classic cobblestoned Parisian streets too.
The night we went out with our gracious Parisian hosts, Corey confronted a seafood feast of the most epic quality.
All that the sea promises and more. 
Our very gracious hosts... <3 without their hospitality, there's no way we could have afforded this trip.
Peace monument near the Eiffel Tower.
We visited one of those giant glass malls that Zola wrote about, where Corey looked at cacti.
Best falafel ever. Ooooomygod. I could easily eat this a thousand times over.
I like the centerpieces in the storefronts of the Marais neighborhood.
Parisians encourage young children to smoke, apparently.
Corey's riding the Eurostar face.
Back in London, at the British Museum, we came to the following conclusion: ancient civilizations were visited by aliens. I mean, c'mon... men with wings? Really?
Dude... the Egyptians were aliens. I mean just look at them.
Who's the paragon of the decline and fall of civilization now, huh? Huh?!
Little kids laughing at the statue's weenie. Very mature.
Dude... total Illuminati.
The infamous Elgin marbles. I wish I could remember what I learned in my freshman year Humanities 110 class about them. I liked the pamphlet the British Museum had set up in front of the exhibit that basically said "fuck you Greece, we're keeping 'em." Har har har dee har har. Good thing the museum is free--doesn't make much sense to charge for shit you stole, you know?
You gotta take pride in the $5 pint.
From the essay called 'The American Heroine,' published in 1875, by Agnes Macdonnell: "[The American Girl] is not bone of our bone; she has passed from among us; she has emigrated to new spheres; and we examine her with wonder and admiration mixed with some little amusement. She is possibly representative of a future era in fiction, and perhaps we are destined to see the day when we shall meet her in the pages of English novels."
All the phone booths in my cousin's neighborhood were plastered with these sexy calling cards at night. Confusingly enough, they were always removed during the day, leaving nothing but stray lumps of glue on the wall. Imagine having that job, darting from phone booth to phone booth, either taping up the sexy cards or tearing them down.
Check out this crazy spaceship-like building; it made me think of "Men in Black" and wonder if it was built for future intergalactic exploration.
I dragged Corey to the Tate Modern, where there was some interesting mushroom art that we both enjoyed.
This was the last photo I took before the security guard scolded me; this piece is supposed to represent a lightning bolt, a goat and a sheep (decide for yourself which object is which)
A cool poster at King's Cross station.
Admiring the punts on the Cam.
I make it a personal goal to sample as many papitas as possible on my journeys. Thomas is an eager participant, in this random pub by the river that had all these posters of Pink Floyd on the wall (I think the singer used to go there--the pub owners were obviously very excited about it).
We visited this random natural history museum in Cambridge and looked at a whole bunch of really cool and really old fossils that inspired a lot of contemplative meditation, such as "God, imagine seeing that guy in the water coming after you."
Charles Darwin's fossil collection added to the celebrity "wow" factor.
Some kind of round church that had something to do with the Knights Templar (according to my dad). I think it maybe had something to do with the DaVinci Code too. Or maybe it just seems like the kind of thing the DaVinci Code World would dig.
Busker in Cambridge playing inside a garbage bin. I can easily say that I've never seen *that* before.
The absolutely terrifying "time-eater" clock in downtown Cambridge. I can easily say that I've never seen anything like that before, either. Apparently it's supposed to represent how your life gets eaten up by the passage of time by a terrifying black bug reminiscent of the Alien films.
Note to self: a pitcher in England is more than what you expect.
My dad took us to this creepy dark pub in Harston (the Cambridge suburb where my grandma lives). It was filled with creepy stuffed dead animals, including this river otter.
It was called the Queen's Head, as I recall.
Double rainbow at Harston.
Punting down the Cam does not necesarrily mean fearing for your life with a look of horror.
At ease for a picnic lunch.
Photographic evidence that the Cajuns punt with the best of them.
Bowling at the random AdventureFun ArcadeLand we stumbled into in London.
Corey fights the Battle of Britain and saves the Houses of Parliament.
Promoting American tourism, Pennsylvania style.
We went back to London to go to the Notting Hill Street Carnival, a very interesting, New Orleans-esque affair. There was something like 500,000 people the day we were there. Best of all were the food stalls with amazingly good Caribbean food everywhere. People were serving meals straight out of their houses, like the Ghana lady at the beauty salon who let us use her bathroom in exchange for us eating her saffron rice and chicken.
One of the sillier English pub names that we saw.
I dunno what was up with the paper mache Popeye and Olive.
Chicken was definitely the theme of the day. There was a lot of jerked chicken (this particular chicken was the best that I've ever eaten in my life!)...
... and crazy parades.
And, of course, before we left, exemplifying the best of England, there was fish and chips, mushy peas and arcade games that were impossible to beat.And that is our classicaly bourgeoise trip to Europe.
A whole, exactly, tragedy unfolds before our eyes in Paris, Prague, Venice or Berlin to name but four, as the moon, vast and orange, rises over the renaissance domes, baroque palaces, nineteenth-century zoos and railway stations, and the modernist slabs of social housing exemplifying the dictum form follows function... the rise in speculative building coincided with the aspirations of the liberal bourgeoisie to create monumental architectural schemes such as I'm thinking particularly now of the Vienesse Ringstrasse which made such an impression on the young Adolf Hitler as he stood one morning before the Opera.
--Or one of the great Parisian boulevards.
--Or one of the great, exactly, Parisian boulevards.
--from Martin Crimp's play Attempts on her Life.
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