Liverpool: Rebecca Ferguson at the Philharmonic Hall

I've seen a lot in my time here. But I hadn't seen anything like Liverpool. Home snug 'n' sound, an hour off the train now, it's that it's just three hours north of here that keeps bringing me up. You'd swear this island would have to be twice the size it is (or more) to hold as many distinct pockets. And in Liverpool, that distinction is so pronounced; it's almost a performance. From the gentleman in tweeds at the Dispensary on Friday night, young doll at his elbow 30 years his junior and still many-summers wise, twirling his full-on handlebar moustache while exclaiming to a table of friends he hasn't met yet, "Lads, shall we retire to the pavement and smoke a few fags?" -- his emphasis, I swear on all that's holy -- to the lass at the train station this afternoon, by all accounts dressed for the public eye -- well, note I'm letting the softball of 'leggings are not trousers' sail right by -- save for a full head of curlers like only your nan has sported in the last half century, in Liverpool, the show does go on.

And I loved it.

Liverpool Cathedral

The analogy doesn't end there, either: the town itself is like different sets on a movie lot. A Chinatown -- Europe's oldest, incidentally -- like I've only seen in San Francisco is just down the hill from this monster of an Anglican cathedral, itself a short walk from the rival for Temple Bar that is the intersection of Hanover and Wood. And the illusion is complete when you find yourself on one of the many unpopulated streets -- and I'm talkin' entirely, be it high noon or midnight, you can find these places easily. It's downright creepy, and, surrounded by the tall brick faces, very back lot. (But rarely in a scary way, I hasten to add; we were worried about the city's rough reputation, shall we say, but found it as warm and friendly as you'd like, for the most part. And even that one time, walking home in the wee hours of Sunday, I'm sure it was just that our imaginations were workin' overtime.)

We'd been talking about going to Liverpool for a long time; at least since this time last year, when Liverpudlians we met at the York Brewery put it on par with that wonderful city as a good-times destination. The excuse that finally got us there was a Rebecca Ferguson concert. And what a show it was. As the runner-up on the X Factor in 2010, I guess I'm probably one of the few folks that hadn't heard her amazing voice. It filled the Philharmonic Hall to bursting, and, coupled with intros to the songs she wrote, conveyed rare emotion and infectious humility. As it happened, her family was right behind us (with one empty row between) and as Rebecca made many references to the importance of the love and support they'd given her over the years, you could hear them trying to stifle their reactions. Add to that a top quality opener in Jay James Picton -- honestly, he was one of the best opening acts I've seen; powerful and confident from the outset -- and you've got one heck of a night.

Food

The best meal of the trip had to be the burgers at the Shipping Forecast. We both had the goat's cheese and caramelized onion burger, and, oh man, you wanna talk about finger-lickin' good -- don't even think the Brits would've been able to resist throwin' down that fork and knife in the face of these beauties. And then what Tea awarded Best Chips in Britain, as a side? Heaven. Plus, they had a wicked selection of condiments -- including three types of Tabasco (in the UK, mind!) -- which is easy, but trips up many of the otherwise pros. Second place goes to North Garden: one of the many inviting options in Chinatown that we picked at random. Fantastic duck, wonton soup, spicy shrimp with garlic... Just a meal of starters, really, which is how Tea rolls, or would, if the rest of the world would just get on board and offer proper meals. Barburrito gets bronze: as good as any Mexican you can get in Canada, in my opinion. Which just seems wrong, as they get it together in less than five minutes. But so flavourful, from their guacamole to their various salsas, etc.

Pubs

At The Philharmonic Dining Rooms

I've already talked about the Shipping Forecast; fantastic place. Don't let the hipster digs turn you off: the staff are really friendly, they've got a good beer selection -- including a lot of American craft brew (e.g., Sierra Nevada Pale Ale -- on tap and more apricot-y than any time I've had it in the bottle -- Flying Dog's Snake Bit IPA, Goose Island's Honkers Ale) and English cask ales like Top of the Hops Golden Ale -- and, well, you've heard about the grub. But if it's a few pints you're looking for, the Dispensary is my top recommendation. It's easy to see why it's been the Liverpool and Districts CAMRA Pub of the Year for the past two. Clearly a local favourite, it's a place for beer lovers. I suspected this when I saw Stringers Mutiny nestled in the middle of five hand pumps (with two at the other end of the bar, for those who're counting). At 9.3%, it's way more than I've seen any landlord willing to put on -- remember, they have to sell this stuff in a matter of weeks, to a crowd who, by 'n' large, look for 'session' beers around the 4% mark, tops -- and a treat: so smooth, with the perfect amount of currants in the finish. Tea and I agreed, though: the highlight of the evening was the George Wright Brewery's Mild. And that was with two other stars on in Marble's Bitter -- one of my Top 3 favourite brewers, and only available up north (from what I can tell), unfortunately -- and Outstanding's Standing Out.

At Thomas Rigby's

Other stops included:

• Thomas Rigby's: great spot with a lot of character. Ilkley's Fireside Porter had a nice bite to it. Tea had Newmans Creative Cat, a tasty pale, from a Welsh brewer, apparently (with no 'net presence I can find).
• The Globe: clearly, another local favourite, and an oasis in the shopping district. They were jokin' and carryin' on with the landlady when I was in there; really infectious. I'd probably put this in second place, come to think of it. The Coach House Brewing Co.'s Squires Gold Spring Ale was excellent: refreshing and understated.
• The Munro: gotta love it when a restaurant that bills itself as fine dining has four real ales on, and a warm, relaxing area to enjoy them.
• The Philharmonic Dining Rooms: last, but not least, we popped in after the show on a recommendation. Opulent and cosy, if you can believe it, with a truly amazing selection of ales. I think the tasty red I had had Smithy in the name, which leads me to White Horse Brewery's Wayland Smithy. Tea's True Grit Pale Ale, by Millstone Brewery, was also excellent.

Just a great weekend. We took the train up, and never once considered a cab. The Albert Docks, where we stayed (at the excellent Staybridge Suites), were a leisurely half-hour walk from there, and everything we did was in between the two. One of the better walking cities we've visited, in fact.

Edinburgh: can you say Hogmanay?

December 29, 2011

The bar at the Dome

The day started brisk, but nothing like our arrival by train last evening. ("B'ys, she was blowin' a gale," I'm sure Granddad would've said.) We went out with a childhood friend of Tea's who happened to be in Edinburgh at the time, and the words were torn from our mouths on more than one occasion. (My favourite moment of the evening was when Tea and Anna reminisced about seeing the Eurythmics when they were 10.) I'll take these blustery showers, particularly kitted out as we are with base layers and rain trousers.

Silly sods that we are, we wondered how we'd breakfast after our nice, long lie-in. Look no further than the Christmas market one street over from our hotel, on Princes Street. (Tea's like a bloodhound when it comes to them, I'm sure you've realized by now, dear reader.) Before long we were sated on ridiculously chunky seafood broth, toasties made with Isle of Mull cheddar, mulled wine and mead. (I feel that sentence needs a "Huzzah!")

Did someone say toasties? NOM.

Outside BrewDog Edinburgh

From there, it was on to our first BrewDog pub, ever! I know you're probably shaking your head in wonder, given how I go on and on about them, but they've only been around since 2007, and, based in Fraserburgh, Scotland, their pubs are understandably out of the reach of all but the thirstiest of Gloucestershire folk. We sampled half pints of their Christmas Porter and Scotch Ale, and both were excellent: the former was nicely spiced -- you could really taste the chillies -- and the latter had some nice toffee undertones.

In front of Edinburgh Castle

After a wander, taking pictures of the castle in the dying light -- barely gone 4 p.m., mind! -- we made our way down Grassmarket to a Chinese restaurant Tea had wanted to try for ages: Chop Chop. It wouldn't open for another hour, so we killed some time in the nearby Thomson's Bar (found with Tea's handy CAMRA app.). This one-room pub managed some real character, its walls lined with history. I was telling Tea that the various McEwan's, Younger, etc. beer ads, for sweet stout and other wonders of another time, were all chronicled in the Pete Brown book I'd started on the train ride up. (Tea's pint of Fyne Ales' Piper’s Gold was nice, but couldn't compete with my pint of the lovely Hophead by Dark Star that I'd first tried a few months ago in that absolute star of a pub, Cask.)

M'm, dumplings

Chop Chop immediately struck both of us as utterly professional. With no reservation, we worried that we might not get a table; and with good reason. Still, they squeezed us in a 90-minute slot, serving us efficiently, without rushing us. And the food was out of this world; it certainly opened my eyes to the possibilities in Chinese cuisine: pork and coriander dumplings; tasty, tangy cucumber salad; aubergine salad with lemongrass, garlic and other awesomeness I couldn't hope to identify; garlic lamb with cumin. Just amazing. And because we'd ordered the "Banquet for two," we could order more of any of those dishes at no extra charge (which we did, of course).

* * *

December 30, 2011

Arthur's Seat (to the left) at dawn

We got up early (for us) to have plenty of time to catch our tour bus at the Royal Mile at 9 a.m. Our destination: the Scottish Highlands. Tea had picked Rabbie's at random the night before, and in short order it was clear she'd hit the jackpot: Euan, both our driver and guide, was enthusiastic, engaging, funny and knowledgeable. Plus, he kept us to a schedule without being overbearing, invited questions throughout while keeping an eye on the road, and was perfectly calm in the proper snowstorm that threatened to ground us in Pitlochry.

Dunkeld Cathedral

Our route took us over the Firth (fjord) of Forth, past Fife and through Perth, to Dunkeld, notable for its proximity to Birnam (and the famous wood of the same name) and, despite a population of little more than 1000, its cathedral. After wandering the grounds of the latter and stopping for a quick bite to eat in the town itself, we hopped over to the Hermitage for a longer walk. While stunning, its beauty was marred by a recent hurricane. A local news story from mid-month explains:

After shutting down the Dunkeld woodland site, North Perthshire property manager Ben Notley explained: “The Hermitage took a battering with yesterday’s winds and unfortunately we have lost a lot of trees. Some of these are very large, root systems have been uprooted and the area is very unsafe... We hope to reopen in time for the Christmas holidays.”

Thank goodness they succeeded! Still, memories of touring Point Pleasant Park after Hurricane Juan followed me back to the bus.

Snow's arrived!

Next up was the Victorian spa town of Pitlochry. As we toured one of the town's two distilleries(!), Blair Athol -- whose single malt isn't sold beyond their shop, but makes up much of the Bell's blend -- however, the stormy weather caught us, cutting our route through the Highlands a bit short. Still, it made for a fun lunch stop: Tea's app. pegged the Moulin Inn and Brewery as our best bet, a mere two kilometres from the town's thoroughfare. What we failed to realize was that it was uphill, over a good layer of snow by that point. True to our heritage, we made it, scarfed down a delicious roast pork dinner, sampled all four of their brews(!) -- their light ale was the recommendation, and the best -- and made it back to the bus with minutes to spare. Tea even pushed out a stuck car on the way back! (Where was I, you say? U'm, well, I'd run ahead to flag down Euan, convinced we were late.)

At the Moulin Inn and Brewery

That roast pork was even tastier than it looks

Aside: the other distillery, Edradour, was a tantalizing few hundred metres beyond the inn. Ah, for more time. And I've never seen such a selection of their whisky as was behind that bar! Bottles of 'Straight from the Cask' I'd never heard of, tall bottles(!) -- I know them for their stubby bottles; there were easily a dozen varieties on display. I shall return!

Euan brought us back through Aberfeldy and Crieff as the snow gave way to rain. As we drove by Stirling Castle, the fog obscured all but a few lights at its base.

* * *

All the streets around the Royal Mile were closed in preparation for Hogmanay, but our cabbie managed to thread a route from our hotel to our apartment for the next few nights, near the foot of Arthur's Seat. Once there, we quickly dropped our bags and headed back in for the Torchlight Procession.

If you haven't heard of it, look it up! It - blew - my - mind.

The only other time I've been surrounded by that much open flame was at the candlelight service every Christmas Eve at Wesley United Church in St. John's when I was a kid -- where the colossal responsibility of tempering flame and wax barely left me breath to sing -- and these were flaming brands of wood, rope and wax longer than my forearm! The street was full of them! As far as the eye could see! And there was danger on the wind, for surely so much wood-smoke is no campfire, but a raging inferno, my brain would periodically pipe.

And as if that weren't enough, they closed it with fireworks right overhead, almost asking to be cupped in our upraised hands.

We truly were drunk on it. Back at the fair and Christmas market by the Scott Monument, we sang, can-can'd, and pole-danced, sanity be damned! Then, exhausted, we supped, and drank mulled whisky from a fish bowl. As Cassie would say, "Awww, yeah."

* * *

December 31, 2011

After the lie-in of champions, we seized the day, moving our New Year's Day walk up Arthur's Seat ahead. Our ambition knew no bounds as we tackled the steepest route, our breath ripped from our mouths by the gales, even as we needed it most. Still, we conquered, carefully celebrating amongst the jagged rocks and pooled water whilst being buffeted. The descent offered little respite, and while brown bums and scrapped hands surrounded us, we eventually emerged unscathed, largely thanks to the course struck by 'Billy Goat' Button.

[After a quick stop for groceries, it was time to prepare for the imminent celebrations...]

* * *

January 1, 2012

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Last night was a blast! So much goodwill and bonhomie. And it was really well organized as well: lots of toilets, and plenty of police and staff to answer questions; you could tell they'd done this before. To feel so safe amongst 80000 people is truly a testament.

The fireworks display, mirrored at Holyrood Palace and the castle, blew my socks off! And while things dispersed shortly thereafter, our band of eight kept the party goin' a good while longer.

Good times!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Manchester: "POUR - SOME - SUGAR on me!"

Tea got me CAMRA's Manchester Pub Guide a few months ago, and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it got some use this past weekend. Skip down to the Pubs section if that's your pleasure.

We got the 6 p.m. train to Manchester after work on Friday and arrived at Manchester Piccadilly station a few hours later, in the heart of the action. While The Mercure (formerly Piccadilly Hotel) wasn't anything to write home about, its location -- overlooking Piccadilly Gardens, all lit up for Christmas -- couldn't be beat, and the breakfast was very good.

Tea scored some tickets to the Wolves at Man U match on Saturday afternoon -- don't worry, Robbie, I didn't come back with any swag, and only cheered so the surrounding fans wouldn't hurt me -- so we spent the morning around Piccadilly Gardens and the European Christmas Market in the lee of the imposing Town Hall. (The following day we went inside, which has its own market, and enjoyed tea with a friend of Tea's from the area; really nice spot to warm up!)

Aside: there were nine Christmas markets in total, and of the highest calibre we've seen in the country to date. There were some really stand-out stalls -- a puppet maker and another with ornate metalwork lanterns come to mind -- and the themed markets were distinct: the ankerbrau on tap at the German market was a nice touch, and the seating in a stall at the French market gave it a cafe atmosphere of sorts; cognac is really nice in mulled wine, by the way.

Getting out to Old Trafford was a cinch: a few stops from Manchester Piccadilly. (Unfortunately, getting home after the match was another matter; we probably would've walked back to the town centre if we had our time back.) That first view of the pitch was amazing. With a capacity of nearly 80000, I have to say, the two Premier League matches I've been to have been a spectacle of staggering proportions. The steady thrum of noise, strikingly different from the typical Sens game, makes you feel so alive. Seated well up behind and to the side of one of the goal lines, we had a great view of three of the five goals in the 4-1 victory for Man U. (The Wolves played well, but were simply outclassed.)

Sunday was concert day! Steel Panther, Motley Crue and Def Leppard at the Arena! The venue was fantastic: right in the centre of town, just off the Shambles -- where we enjoyed supper at Cafe Rouge beforehand -- and again, like Old Trafford, was this big bowl of energy as we arrived. The Crue were great: pumping the crowd up and cooking 'em with crazy pyrotechnics -- we could feel the heat, in the seating way at the back! Tommy Lee's coaster-esque kit and set was like nothing I've ever seen. I laughed out loud, when, as part of the stills montage on the big screens during Girls, Girls, Girls, they flashed a picture of Justin Bieber.

Def Leppard's backdrop was toned down by comparison -- I could imagine it would've looked much the same twenty years ago -- but all the better for it: the shuttle footage on the floor-to-ceiling screens during Rocket, with their silhouettes out front, as they played on the three different levels, was fantastic. The whole show was great; everything I thought it would be -- Phil was still shirtless! -- and more. They seemed genuinely appreciative of the reception: Joe reminisced about driving back to Sheffield in a beat-up van in '79, having just opened for a band in Manchester: “You know, Manchester is really f*****' great.” And they ended saying, “Don't forget us; we won't forget you.” Good times!

Pubs

It's tough to choose between my two favourite pubs of the weekend. I think the Port St. Beer House has it by a nose: two levels, and not silly busy on the Saturday night we popped in, it hit a cosy rec room note we both took to immediately. The staff were knowledgeable and friendly: as usual Tea asked for a recommendation, and the barman's "Stunning!" for Thornbridge's Colorado Red was bang-on. Similarly, he raved about a recently-acquired saison that was a collaboration between local Marble Beers and Dark Star brewer, Mark Tranter; and with good reason: honestly, this may be the best beer I've ever tasted. So rich and smooth for a 9%, and much more than I'd dreamed a saison could be -- and I'm a big fan of Saison Dupont, understand.

Other hits of the evening included:

1. Utility IPA from Marble: excellent, even after the Colorado Red, which is saying something
2. Great Divide's Rumble: an oak aged IPA; so smooth, with caramel notes
3. Redwillow's Ageless, a beautiful Imperial IPA
4. BrewDog's Winter Porter
5. Otley's O-Ho-Ho: while good, it obviously paled in comparison to the heavy hitters

Enjoying a pint at the Old Wellington

Coming in a very close second was our second-to-last pub of the trip: the Knott Bar in Deansgate, Greater Manchester CAMRA Regional Pub of the Year 2010. The exterior wasn't much to look at from the side we approached, but a big grin broke out when I first stepped inside: really interesting, but understated decor, comfortable furniture, and, again, very friendly staff with a clear appreciation for real ale. They recommended Moor Beer Company's Southern Star, which was a great, hoppy pale. Marble's Bitter was the winner of the stop, although Redwillow's Heartless was an excellent stout. And as if that wasn't enough, the Irish (lamb) stew on special came bone-in; absolutely delicious. The bar is set in a former railway arch, and the periodic rumbling of the trains overhead was the icing on the cake.

Other stops included:

• The Old Wellington can't be missed. The surrounding Shambles -– and it really was in '96 -– is a must-see, and whilst you're there, you could do far worse than this twice-moved landmark. Over two visits, Acorn's Barnsley Bitter, Itchen Valley's Treacle Stout, Rudgate's Auld Saint Nic and Venus Black IPA were all excellent.
• Kro Piccadilly was right outside our hotel, and a great place to watch the wet-at-the-time world go by. The pump clip with Elbow's Build a Rocket Boys! called to me: slightly sweet with caramel notes, it went down very well; a good session beer.
• Microbar, in Arndale Market: the location is small and odd, but it really works. Strands Brewery's Brown Bitter and Ellands Brewery's Tinsel Ticklers were both great (the latter being hoppy and bright, with a hint of orange rind).
• Bulls Head: the guide hits the right note on this pub: smacks of professionalism and intimacy; quite the feat for a pub so close to the train station. Had Boondoggle and the Ugly Sisters, and was impressed by the latter.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the long weekend.

Paris: The Gold Ring

That's a tip of the hat to a great scene in one of my favourite movies, Pulp Fiction, where the one and only Christopher Walken, as Captain Koons, returns a family heirloom -- The Gold Watch -- to five-year-old Butch.

Read on for the story of the ring.

As we knew we only had one day in Paris, we got up early again and caught the commuter train from Disneyland in, our must-see lists in hand. Since Tea and I had been before, we started on Stephen and Nancy's list, after dropping our packs at the hotel. First up was the Catacombs, a block from where we were staying; unfortunately, they're closed on Monday (boo!), so we caught the metro to Île aux Cygnes to see the replica of the Statue of Liberty (a little over a quarter the size of the one on Ellis Island).

The Isle of the Swans was an oasis in the bustling city; a view that seems to be shared by the locals, given all the joggers we saw. From there, we grabbed some delicious baguette sandwiches to go, making our way to the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The line-up for the first level wasn't bad at all, so we bought tickets and up we climbed. 328 steps. We were rewarded with an amazing view (once we'd caught our breath). Plus, unlike some, I find the structure itself to be beautiful, and much more so when you're amongst it, even. (Tea, Kae and I didn't spend much time there on our previous trip, and didn't go up.)

The Gold Ring

Once we'd walked along the Seine to the Flame of Liberty, that marked a good dent in Stephen and Nancy's list, so it was off to Montmartre. Along the way, as we admired the Alexander III bridge and l'Hôtel national des Invalides in the distance, a woman approached Stephen. In her hand was a gold ring the likes of which I've never seen; truly, it was like a Ring of Power, and all the more so when she began pointing at what I thought was an inscription, asking if it was Stephen's. (Well, it was an inscription -- no, nothing to do with ruling or binding -- but one supposedly indicating its purity; not a name or dedication, as I'd assumed. I only found that out later, after talking with Stephen.)

As Stephen faded back she turned to me, saying she'd just found it, and asking whether it was mine. She was sort of musing, though, it seemed to me, and with what I took to be wonderment, muttered something about bonne chance. Seizing on the chance to use my limited French, I jumped in with, "Ah, oui, c'est la bonne chance!" and made to move on. Well, at that point she started saying that she couldn't keep it, and that I should take it. I was shaking my head, no, no, with my hand up, and she kept pressing, both verbally, and with the ring, on my vertical palm.

I did manage to get away in the end, but it left me feeling a bit down. To this day, I'm so naive, and normally don't fare so well in those situations. Turns out this is very common in Paris (also called The Drop), although this woman never got to the asking for money bit.

* * *

At the Place de la Concorde we took another detour... for our first Christmas market of the trip! A complete surprise, it was a great way to get us all excited about what awaited us in Berlin. Our tummies full of mulled wine, pastries and smoked fish -- not all at once; trust me, it was awesome -- we hopped the metro to Montmartre and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica.

Om nom nom!

Sacré-Cœur Basilica

Avoiding the bracelet scam, we took a few minutes to enjoy the view and great people watching. The latter continued in spades as we sat outside a café in Place du Tertre, at first for wine, and then, tempted by the smells from the kitchen, for a full meal that included onion soup, beef bourguignon and escargot. Thanks to the heat lamps, we were there well past dark.

Place du Tertre

We then caught the metro back to our hotel, stopping off for a nightcap at the nearby l’Académie de la Bière, specializing in Belgian beer. With friendly staff, a cozy atmosphere and an impressive beer menu, it was the perfect way to close out the day.

l’Académie de la Bière

Up next: Berlin, Germany

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Disneyland Paris: "I need a Captain EO."

On the Disney property, just behind our hotel

We got up nice 'n' early on Saturday to walk to St. Pancras, which was a breeze with backpacks. (We're seriously wondering if we'll ever vacation with luggage again, in fact.) The Eurostar took us to Lille, where we switched to the TVG (high-speed train) to Marne-la-Vallée – Chessy, inside Disneyland Paris. After quickly checking in at Sequoia Lodge, it was off to the parks, to make the most of our day and a half there.

The all-important "picking of the ears"

Highlights of our time there included:

• The Christmas tree trimming in the Disneyland Park; we arrived in time for the unveiling.
• That first glimpse of le château de la belle au bois dormant (Sleeping Beauty Castle) lit up at night.
• It's A Small World: we all adore that ride. (It was my favourite part of the parks, actually; it satisfies something deep down in me.)
• Space Mountain: Mission 2: we were expecting something along the lines of the original Space Mountain, 'til we saw the shoulder restraints; it's more like the Aerosmith Rock 'n' Roller Coaster, and all the better for the unexpected thrill.
  
• Goofin' around on Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast: the girls had to take care of Zorg, as Stephen and I were too busy trying to screw up each other's shots.
• The big roaring fireplace, open on two sides, in the Sequoia Lodge; a great way to banish the last of the evening's chill.
• The Mad Hatter's Tea Cups, lit up beautifully with Chinese lanterns.

Early on, Stephen pointed out the profusion of what he deemed "space coats": puffy, shiny and ribbed, we then couldn't fail to see them, on adults, teenagers, kids, whole families. Maybe the French are starting something.

Finally, the subtitle comes from that 80s ride, which was playing in the Disneyland Park. Stephen told us about how he fell asleep in it the first time 'round, in the 80s, and was looking forward to seeing whether what he remembered was in the movie or just his dreams. Well, needless to say, history repeated itself, and he took Tea with him this time. (It was a euphemism for a nap from then on.)

I found it really interesting, the way it obviously liberally borrowed from Star Wars, as well as the H. R. Giger Alien, while at the same time clearly inspiring those who would design the Borg: particularly their housings and the Queen.

All in all, we had a great time. It was surreal, standing in spots we'd swear we'd been before, only those were now some 7000 kilometres away. We all agreed that Tea summed it up best: while Disneyland Park was a fantastic copy of the Magic Kingdom in Orlando, you couldn't help feeling that it lacked depth; like there was something missing, below the surface. (Which is true, of course, as it is smaller.)

Up next: Paris, France

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.