You Gotta Have Heart: A Bit About a Friend's Coming Back From the Dead and the Inevitable Lament About the State of the Nation

That's Eric in the tie dye, Alastair in the middle and yours truly.

I heard from a Cal football friend the other day. I only ever see Eric at Memorial Stadium but he and Alastair -- who I sit next to at games -- text one another year round. Eric texted me Wednesday and asked if I had time for a phone call. I did. 

Our conversation started with me updating him on my recent vacation. After a brief rundown I innocently asked how he was doing fully expecting  the usual, fine, pretty good or not too bad. Instead I heard a helluva story.

Last month Eric died. Nineteen times. Feeling poorly he’d driven himself to the ER where he promptly collapsed and his heart stopped. He was brought back. He then preceded to flat line repeatedly and was repeatedly revived. He has no memory of any of this. Not even of the time he came to with a doctor on top of him performing CPR. Evidently misunderstanding the doctor's intention, he pushed the doctor off. Undaunted, the physician continued his life saving efforts. Successfully.

Next week Eric will go back to work. He’s got something of a defibrillator in his chest along with a pacemaker. Alastair and I have pacemakers too. Join the club. (There are any number of jokes I could insert here about what being a Cal football fan does to one's heart but I'll save those for another time.) What was most evident from Eric’s call was that he has a newfound appreciation for life. Who wouldn't? Dodging death by the tiniest of margins makes life seem all the more precious.

I apologize for how hokey the following sounds but damn if it isn’t true: life is an incredible gift and we are beyond lucky to be here. The odds of being born are estimated to be somewhere in the neighborhood of one in 400 trillion. To be born and healthy is something of a miracle. To be alive today and not in say, the 9th century is also extremely fortuitous. I’ve stayed alive for just over seventy-one years and am in excellent physical health as I have been for most of my time on this planet. What a lucky guy. When I think of the misfortunes that have beset me (Mom's mental illness for starters) I also try to remember all the blessings I've enjoyed.

As I told Eric, I look forward to seeing him at Cal's first home football game in September, especially so since the privilege of hanging out with him was almost permanently canceled. 

I’m going to change the subject here by noting that it’s not so lucky that we are suffering from the most heartless and least intelligent presidential administration since….I’m not sure when although ever is a possible answer. Certainly the cruelest since the 19th century. Trumpy is desperately trying to turn the clock back to the Gilded Age, one imagines that’s when he thinks American was great, hence his ubiquitous slogan.

The Republicans are not only trying to wipe away all the advances brought about by Civil Rights, The Great Society, The Fair Deal and the New Deal, they’re trying to wipe away all the gains from the Progressive Era. It seems we’ll soon abolish child labor laws, go back to the six-day work week, totally eliminate the social safety net, close the FDA and repeal the income tax. The richest Americans will be infinitely richer, the poorest will suffer.  I shouldn’t be surprised to see indentured servitude brought back. At least there’ll be huge military parades.

We could vote the rascals out but are fair elections a thing of the past? Will we continue to have a free press to report on the nefarious deeds of the Trumpists? Will political rallies and marches soon be verboten? We're still in the first few months of this dastardly administration. More horrors surely await.

No matter what it seems the yokels, hicks, bumpkins, hayseeds, idiots, morons and knuckle draggers who are so proliferate in places like Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Montana, Wyoming and Alaska will support the bastards. 

Yes, we’re lucky to be alive and should rejoice in our health but since we’e here and faring well, could we please have a sane and compassionate and competent government? Please?

This Was Supposed to be About Notorious But Who Has the Time -- It Seems I Did

Okay so I really wanted to crank out a blog post today and if you’re reading this and it’s dated June 2, 2025 then I guess I did though it’s not what I’d intended. Before I go on let me address the fact that it’s in some ways rather silly that I’m so punctilious about maintaining this blog and about how often I write. The fact is that no one cares. I barely do. It’s rare indeed that anyone actually reads it. There was a time when this enterprise was still in its infancy and I wrote mostly about films that it was regularly linked on IMDb and I’d get some traffic and even comments. I average about a comment — maybe two — a year now as has been the case for many years. (This blog is just over 17 years old. It’ll be graduating from high school in year. Wow!) But as I was saying I make a point — against all reason — to keep this damn thing a going concern. You’re welcome. I wanted to have a post here in the first few days of June better to maintain my pace of about seven posts a month. I managed ten last month when we were traveling because I always post during my trips as if anyone gives two shits. The problem is that I’m busy right now preparing a talk I’m giving on Saturday June 14 at the West Berkeley Public Library. It’s about when Berkeley was Finntown. I gave an abbreviated version of the talk at the Finnish Hall at a Finnish Independence Day gathering a couple of years ago. That talk was just under 20 minutes. I’m supposed to ramble on for close to an hour at the library gig. To those who are even worse at math than I am that’s three times as long. Therefore I’ve had to do a lot of research then piece it all together. Not so easy and it’s consuming my “writing time.” I don't even have time to work on one of my many unpublished novels. 

So now I’m writing this about how I don’t have time to write this very post or anything else because of the speech. Existential. I’d started to write about the Alfred Hitchcock film, Notorious which I watched yesterday. I’ve written about the picture before as it’s well worth writing about. Here’s as far as I got: "He just walks her down the stairs. Yes, he supposedly has a gun in his pocket but there’s no daring escape, no shooting, no karate chops. Damn if he doesn’t just take her and leave daring the villains to intercede. It’s the closing scene, the climax and it’s bloody brilliant. Not just a little bit nerve-wracking but audacious both in what it shows and that the screenwriter and director made that choice. You make Notorious today and there’s a goddamned blood-spattered shoot out at the end with bodies everywhere. Notorious is a spy film without a single visible weapon. It’s a fascinating film on so many different levels. One is the relationship between co-stars Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. It’s passionate, it’s tortured. Grant’s Devlin"

As you can see it would have been interesting. Maybe I’ll get around to finishing it someday soon. Maybe not. Ya never know.

You may be wondering — as I have — why I’m putting some much time and energy into a talk at the library that may only draw five people (I don’t know, maybe I’ll get thirty. Like I said in the previous paragraph, ya never know). First of all they asked me and I said yes. I didn’t see anyway in the world that I could say no. Do I really need to explain that? It just seemed like something that was pretty straight forward. Someone asks you to do something and you’re one of a few people who could do it — hell, maybe you’re the only person who could do it — you oblige them. Especially when you think you can do it well. Also they’re paying me for it and it’s a pretty tidy sum for a one-hour talk though given how much work I have to put into it they’re getting me cheap.

It’ll go well, people who attend will be happy with it and I’ll feel good when it’s over. It’s like a friend of mine said when people asked him why he ran: “because it feels so good when I stop.” So, yeah, it’ll feel good when I finish.

(Then again I could bomb, feel terrible and the library might feel ill-used. Ya never know.)

Hey looky here I wrote close to 800 words. That’s legitimate blog post numbers and then some. Mission accomplished.

Blog post cranked out. Now if I could just find someone to read the damn thing....

Look! A Group of 12-14 Year Olds, How Delightful! My PTSD (Post Teaching the Seriously Deranged)

Yeah the little bastards can look innocent but watch your back

The horror. 

Middle school students traveling in packs — as they usually do. Threes and fours seem the most common. When there are five or more, look out. Mind you I’m not at all frightened of middle schoolers, not for a second. I was a middle school teacher for about twenty years and lived to tell the tale. But it’s been seventeen years since I stood before them and I can’t help but wonder: how? How did I not only walk among them, but teach them? And history at that a subject of minus interest to most of them. No wonder I was on everything from Xanax to Klonopin to — for a short time — Zoloft.

So as you may have gathered I have a touch of PTSD when I come upon them. I dive into bushes, leap into traffic, run backwards, anything to avoid their underdeveloped, twisted brains, their foul mouths and obnoxious scowls.

They’re not all bad, you say. True there was some nice Cossacks. The Huns had some good souls among them, you could have met a charming Khmer Rouge, but the odds in all cases are against you.

You never knew what you were going to get from one day to the next, indeed from one minute to the next, with a middle school child. They could be silent and sullen unmovable and uninterested then when you turned your back transform into a roaring dervish with a buzzsaw of emotions. A middle school classroom could resemble a confluence of a broadway musical and prison riot.

What's a middle school kid like? Some play jump rope, some have oral sex. Some watch cartoons, some torment homeless people. Some act like saints, some are stoned half the time. A class of them can, on rare occasions, be like a graduate seminar while some are like that nightmare you had the other night. None are ordinary. 

How did I teach the little buggers? The amount of patience required is immeasurable. You need to be as strict as a prison guard. You need to be worlds more creative than the greatest of Renaissance artist. You need rigid structure and incredible flexibility. You have to be a trained psychologist. You have to possess solomonic wisdom. You have to be quick and decisive. You have to have moral fiber that a priest would envy. You can make no mistakes, have no embarrassing features, you can’t hesitate or equivocate. Your every move is being scrutinized. Give them no openings, nothing to pounce on, be letter perfect. You are walking on a knife’s edge and any fall is into an abyss.

But it’s rewarding.

Yeah the psychic income. Incalculable. 

But if I may be serious for a moment (a moment of seriousness being as much as I can stand). What really gets you is the weight on your shoulders. You feel the burden of your responsibility to those five classes for the ten months of the school year. You feel the burden of so many individuals, the ones who are troubled, who trouble you, who are struggling, who you struggle with. You feel the weight of the whole school. You feel the heat from parents, co-workers, and those goddamned higher ups many of whom have transformed from compassionate teachers to soulless bureaucrats. 

Once the school year ends you sleep the sleep of the just. A long, deep, contented slumber that seems to extend into half the summer. You breath normally. You feel the rays of the sun and the gentle breeze and are relieved to be among the living, the normal, the unbothered. It is bliss.

I look back proudly as my time as a teacher. I made too many mistakes to enumerate but too few to stew over. I did my job. I was there. I showed up. I never mailed it in.

And what was the thanks I got? Well actually, I did get paid (a little) and did receive appreciation and kind words from many. But it’s never enough. You can’t get enough recompense for teaching labors — at least not in this culture. Public school teachers are suckers. That’s their superpower. 

So when I see middle schoolers I recoil. But really only for a beat or two. I’m in a better place now. They can’t get me anymore. I’m safe.

Reflections on a Vacation: See It, Say It, Sorted, UK Visit 2025 Part Six

I love the English countryside. For one thing it’s green. We’re back in Berkeley where the hills are brown as they will be until November (if we’e lucky with rain) or more likely December -- January if we’re unlucky. England is not known for its mountains but it has rolling hills aplenty and scattered about are rivers, streams, creeks and brooks. White sheep and multi-colored cows dot the countryside. There are stone walls everywhere and houses and other structures that look like they’ve been there for centuries. Many of them have. As previously mentioned we stayed at a friend’s house whose house was built in the 1700s. Next door is a Quaker meeting hall that was built in the 1600s. 

The days we spent a large part of on trains were days well spent. I love to read on trains but who can take their eyes of the views when riding through England?

Then there is London. Saying it’s a big city is like saying the next galaxy is far away. London left being merely "big" a long time ago and is now massive. The humanity. In our week there we saw — good God how would I even even began to guess how many people we encountered? Let’s simply go with a lot. Mind you we were in places that draw crowds such as the British Museum, Trafalgar Square and Westminster Abbey. London draws people from all over the world both as immigrants and tourists. We  saw group after group of students. We encountered some obnoxious French high schoolers, Spanish middle schoolers and countless British students, some maybe were even from London. I'm not always sure what six and seven-year-olds are doing in museums.

The traffic in downtown London has three speeds: slow, slower and slowest. Less people drive in England than in the states but there are more than enough cars and boy are there are a lot of taxis (they’re quite nice to ride, roomy and comfy) and one helluva lot of double decker busses. The underground is the way to go. It’s fast, efficient and not at all difficult to navigate.

London is similar to New York in a lot of ways one of which is the quality an quantity of excellent museums. We made our third visit to the British Museum, perhaps the granddaddy of them all, on our last day. It’s one of those museums that you need several trips to if you mean to take it all in. I always make a point to see the watches and clocks collections. I love the medieval collections and the ancient civilizations as well.

Highlights of the trip were our visit visits to Scotland and to England’s Lake District, going to see the Arsenal play and win, my first visit to the National Portrait Gallery and all the many excellent meals we enjoyed. We ate like royalty spending freely always adding dessert. I’m going to need to get back to the gym as I will tomorrow.

It was a fun trip and a nice break from the normal routine. Though that being said a good vacation helps you really appreciate the creature comforts of home.

Glad to have gone and glad to be back.

Not Enough But More than Enough to Enjoy: See It, Say It, Sorted, UK Visit 2025 Part Five

The Thames, St. Paul's in the background

Finally. After all these years I had lobster for dinner. It was delicious. But I wish I’d gotten its father. This scrawny little crustacean provided insufficient “meat” for a hungry bloke but that is often the way with lobster. On the other hand the chips (French fries to you Yanks) that accompanied the little fella were the best I’ve had in many moons. The salad sublime, the NA beer — Swiss, had never tried it before — excellent and I enjoyed the ice cream for desert. Of course my wife’s company was, as always, wonderful and we enjoyed friendly banter with the family seated next to us which included a four-year-old who like me is a footie fan, and a baby that was as cute as the Dickens (actually I don’t know that the great author was all that cute). We also were charmed by our waitress who was from Moldova. 

The dinner capped a long day yesterday which featured a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum. There we took in some of Britain’s plunder from its empire days although I spent a lot of time with British art from the 17th through 20th century. As with many museums there was more to see that one can possibly take in in one day. But I did manage to behold some Renaissance art, Buddhist art, bronze, iron and alabaster art and a smattering of representations from other lands. The gift shop I found wanting (but one substandard bookmark!) But the cafe more than made up for it.

After that we went to Westminster Abbey but it was sold out for the day. Disappointed but undaunted we strolled along the Thames eventually crossing the Millennium Bridge then walking by St. Paul’s before our dinner.

Yesterday I went on a tour of the famed Wembley Stadium. It’s an impressive place seating over 90,000, all seats including good sight lines. It’s clearly a terrific place to watch a match. We got to sit in the royal box, explore the dressing rooms, the post-match interview room, and the edge of the pitch where coaches stand and subs sit. I’d love to see the place when full with a game being played.

Today is the last full day of our journey with return home scheduled for early tomorrow morning. So far so good.

Yesterday I Yelled, Today I Beheld: See It, Say It, Sorted, UK Visit 2025 Part Four

At the Arsenal match, photo by author

Yesterday I was among 65,000 raucous fans yelling, cheering and singing. Today I was among dozens quietly contemplating the artistic wonders before us. I loved both experiences.

Sunday I went to Emirates Stadium in North London to see my beloved Arsenal play their last home game of the season. When I procured the ticket back in the Fall I had reason to believe that it might be the day that the Gunners clinched the title. Instead the battle was for second place. So it goes.

There’s little I love more in this world than my pilgrimages to see The Arsenal. It’s like heroin, the high is incredible. Merely seeing the team I follow all season long on the telly is cause for jubilation, add to that the incredible atmosphere in the stadium and the sense that I am at home and with my tribe and you have something very special in my life. 

I stopped in the team’s megastore pre-match to add to the clothing and souvenirs I have of the team. Then it was a stop at a concession stand for a vegetable pie (where do you get that in the States?) and a bottle of water.

My seats were excellent and given the king’s ransom I paid that was as it should be.

The game itself was nothing extraordinary but it’s always extraordinary to see some of the best footballers in the world in action. Add to that the fact that the home team notched a 1-0 victory and you couldn’t ask for more (well, besides a title). 

As it was the season finale the team took a lap of appreciation which was preceded by words from both team captain and the gaffer (manager).  The weather was pleasant so most people gladly stuck around for the festivities.

Munch portrait of an anarchist

Today was just a little bit different as the missus and I went to the National Portrait Gallery. Here voices were muted and instead of singing we contemplated great art in the former of portraits. There was a special exhibition of Edvard Munch portraits that we particularly enjoyed. Other than a footie match there’s little I enjoy more than wiling away time in a museum and this is one of the best I’ve ventured in.

In addition to fabulous paintings there were photographic portraits of more recent subjects. There were portraits of kings, artists, intellectuals, poets, rock stars and ordinary folk. As always I found the presence of great works of art inspiring.

Two very different experiences in two very different venues but both rewarding, enjoyable and memorable. Can’t beat that.

I Hate the Bother of Travel But Love Where I Go: See It, Say It, Sorted, UK Visit 2025 Part Three

Phil and I

I love to travel but I hate the traveling part. Heavy luggage. No wifi, spotty wifi, low batteries. Waiting for cabs. Looking for the right train. Hungry again. Need the toilet. Have we got everything? Where's the other bag? Can you hold this? On Friday we had to gather our belongings drag them downstairs catch a cab to the train station and bid adieu to Edinburgh.

The train took us to Oxenholme in England’s Lake District where my longest-serving friend, Phil, was waiting. He lives in the hamlet of Sedbergh nestled in the cold, foggy, rainy climes of Northern England. It was sunny, clear and warm. Atypical just as had been the weather in sunny Scotland. Once there the hassles of travel seemed a small price to pay.

I’ve known Phil since high school though we were out of touch for nearly thirty years until the magic of the internet brought us back together and we’ve seen each on numerous occasions for the last twenty-two or so years. 

Phil has a lovely home in a lovely area. His wife was traveling in Japan with their son so it was up to Phil and his dog Suki to entertain us and they did a wonderful job.

It was grand to have an extended time to catch up and re-live high school days. We were in Berkeley High’s first small school within a school called Community High where we were divided into tribes. It was all very Sixties and the forerunner of many such attempts to make the high school experience more manageable and relatable. It also provided another way for me to think of myself as special. Phil had a copy of our yearbook, mine had been lost or destroyed in a fire many decades ago. It's pictured on the right. It brought back many memories that washed over me like a warm wave. 

We discoursed on other topics far and wide from baseball to the books of Robert Caro to Trumpy. I can number on one hand all the people I've personally known who are Phil's equal in the art of conversation. I can't number any who would be his superior in that category. 

Phil provided both car and walking tours of the area. We saw many more sheep than people and a lot of green hills, trees and stone walls. Phil’s house was built in 1743, the same year, Phil proudly pointed out, that one Thomas Jefferson was born. Next door was a Quaker meeting house that dated back to the 1600s. 

We dined at the golf course where I feasted on fish and chips.

By yesterday afternoon it was time again to schlep our luggage to a train station and struggle onto another train. Three hours later we were back in London and soon thereafter made our way to another cab. We're now staying in the same Air B&B we did last year and the year before.

I’m off to Emirates Stadium this afternoon to see my beloved Arsenal Football Club in action. Hoping that it will be one of the main highlights of the trip. Seeing Phil, Suki and the area in which he resides is already a highlight. I hope to visit again. Indeed there are many parts of the UK that I want to make return visits too and many more that I want to explore for the first time. We'll be making our first-ever trip to Oxford tomorrow. Happily looking forward to what is yet to come as I also look back at what I've enjoyed to date -- such as Phil's warm hospitality.

I'll Have the Cullen Skink, Please: See It, Say It, Sorted, UK Visit 2025 Part Two

One of the many great views from Edinburgh Castle

Here I am in Scotland raving about the cuisine. I’ve had Cullen Skink twice now and I remain very much in love with this delectable fish stew. I’ve also dined on salmon, sea bass, haddock and macaroni and cheese. The latter is served most everywhere here and is part of a hearty meal. Every salad I’ve had so far has been excellent and the desserts are delicious. Who knew?

Yesterday I trekked up and I do mean trekked and I do mean up — way up — from out hotel to the Edinburgh Castle which has been around in one form or another for well over 1,000 years. Many such tourist sites one visits are ultimately kind of meh but with this castle you get a lot of bang for your buck — or pound. The views are spectacular in all directions. One can see why it was such a formidable fortress and safe haven for the royals. Why anyone would even dream of attacking it beggars belief. The castle is well-preserved maintaining a middle ages look and feel while being sturdy with modern convinces like gift shops, toilets, and mini-museums tucked inside. There’s much to see and I took in as much as I could. But it is the views I’ll remember.

Today the missus and I walked the Royal Mile which is surely longer than the name suggests. We popped into three small museums: children’s, peoples and Edinburgh’s. I was not disappointed by any of them and especially liked the people’s which celebrated the hard lives of common folk who in most of the world for most of history have not had it easy. It was a sobering exhibition.

There were shops and pubs aplenty along the Royal Mile. Plenty of cashmere and tweed being sold. Some places make kilts. Whiskey is also purveyed. You can stock up with scarves, shawls, gloves and hats. We stopped in one of the endless pub/restaurants for another in a series of long, leisurely meals. 

Then we went to Scotland’s National Gallery. This is a serious museum with four floors of great art. We only had enough energy to explore two of said floors but we saw plenty and it ranged from the beautiful to the magisterial, no surprise given the artists included some of the greatest from both Great Britain and other parts of Europe.

When you’re not seeing quaint shops and pubs in Edinburgh you’re taking in views and beautiful ones at that. Sadly the parts of the city we’re exploring are overrun by tourists (yeah, like us). We know how annoying they can be. I imagine it’s far worse in the summer.

I began the previous post with a rant about showers and I nearly repeated it today. This hotel has another overly complicated system to get you either water that is too hot, too cold, coming too fast or too slow, that is if you can figure it all out in the first place. Anyway the food around here makes up for it. Especially the Cullen Skink. Yum.

We're In Edinburgh and it's Love at First Sight: See It, Say It, Sorted, UK Visit 2025 Part One

Edinburgh, photo by author

Why can’t every hotel, bed and breakfast Air B&B, inn, hostelry and motel in the world have a standard, simple shower. One with a high nozzle that sprays water down on a person in a steady flow? That’s the question I pondered yet again this morning after our one-night stay in an otherwise perfectly functional hotel in London. This while wishing I had an engineering degree so I could sort out the various nozzles, handles and switches. NonethelessI managed to shower and soon the missus and I were at King’s Cross railway station awaiting our train to Edinburgh, Scotland.

We arrived in England’s capital yesterday morning after an overnight flight from San Francisco during which I consumed two typically substandard meals and slept fitfully and uncomfortably. Did manage to get some reading done.

For the third year in a row we had lunch at the Euston Flyer a large and lovely pub/restaurant. I had the fish and chips and an NA beer, again for the third year running.

At another table were three couples in their early sixties from the states and it took me no time at all to determine that they were Mormons. They had gotten to know the proprietor and bombarded him with questions about England that betrayed a woeful ignorance of geography typical of dumb Americans — of which there are far too many. One of their party told the owner that they were from Utah. Duh.

Speaking of dumb….On the tube taking us from the airport to central London there was an American couple who, as the train pulled way realized that they’ve left — it’s unclear how many or of what nature — bag(s) with items important to their journey somewhere they knew not where. I saw the looks on both their faces when they were struck with the realization. It’s a terrible feeling and I felt for them. We’ve all been there in one way or another knowing something valued or critical has been left behind and is likely lost for good. The man kept apologizing to the woman who assured him it was okay despite the fact that it clearly wasn’t. It was obvious to me that they’d been together only a few years and had doubtless met online. They probably got together a few years after divorces and have found companionship and sexual compatibility. This is likely their first trip together. Bad start.

After settling into our hotel we went for a walk. It was a lovely day the kind that London doesn’t get a lot of. That is.... it had been. Suddenly clouds thick and gray formed there followed the rumbling of thunder  then a torrential downpour. We took shelter in a store with many others. It didn’t last long and soon we were on our way.

In the evening we stumbled upon a lovely little Italian restaurant where we had a sumptuous dinner and enjoyed a chatting with the waitress who, like the meal, was authentically Italian. One table over was an interesting trio that included a man of about forty who was clearly on the bipolar spectrum (takes one to know one) and was in a bit of a manic phase. He was shuffling, squirming, twitching, getting up to walk. Poor bloke. The older gent at the table was a fellow Gooner (Arsenal fan) and upon chatting with him discovered we’re both going to the match on Sunday.

Today we took the train to Edinburgh (that’s pronounced ED-In-Burr) and it was love at first sight — not the train, Edinburgh. What a grand looking city. Like a lovely older woman who is classy as hell but knows how to have a good time. There’s a gothic look to the city with spires reaching to the heavens, statues, memorials all mixed in with the greens of parks and trees. It's also a surprisingly cosmopolitan city replete with tourists and university students from countries far and wide.

After checking into our newest digs — which feature a view of Edinburg Castle — it was time for dinner. We stopped at the first place we came upon and it was an excellent choice. Fiddler’s Arms was the name of the pub/restaurant. The staff was young and friendly and the food was delish. I started with a fish stew called Cullen Skink that’s popular in these parts. It was the best stew I’ve had in many moons, if not ever. That was followed by pan-seared salmon. It was a healthy piece of fish and assured two great meals in two nights. Almost makes up for the airplane “food.”

We walked around for a bit and now it’s back in the room. Tomorrow I get a tour of the aforementioned castle, the missus is sitting this one out. The vacation is off to a cracking start.