We had been planning our trip to Paris and London for about four months. And when I say “we” I mean my dad and my sister, for whom outlining a schedule and researching excursions are essentially heaven. I reaped the benefits of this and was able to sit back and get briefed on exactly what each day of our holiday was going to look like. For four months. I drank a lot.
So when my dad had a health issue a few days before our departure and it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to go on this trip he’d been planning and excited about for so long, we were all devastated. It was a real kick in the shins.
But, the outside-the-box thinkers we are (read: weird), we decided to figure out a way to have Dad on the trip. So instead of wallowing in sadness, we brought a picture of him along and made sure to enjoy all of the things that Dad would have done on the trip. Just to make things a bit more realistic, we also occasionally obsessed, talked, griped, and joked about things that he most certainly would have touched on.
Here are some snaps of the Old Man’s European Tour
Dad’s Traditional “My flight landed” Drink
First and foremost, Dad arrived safely in London and had his traditional “Holy shit, the plane landed safely” drinks in the hotel. This was accompanied by his oft-mentioned thoughts on landing: “Once you’re up in the air, there are several ways you can reach the ground again and my favorite option is landing.”
For prosperity’s sake, I have removed the “fuck” the “motherfucking” and the floating “Shit” that usually accompanies this observation.
Meeting of the Minds
Right at the end of Bond Street we bumped into two of my dad’s heroes – Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Winston Churchill. So we would be remiss not to let him sit in on a bench meeting with the two old dudes.
He did. And he filled them in on his feelings about Donald Trump. Also, we’re pretty sure that Sir Winston copped a feel.
To Cab or Not to Cab
One of my dad’s favorite words in the English language is “cab,” or at least some form of “taxi” or “taxicab” or any other form of transportation which is both propelled by a combustion engine and brings him to his front door. “Elevator” is a close second.
Owing to this dedication to cabs, my sister and I knew it was going to be a tough sell to get him to take metros and buses, or, heavens forbid, walk. Here, Julia and Dad argue about whether to cab it or not. I am the photographer, and also wondering how I can sneak in another (7£) beer. Spoiler: We took a bus. Dad was mad.
Steak and Ale Pie
Good Friends, Old & New
His ruffled feathers were soothed by the fact that the bus brought us to our next destination: The Black Friar Pub.
This had long been on Dad’s list of places to eat and drink, especially the steak and ale pie and a pint of bitter.
Adding to the fun was meeting up with former Prague expat and good friend Brad and his girlfriend. While Dad ate his steak and ale pie and drank two beers, Julia and Brad outlined their plans to murder a pigeon, an animal which Brad has dubbed “The rat of the wind.”
To Paris! The Chunnel was all of the enjoyment of priority travel with none of the terror of propelling through the air at 600 miles an hour. We relaxed and read. We took out Dad, who, in fine fettle, entertained us with the history of the English Channel and its various belligerents.
The twenty minutes beneath the Channel were tough on Dad, who suffers from claustrophobia, Thalassophobia, enochlophphobia, and recently diagnosed, ipobrichiophobia. Julia saved the day by asking Dad what he planned on eating and drinking in Paris.
A Chorus of Chocolate Coated Angels
The first things on that list were chocolate croissants and a coffee. He was a little thrown off that it was called “chocolate au pain” but soon got over this discombobulation.
He can be seen in this photo getting ready to dig in. Trust me when I tell you that he didn’t pig out at all, I swear. He didn’t have two and then a butter cake and then another coffee and then lick his fingers as if they were covered in the last thing he’d ever eat on Earth. Nope.
Farewell Drink
The three of us walked around (arguably) the most romantic city in the world for two days. We ate cheese, chocolate, pastries, meals that were delicious. We walked along the boulevards, the Seine, got lost and had fun making fun of the French.
We watched (what had to be) the entire French Air Force fly over the city on Bastille Day and we drank wine and beer because why the hell not?
But like all good things, our trip too had to come to an end. And it did. But the night before we had a lot of farewell beers at the pub across the street from our hotel. While not having him on the trip was still a bummer, at least we had a bit of fun with it. Also, who can say their dad’s butt was pinched by Sir Winston Churchill?
