Posts By jacob

When Words Won’t Do: Farleigh Castle and Other Old English stuff (Salisbury)

Once you figure out how not to crash cars while driving on the left side of the road, the island of “England” just opens up. You can virtually fling a dart at a map of the U.K. and hit a destination full of history and quaintness; in fact, that’s virtually what we did. On our way to Salisbury (for a giant cathedral) and Bath (for, well, ancient baths, I guess?) we found ourselves delightfully diverted to small churches and ancient castles.

We were never more too far from a nice warm, flat pint.

Here are some visual highlights, worthy of your time.

When words won’t do: London

Yeah, I’m pretty crafty with the wordsmithing. But some thing are virtually indescribable. You need light, color, a really nice camera, and someone who knows how to use it.

Without further “adieu” (get it? I’m in Paris Haha)…

They are experts at herding tourists in London. Note the words on the ground. (Jamie Peacock/2012)

Driving in England

This is a picture of me driving from the passengers side, as far as I’m concerned.

“I’m just going to hang up,” I hear Jamie’s voice through the car rental guy’s iPhone, “because I don’t know what to say.”

Yeah, ten minutes after renting a car, I side-swiped a parked Land Rover. The shocking part is that they immediately gave me another car. I took it, pondered the possibilities, and decided to go driving for a few days anyway. I’m glad I did.

Iceland: The Truck Stop to Europe

Iceland Air apparently thinks that insanity is the reason people choose one country over another. Their ad campaign was specifically designed to glaze over a desirable feature of their home country in order to emphasize an inversely terrifying other feature. For example, one ad read “Iceland isn’t just known for it’s beautiful fjords and use of clean energy, but also for the fact that over 50 percent of the population believes in elves.”

Pulse. Flow. Nothing. Home.

Jamie’s and my monogamy with each other stands in stark contrast to our infidelity with geography. And, boy, Madison has been a hell of a fling.

You can’t marry it though. Even as we packed our bags, it swelled with the annual rush of new blood. It hurts to see it forget us almost as quickly as it embraced us.