After so many busy museums and galleries, we spent Tuesday with an American guide who showed us some of his favorite neighborhoods. We probably walked more today than any other day, but it was noticeably more mellow without the stress of navigating the touristy attractions.

After learning some Parisian history, we had falafel sandwiches — the guide kept bragging that Lenny Kravitz ate there… you know, in case you wanted to know where Lenny Kravitz got his falafel. It was delicious, but it made my sweet tooth ache, so we stopped off for some hot chocolate for dessert. This was the most unusual and most amazing hot chocolate I’ve ever had. It was pretty thick while still being drinkable, unlike the drinking chocolate I’ve had, which had more of a pudding consistency. And it wasn’t sweet. Just great chocolate flavor. It was pretty perfect, so the only bad thing I can say about it was that the weather was a little warm for hot chocolate.

I will try to be brief about the Louvre. It’s just… big. Too much to see, too many people. The first few minutes are exciting because it’s such a spectacle, but once I actually tried to enjoy the contents of the museum, I blew my fuse pretty fast. The only way to stay sane in such a huge building is to pick one hall of one wing of one section to specialize in. We briefly glanced at some of the big names (Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, etc) then proceeded to an area of French paintings that was more secluded upstairs in the museum.

I have a question. Did French woman not wear clothes in real life, or are they just painted that way? Seriously, 90% of the paintings in the French rooms are naked women. I’m not complaining, I just need help distinguishing between art and history. Were the paintings intended to be sexual, or did the subject normally wear lingerie?

After seeing so much old art, I have begun debating what type of art to commission for myself. Would I look better as a marble bust, or as a giant oil painting? If I went with a bust, I think I should wait until I have better defined facial features and longer hair. If I choose a painting I would need to further decide whether my wife would join me (and if she would be wearing any clothes, for the sake of authenticity) or whether it would be a solo portrait.

To conclude our week in Paris, we took a cooking class. While we shopped for ingredients at the local market, I learned everything I know about cheese. We also enjoyed free samples, which has a different meaning in France than America. We think of a free sample as something that a geriatric microwaves and serves in a paper cup at Costco. In France, they served the most delicious gourmet fresh food as we passed the stalls.

As part of the introduction to the recipe, our instructor explained that this meal would be a good thing to cook at the end of a long say if you just want something simple. After all, people who work don’t always have time to prepare extravagant French cuisine on a daily basis. We split into four pairs to cook the same dish, eager to learn a French recipe that we could use to impress our friends.

Don’t get your hopes up, friends. After five hours of complete confusion, the four groups had quite different variations of the identical recipe. Nobody knew which was correct, so we threw them all together and called it a day. The asparagus with cheese sauce in puff pastry was tasty. The chicken in cream sauce was less tasty, but I’m not much a fan of drenching my meat in cream sauce. Neither was worth the five hour process, that’s for sure.

Not sure how to sum up the week in Paris. People warned me that French people aren’t very friendly, and I would say that was confirmed for the most part. The landmarks and history in the city are remarkable. The food didn’t meet my high expectations. I’m very happy that I experienced Paris in my lifetime, but I’m not in a hurry to return. I have my trademark Eiffel Tower photos, now all I need is to figure out a way to get more cheese, baguettes, and pastries in my life.

I love cities that are easy to get around. We’ve figured out how to use the metro and the city has nice big sidewalks, so we are covering lots of ground.

I can’t say I learned anything new at the military museum, but I really enjoyed hearing the World War II story from a French perspective. I wasn’t surprised that the role of France in the war was emphasized (and maybe a little bit glorified), but the historians of an occupied city certainly give attention to different details than American textbooks. It was also fun to explore the halls of armor and weapons from different centuries and continents.

Napoleon’s tomb is pretty amazing. I still don’t know anything about it besides what it looks like. Maybe it’s part of the military museum? Maybe it’s in a cathedral? All I can say is this: if there were a real-life global treasure hunt in the style of National Treasure or The Da Vinci Code, this is probably one of the stops on the journey. If you are Indiana Jones, save yourself the trouble of hunting clues and just start here.

Next up is Palais Garnier — the Paris opera house, setting of The Phantom of the Opera. As fans of the musical, we were excited to see the chandelier and box five. But that excitement was completely overshadowed by the awe of walking up the grand staircase and into the grand foyer. The attention to detail is unbelievable; even the most hidden corners were accented with gold or carved marble. The ceilings are covered in beautiful paintings. The luxury is in excess to the point of being absurd.

We watched a chamber music concert in the opera house while we were there. It was nice to see the auditorium and the Chagall ceiling, but really most of our time was spent adjusting in our tiny seats, looking for an exit, and listening to the hostess explain something at great length in French. No breaks, no way to escape. I amused myself by giving the page turner (there was a girl sitting beside the pianist to turn the pages of the music) an imaginary back story and personality. Sweet girl.

I once had a brief layover in Paris that allowed me to see Notre Dame from a distance, so this longer trip allowed me to see the inside. Being completely packed with tourists took away a little bit from the experience, but it helped that they were playing some ambient chants to set the mood. My family is not very patient, so the presence of a line to get into any attraction is usually enough to convince us to change our plans. Ascending the towers of Notre Dame did not make the cut, much to nobody’s dismay.

Time to bandage up my blisters. Lots of distance yet to cover.

After a “weather delay” in Chicago and a redirection through London (home of my future wife) I finally met my family in Paris on a beautiful Friday afternoon. They were eager to wine and dine me the moment I arrived.

That night I had the best meal of the week: cheese, baguette, and pastries. I thought I knew a little bit about cheese, baguette, and pastries before coming to France. This meal turned that all upside-down. It was a glorious experience, and my only complaint is that it will be impossible to recreate once I leave.

It’s apparent that the French have a tremendous appreciation for fresh food. Rather than picking up highly preserved groceries from the supermarket every week or two, shoppers pick up fresh groceries daily from shops scattered throughout each neighborhood. Any storefront could be on the cover of a gourmet food magazine. As a bonus, some fruit shops carry the tropical fruits I enjoyed in the Caribbean that are too obscure to find in American grocery stores.

My least favorite aspect of Paris is that everything is so small. I feel like Gulliver here — the cups are no bigger than shot glasses. I will say that I appreciate laughing at all the little scooters buzzing around the streets, though. Even a leather jacket can’t make a scooter driver look cool.

Time to start chipping away at the jet lag. We can see the top of the Eiffel Tower from our apartment, so I’m sure the hourly strobe lights will help me sleep. The museum marathon begins tomorrow…

The Victoria and Albert Museum is incredible. It is enormous, and every room is impressive. You could spend a week there and not see the entire museum. The Winston Churchill Museum was okay, but the highlight of that visit happened after I exited and I found a perfect English gentleman sitting outside, bowler cap and all. I wanted to pick him up and hug him.

Next stop was an old operating theater, where we watched an hour lecture and amputation demonstration. I loved it, but some of the other tourists were less excited about the graphic descriptions. There is a small museum associated with the operating theater, and I saw something miraculous: frankincense and myrrh! They are real things! I never knew what they were, but I held some of each in my hand and felt very connected to Jesus. Kinda.

The funny thing about the old medical museum was that it was awfully similar to a torture museum I once saw in Italy. The devices were practically identical in appearance and function, but with different names. Curious…

My favorite British food is Indian food. It is so good, and it is everywhere. I had Indian three or four times this week and it was all delicious. Traditional British food, on the other hand, is merely… eatable. It seems to come in pairs: fish & chips or bangers & mash. It’s all pub food, and frankly I would prefer the nuts at some of the pubs to the food.

The pubs are great though. I love the beer and the atmosphere. The names are also fun. There are three kinds of names: Ye Olde something; Animal body parts, like The Goat Leg or The Sheep Head; or names of random dudes, like The Clarence.

At the end of the work day, the sidewalks outside the pubs are packed with people enjoying a beer on their way home. And you know what else? You pay the price of your drink, nothing more. If the beer is three pounds, you pay three pounds. I love it. No bartenders with attitudes, just good beer and good company.

We have also enjoyed some good French food, but French people must be tiny. My meal of scallops with salad was actually one scallop cut into quarters with a single piece of green garnish. Looking around the table, everyone had about one full bite of food on their plates. When it is as flavorful and tasty as these were, of course, you savour the tiny morsels, but I’m just saying. I could have finished my meal in a bite if I wanted.

The last thing to mention is the tea. I have always been a tea drinker, but it is never such a process as it is here. Having tea in London is so much more than boiling water and adding a tea bag. Having tea here would be incomplete without sitting down with sandwiches and cookies. I think I prefer to keep my tea casual, but I could see how afternoon tea with snacks and friends could be an enjoyable activity periodically.

Love Never Dies is the sequel to my favorite musical, the Andrew Lloyd Webber masterpiece Phantom of the Opera. To my dismay (but not my surprise) it was a complete disaster.

Let’s start with the music. The best songs in the entire show are the ones from the original. The new music is modified carnival music, which makes sense because the play takes place on Coney Island. I only remember one of the new songs, which was the title track. In the play, this song is supposed to represent the Phantom’s magnum opus… the song that will bring Christine back to him. Instead the whole number is a joke. It was supposed to be the climax of the show, and I laughed the entire time.

The lyrics were as worthless as the music. Throughout the play, most of the characters just narrated the story in prose, but it was set to music. On the rare occasion that the lyrics did rhyme, it was so forced it was painful. Just imagine someone reading from a bad romance novel to the melody of carnival music, and save yourself the trouble of listening to the soundtrack.

How about the plot? For the sake of simplicity, let’s call the original play a love story: the characters’ actions are motivated by love. As the play goes on, the characters develop and we enjoy learning more about them. In the sequel, the same characters are suddenly motivated by money; Meg is a prostitute and Raoul is a broke alcoholic. Everyone is static and uninteresting. You don’t leave the theater with any sense of satisfaction, or with the feeling that your time and money were well spent.

The character of the Phantom was another disappointment. In the original, he is mysterious and suave in his tight tuxedo with slicked black hair. When we are introduced to him in a puff of smoke behind a mirror, he seems almost supernatural… truly like an angel of music. If that’s not enough, he lurks in the bowels of an opera house. Cool! Contrast that with the sequel. We are introduced to a lovesick Phantom wearing a black bathrobe who runs a carnival from a giant purple head-shaped room with the help of three henchmen straight out of Rocky Horror Picture Show. He is an emo carnie bum who got caught up in some baby daddy drama.

And I use the word “drama” loosely. How’s this for foreshadowing: early in the play we learn that Christine’s son is 10 years old. Soon after, we learn that the Phantom and Christine slept together 10 years ago. I heard the lady behind me say, “I bet the Phantom is the father.” She deserved a bigger sarcastic applause than the entire show.

Thank goodness that was not the only production we saw in London. Our theater experience was redeemed by the musical Oliver and the opera La Fille du Regiment.

I had seen Oliver once before, but it was a small local production. The music is catchy, and the plot is simple. I like that. The opening song was pretty amazing; over the course of “Food, Glorious Food,” about 50 kids emerge from various doors in the stage.

I loved the sets because they actually complemented the play. There weren’t bells and whistles added for spectacle; the elevators and trap doors all served a purpose. Contrast that, once again, with Love Never Dies, which was full of gimmicky costumes and sets.

We also saw La Fille Du Regiment at the Royal Opera. Turns out I actually enjoy going to the opera. Who knew? Earlier in the day, we had taken a backstage tour of the Royal Opera House, which definitely increased my appreciation for the production. We had the chance to see how the huge sets are moved and stored, and we watched a ballet rehearsal.

I am told that I was privileged to see Juan Diego Flórez and Natalie Dessay as the principles in our performance, and yes, they were fantastic. I loved everything about the evening: the sets, the music, the singing, the acting, the costumes. I used to make fun of my mom for being an opera fanatic, but she has successfully converted me.