This is a condensed diary of my 2009 vacation to London then Paris in the beginning of October.

Saturday

We left from Richmond early in the morning and flew first to Newark’s Liberty airport. From there, we took a Boeing 757 to London’s Heathrow.

Upon arriving and getting through customs, it was late, and because it really wasn’t “late” for us on EST, I took sleeping pills and dosed off at the Bloomsbury Hotel near Tottingham Road station.

Sunday

Our first venture began at the famed British Museum. We rose early (again, now considering we were on London time) to see the riches the British had amassed over the ages. We had to call it quits at around 1 PM, when we headed back to the hotel to change for our special lunch at Gordon Ramsay’s.

Which never happened. At least for us.

We got dressed up, for sure, and took the tube to South Kensington station. We tried walking, but getting to his restaurant (his best one) is tough. So we took a taxi to his Restaurant Gordon Ramsay on Royal Hospital Road. It was closed.

You see, the reservation was for Monday, not Sunday. We walked back eventually into town, tired, with sore feet, and defeated. How could we have made such a mistake?

That lunch was the number one highlight of my trip. And we’d have to miss it, because tomorrow we had an early dinner reservation. Late lunch and early dinner wouldn’t do.

So instead, what to do? Go to the Apple Store, of course (on Regent Street).

We kept our Monday dinner reservation and gave our Ramsay lunch to our friends Greg and Hongjun, who were traveling with us. They enjoyed it immensely. But that’s getting ahead.

Sunday in this part of town meant not much was left open for lunch… that evening, we went with our buddies to the Shanghai Blues, a music club that serves Chinese food. We enjoyed it, although we found ordering challenging. The two native Chinese took over and I didn’t like that. They were conspiring what to order and us to white guys had to trust them. I did not.

The portions were small, so in the end, I won ahead by ordering some of my own dishes. But I should have trusted them, we ended up getting a lot of the same things. No music on Sunday night, however. Tasty food, though.

Monday

Rain, rain, go away. We headed first to Westminster where we had planned to see the famous clock tower, Big Ben. We did. Then we looked out over the Thames, and then asked ourselves “What the hell else is there to see here?” £15 later, we were into the famed Westminster Abbey.

We couldn’t take pictures inside, but there were many dead people to admire. We then broke off from our friends, who after all, had their own agenda of getting back to their hotel, changing, and visiting our favorite British chef, Gordon Ramsay. But before we crossed the bridge and got lunch at a Japanese noodle cafeteria, some older, aggressive Brit woman attacked our friend Greg. She stuffed something floral down his shirt, said the hospital needed money, and he (of course) ought to pay. This scammer’s paradise, the Westminster bridge, soon became a stage for some extraordinary drama. Needless to say, after some yelling, pushing, and shoving (not to mention wet pecks on the cheek), we said farewell to our friends and our next order of business was figuring out how to get onto the London Eye.

The London Eye is the largest ferris wheel in Europe. It was built for the 2000 Millennium celebration. It is still in operation and was a good ride. It was unfortunate we had such a gloomy day.

It was at this point that my feet were done. Yet, we soldiered on in the vicinity, first stopping for a diabetic’s pick me up at an Eat. confectionary, then walking along the river, via the South Bank, until we eventually passed the Oxo building and ended up at the Tate Modern museum. I needed a break.

I enjoyed the museum. It is different. I don’t think much of a good portion of the art there, however. They don’t charge you, but then again, how could they? A rope on the floor is art? A woman pouring blood over her naked body and then rolling in feathers is art? Maybe it is, but it isn’t the kind of art I need spend too much of my time experiencing.

So we moved on. Via a taxi. And I rested my feet.

The dinner at Nobu was interesting. We arrived just on time, and ordered the omakase menu, featuring, for £90/person, what adventurous creations the chefs might prepare for us. I had smoked salmon, eel, raw fish, cooked fish, uni (sea urchin), and a hell of a lot of daikon radish. That was very popular. By the end, I was stuffed. We payed the bill and headed out.

The dessert, however, does deserve mention. It was beautiful (as were all the preparations), but the flavors were light, citrusy, and it was like a piece of modern art. One that engaged your mind. And it was better than anything at the Tate Modern, because you could eat it.

Before going home, we strolled through Chinatown.

Tuesday

We visited, and ate lunch at, Harrod’s. It’s a place of excess and we had some delicious preparations in the food halls at both the Ibérico Ham counter, and then later on Parisian macarons at Ladurée with tea. After a nap, dinner took us to another reservation at the “chef’s table” at Bocca di Lupo, an Italian restaurant, and among the best eats I had on the entire trip.

(Click the photo above to see the kitchen in action – Quicktime.)

The meal was interesting because the menu had authentic, if not unusual, offerings. The chef’s table put you where the cooking action was. We got to see every dish prepared and “go out” for service. It was like watching a very well-organized Hell’s Kitchen (with a few periods of scolding included).

In walking about before going home, we stopped at the Piccadilly Circus area, bought some trinkets to bring home as souvenirs, and strolled through Leicester Square.

Wednesday

After ordering an iced coffee (which ended up becoming an iced frappé of coffee), we headed to the St. Pancras station to take the “channel” Eurostar to Paris. The whole process of getting to, on, and across the channel to France was seamless and easy.

After arrival and check-in to our hotel on Rue de Bassano in Paris, we found the Arc di Triomphe and scaled it. Getting to the top takes a lot of patience, or brains.

We bought the tickets then saw they had a handicapped elevator. I faked a leg limp and we were ushered up without having to climb the 235 or so steps. I was miraculously cured 2 hours later when we descended, and I got the view of the small spiral staircase. I think we ought to be sure that people who need the elevator have access to it, but my feet were barking loudly that evening.

On the top, we took a scandalous amount of photos.

Then, seemingly not afraid to go for more, we took the Métro to Monmatre, to find the Sacre Coeur church. It was beginning to rain. By the time we had scaled the hill by the little tram, or funicular, it started pouring. Our trip was short and exceedingly wet. I managed to get a few good photos.

That evening, we retreated late in the night to a small Chinese restaurant adjacent to our hotel. The next day would be better.

Thursday

In the morning we went to my friend Todd’s favorite area of Paris, the Île-St. Louis. This is home to the famous Parisian ice cream, Berthillon. Now, you have to be careful when you say things are “famous” or “the world’s best.” You do. But let me say this to you so you understand the profundity of the statement. This was the world’s best ice cream. No, I haven’t tasted 1000s of samples to be sure, but I’m telling you, I dare you in fact, to find any ice cream (across a variety of natural flavors) that tops this stuff. The fruit sorbets are like the eating the mother fruit itself. Not just a fig, but the honey-soaked, fruitiest, most intensely-flavored, mother-of-all figs kind of fig. “Yummo!” as Rachel Ray might say, in a giant way.

Yummo indeed.

This area was very charming, and more pictures were fired off. We next visited Notre Dame de Paris, one of the world’s mother of all cathedral cathedrals, and then trekked over to the Rue Rivoli to find the Rue Richilieu, where lunch would be served at one of Xiaobing’s budget finds.

They indeed had our names on the books, and while he ordered Rabbit in calvados sauce, I had their beef in mustard sauce. The place was hopping. The seating there was small. It helps if you’re petit, but while Xiaobing is (and I am not), he was still hot and miserable in such a cramped space. My food was good, save for the large clump of hair I discovered in my bean and pea custard (a side dish).

That afternoon, we headed south back to the area known as the Louvre. Sure, it’s a museum, but it’s so big it spans two subway stops. It’s an area, trust me. Don’t ask someone to “meet you there,” because you won’t find them.

Once again, we tired to do too much. My feet and myself both lost our stamina to really enjoy the museum near any degree of completeness. I left even more tired.

That evening, before dinner, we took a Seine cruise which was a tad wet, but really enjoyable. I fired off my camera again. The tour ends at the Eiffel tower, before taking us back to the Pont d’Alba.

From there, we found a café where good English was their specialty, and my friend Greg took his crème brûlée flaming hot.

Friday

Time was going fast in France. You blink and it’s five minutes later. We took an unplanned diversion to visit the famous Grand Arch at La Défense. We’d been calling it “La DeFANCE” the whole time, but silly me, the subway lady educated us that it’s “La DEFance,” instead. I still like the accent on the end rather than the front of the word.

The giant arch is a big, big, big window that frames the Arc di Triomphe. You can compare the “from far away” to the “up close” shots. We rode the RER train back, as Paris has more than one Métro system, which still defies understanding.

First stop in town was the classy Jardin de Luxembourg, which was nice, despite the clouds. Our walking took us next to the Panthéon, where we met up again with Hongjun and Greg before walking to the Latin Quarter for lunch at a darling little gourmet place called Le Petit Pontoise.

I had a delicious apple/goat cheese entrée, then a plat of vanilla-kissed scallops. Delicious, delicious.

We then headed to the Île-de-Cité again (think Notre Dame) and toured the inside of the Sainte Chappelle. This is known for its exquisite stained glass, and was originally created to house relics.

Dinner on Friday night would take us to the celebrated French master chef’s namesake, L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon. We dressed it up and took his tasting menu for a ride. My highlights included his nouvelle take on beef burgundy (complete with micro mushrooms and sweet little onions), his “disappearing dome of chocolate dessert,” and the absolute best cup of coffee I’d ever hope to have.

The dessert trick is really something. They pour a chocolate sauce over the dome and it quite figuratively disappears before your eyes.

From there we walked to the Eiffel Tower after a jaunt on the Métro. It was night, and it was a far clearer night this Friday. We took the ride up to the top floor, and gazed out over the city of lights. It was cool, but you could still see so much. Ah… Paris. Xiaobing and I both preferred it at that point to London.

Saturday

On Saturday, we split ways with our friends by visiting the Jardin de Tuilleries by ourselves, the Place de Concorde, and eventually, we made our way back to the hotel by way of the Champs-Elysées after starting everything at La Bastille. I got my baroque CD fix at a FNAC store, and XS and I both enjoyed a tasty luncheon at Café Bofinger.

Our final dinner took place in a café in the Golden Triangle, and ended with my favorite salted caramel Berthillon ice cream. Yummmmmmo, folks. This stuff is absolutely delicious.

Paris was delicious, as was the experience of learning, walking, tasting, seeing, and experiencing something out of the ordinary. What a great trip.

Sunday

Our flight left at 12:55 PM Paris time; it was just enough time to visit the Champs-Elysées one more time, to have breakfast at Ladurée, and take in their delicious pastries and superb coffee.

To see more pictures, visit my Flickr page.