From Germany to Belgium to France to England (and a tiny bit of the Nederlands)

all in a days work I guess.
We drove to Gent, Belgium last night, spent our evening off watching "Desperaux" and booking our next batch of hotels. Things are a little different in the UK. They use this thing called the pound and well let's just say, it's good to make the money over here (since our dollar has taken another crap) but it sure isn't good to spend it. And after Cheeseburg I'm not taking any chances, so I really did my research. I use this website called venere.com and I highly recommend it if you are coming across the pond.
Anyway, this morning we were met with a really warm splash of milk for our cereal. I asked the lady at the hotel if they had any cold milk and she said "yes, it's next to the coffee machine"... I walk over to find a glass jar with what I'd declare, warmer than room temp milk. It was sitting next to the espresso machine, which like many machines gets hot as it runs... so there's the milk temp for ya. It was pretty bad. The milk in Europe is like milk on a farm. When I was younger we stayed a couple of summers in North Dakota with family and they would milk cows and that fresh milk could sit out forever it seemed and not go bad. It's a little like that here, it's delicious, like cream really but warm milk on a bowl of museli? Ick! Momma don't like that. Eddie doesn't mind it and Q is like "Mikey" he'll eat anything.
Speaking of eating anything. In the states there are all these rules on what one should avoid while pregnant. I've never been one for rules, I mean, I like to think I am smart about the choices I make, especially those that will affect someone other than myself, but what's with all the fear in food?
Do they not eat sushi in Japan while pregnant? I'd be hard pressed to find a woman carrying a child over here that avoids sliced sandwich meat for 9 (make that 10) months and the cheese! Please, the cheese is undeniably one of the greatest things about Europe. I could really go on forever. Like wine. I could potentially be tackled in the states if I were to sit down and order a glass of wine but here- they practically bring it to you. I indulge. I'm not going to lie. Truth is, my heart burn is so debilitating a couple of sips and I'm done. I guess that's the Mom in me, the part that I was no doubt born with, given the chance to make a rebel move the core of my being will stop me. So I eat the cheese, I avoid the sliced meat because it is not my thing, I eat sushi when I want and when I know it's good- which is how I roll even when I'm not knocked up. You don't want to mess with iffy raw fish, even if you live in Japan.
We are now sitting on the P&O ferry, leaving Calais, France heading back to the White Cliffs of Dover, where this whole thing started. Well, where the fog of our jet lag set in. We are now past the halfway mark and it feels perfectly timed. I am beginning to think of all the things I want to do this summer at home and the things I will be doing before I get there. This trip is at it's peak and it is only going to get better. I can smell it... or is that the ocean?
From the ferry dock at Dover we will head west to Brighton. It's on the beach and I hear there's some fun to be had. Words like mini-golf and sandcastles where spoke from Eddie's mouth. He who has been practically everywhere and can somehow attain all the info. Remembering where the good coffee is and how to get to the shopping streets. He remembers the clubs and their backstages (I only remmeber them once I've been there, Q can recall which ones he has rode his scooter in). I can't remember if I've been to Brghton or not, that's the case with a lot of places I've traveled with the band. Being on a bus, the travel is so different. You wake up in a town, usually close to the club which is a toss up if it's in a good part of town or not. There's no hotel to get your bearings together in, you step out and it feels a little like you've missed it. You didn't see the crazy factories with fireballs shooting out the top or the beautiful villages (that we call "willages") and you didn't stop at the bridge just to get out and take it all in. The truck stop "pull it overs" are all in the middle of the night, which is really part of the whole experience for us. Finding weird food and candy, buying postcards But there are great things about the bus travel. There's no traffic jams- well not for you, because you are sleeping. You aren't exhausted from driving when you show up at the clubs, and there's something about waking up in a new place every morning that is really thrilling. I feel the itch when I am home too long, whether it is jumping on a bus full of the guys or sliding into the drivers seat myself. I'm grateful for where I live, it is fantastic but sometimes I want to just get back out there and shake things up. It's not too much, it's not hectic, it's not boring- it's our life and I wouldn't trade it for anyones. So I guess I will take a second and thank Eddie for getting up there every night and banging on the guitar and singing his heart out, this is some Willie Nelson shit we are pulling and none of it would be possible without that man and I guess the whole experience wouldn't be possible without all three of us- we may just give him something to write about somewhere along the way. I'll thank Willie too right now, for being an inspiration to Eddie, what was once a 15 year olds dream to be David Lee Roth has evolved into a lifelong career lead by that same desire, only now it's so much more than big hair and tight pants- girls and too much booze. It may sound lame to all of you who think that is the extent of the rock n' roll world, rest assured if you were living it, you'd want to lead the way with a dream that can withstand- or outlast bad fashion, trendy music and girls you met at the rock show. Except for me, he met me at a rock show, but somehow things turned out just a little different.