Pictures of Cambridge.

Pregnant pictures...

...of both of us

King's college cathedral

King's college, River Cam

The way to Grantchester

Tea and scones at The Orchard

Grantchester chapel

St. John's college cathedral

The Bridge of Sighs in St. John's

Getting there.

After months and months of preparation...I almost didn't make it to Germany.

Katherine and I spent days enjoying Cambridge bliss – we toured the colleges, we walked past every "Private – No visitors“ sign, we ate a Cornish pasty, we walked to Grantchester and had tea and scones where Virginia Woolf used to swim naked with Rupert Brooke, we went to a Eucharist in the King's College chapel – we thought it was just an Evensong with the choir but it was much...much longer than that, we took a brief nap in the Botanical Garden, we read about paintings in the Fitzwilliam Museum. Everything was pretty. The weather was perfect. The window seat-bed was just barely long enough. Katherine was wonderfully pregnant. I should have known that as soon as I left things would fall apart.

At 3:30 AM I woke up to go to the airport. When I arrived at the ticket counter I hefted my suitcase onto the scale – 8 kg overweight. Eight kilos over a weight limit of 15 kg, which is roughly 30 pounds. Somehow I had to fit 20 pounds of stuff into my Jansport backpack! Can you believe that? I'm still using a Jansport backpack!

Attempt #1: 5 kg overweight. My Jansport was already fit to bursting. I felt the cause was hopeless so I accepted the fine – 100 pounds. You thought fines were ridiculous in the States, didn't you? They're not ok with breaking rules over there in the UK. I moved myself out of line to empty out my life savings...and couldn't find my debit card. Maybe I dropped it when I took my wallet out in line? Nope. Maybe it fell out sometime at Katherine's? Hopefully, but that wasn't going to help me. The only other card I brought? Discover. Do you think anyone accepts Discover card anywhere useful to a girl in a crisis situation? Nope.

Downtrodden and desperate I went back to the lady at the ticket counter and told her my sob story. She motioned me over to someone else in charge of closing flights...because that's what they were doing...closing my flight. I told HIM my sob story and he told me I had better get rid of 5 kg of stuff if I wanted to make my flight and I had better get rid of it now. That's right, get rid of it. Throw it away. I went to repack my backpack again (of course I wasn't actually going to throw anything away, I barely brought enough as it was) and immediately he told me he was closing the flight.
"I'm sorry, can I go through my stuff?"
"You have two minutes and then I'm closing the flight."

Attempt #2: 3 kg overweight. Not enough.
"How close does it have to be?"
"15.9 kg."
He was not budging.

Amidst constant encouragement, "Ma'am, ma'am, I'm closing the flight," I tried attempt #3 (and you have to understand that by now I had a growing pile of clothes next to my backpack – I thought perhaps I could put them all on if I had to since they also charge 70 pounds for an extra carry-on): 2 kg overweight. "Oh, brother."

Luckily, before I even put my suitcase on the scale this time he had printed and was placing a luggage tag onto the handle, "You had better run." He didn't have to tell me twice. In fact, he didn't have to tell me at all. I strapped on my backpack, scooped up my pile of clothes and ran...20 feet to the security line.
"I'm late for my flight."
"What time does it leave?"
"6:20"
"It's a quarter to, now. You have time."
"Uh..."
I was so taken aback that I stepped in line...which was not short.

Perhaps I now had time to shove more into my backpack so I didn't have to carry so much. I dumped my stuff on the floor and tried to change my shoes – the shoes I had on were flatter than the ones I was carrying, you see. Unfortunately, and so comically, the line was moving faster than this kind of operation allowed. So, backpack open, bare footed, clothes strewn all over the floor, I tried to stay with it. Failed miserably. I like to think that people looked at me pathetically as I hurriedly tried to zip everything up and abandon my attempt. Finally, I got through the line, dumped the clothes in a bin, took my laptop and my liquids out and then waited...my clothes came through...my laptop came through...but my backpack was set aside.

No one was searching it...no one was searching it...!!!
"Excuse me, I'm late for my flight and that's my backpack."
"We have to go through it and everyone's busy at the moment."
Of course they are.

Finally, someone grabbed it and began to search it...one...item...at...a...time. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. What is with these people? I thought the FRENCH were supposed to be unlikable characters but I have never been more grateful for the American Revolution.

It turns out, in my rush to repack, I had included some liquids that were 1) too big or 2) not zipped up in the magical anti-terrorism Ziploc.
"You're aware of regulations?"
"Yes, ma'am, it's been one hectic morning."

Free to go, I decided I could fit more if I carried my laptop so I left it out and only had to carry a jacket and a sweatshirt. Then, running, running, out-of-breath-running, fast walking, running, sweat. Naturally, the gate wasn't close and two minutes into my sprints training I heard them announce over the loudspeaker, "Flight 2404 to Memmingen (Munich) is now closed." CLOSED. Finito. Ah, oh well. Still running running I thought maybe God will spare me this one agony today and let me make the flight...somehow. I arrived at the gate area desperately out of breath and almost out of hope.
"Memmingen?"
"Yeah!"
"Laura S-----?"
"YEAH!"
"We were waiting for you."
Oh my goodness. Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou. Seriously, thank you.

Exhausted, relieved, sick over my debit card, I sat down on the plane and realized I left my laptop at airport security...
...
...
This, mind you, is the laptop my parents overnighted me two days before I left for England so I could keep in touch with them while out of the country (my laptop is terribly unreliable as far as staying on goes).

Honestly, it's so laughable now. What a morning. What a mess.

To spare you the details, after agonizing over my debit card and walking through every moment I saw it or even thought about it, I realized I put it in my camera case with my student id just in case I needed it in the city. It was the missing student id that ultimately tipped me off.

I called the airport yesterday and they have my laptop. Katherine's husband may be able to bring it here since he's going through the same airport to come to Munich in two weeks.

In essence, after all is said and done, I got out of paying a 100 pound overweight luggage fee. It took 10 years off my life but I've never really wanted to live that long anyway.

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

Tomorrow, I leave for Europe. TOMORROW.

First stop? Cambridge, England. I'll spend three days visiting two of the happiest people I know.
Then I head to Munich, Germany - the great unknown. I did find a place to live (thank you for all of your suggestions) and am living with an old German lady. I found her through a friend of a friend who served her mission over there. So this lady is LDS...but she doesn't speak English.

Good thing I have a great phrase book to rely on. I'll be able to say things like "Is there also a hovercraft?" and, "My ears hurt, please give me something to drink," as well as, "Is there a Vedanta Society in this town?"

I know, people may start to wonder - but don't worry! This phrase book also has, "I'm a foreigner, but I'm not stupid," just in case I need to stick up for myself. I'm glad it's so useful because I can't figure out how to read the Oxford German minidictionary that my employers bought me as a going away present. Perhaps I should resort to only using facial expressions? I could really get behind that.So, my dear American friends, I will miss you...and will try to continually update you on my travels.

Auf Weidersehen!

The learning curve.

An excerpt from my Thermodynamics textbook:

"In daily life, the concepts of Mr. Right and Ms. Right are also idealizations, just like the concept of a reversible (perfect) process. People who insist on finding Mr. or Ms. Right to settle down are bound to remain Mr. or Ms. Single for the rest of their lives. The possibility of finding the perfect prospective mate is no higher than the possibility of finding a perfect (reversible) process. Likewise, a person who insists on perfection in friends is bound to have no friends."

Logic - infallible. Grammar - impeccable.

I pay a pretty price for this kind of education, people.

Redemption!

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we've all been waiting for!

May I present to you...my summer plans...

And this:

And hopefully a whole lot of this:

On March 10, I found out that I was accepted for a research internship in Munich, Germany. I've been paired up with a Ph.D. student who is studying over there and will be helping him out with his research for the summer. Really, all summer. I would have written about all of this sooner but it's taken me this long to understand what it is I'll actually be doing (plus, I wanted to remind people that it was my birthday for as long as decorum allowed...and then some).

This is what I think I will be doing: this student's research involves telepresence assembly (being there without really being there). Robots perform certain tasks that we humans are incapable of doing, e.g., going into volcanoes, lifting extremely heavy objects, understanding the difference between first cousins and second cousins once removed...BUT they lack the tactile and sensory response we have SO I will be pretending to work on improving that feedback loop while really just touring Europe on their dime. Though I do have to pay for living expenses...so it'll be on the federal government's dime. Yes I can!

What's redeeming about this? Two weeks in Italy after my internship is over. Two birds, one awesome stone.

I leave a month from today and I still don't have a place to live. The student I'm doing research for is supposed to find me housing but if it were you, would you trust this guy?

Right, so...uh...no one happens to have a best friend who happens to live in Munich, do they?