Okay, I've never been to Ireland, Scotland or Wales, so really this is about England. Still, you can apply this hard-learned knowledge to the rest of the Kingdom if you wish, since if they all didn't want to be lumped together and generalized about they never would have united in the first place.

The first thing you'll notice about Britain is that people there speak really good English. Oh sure, they don't speak it as well as the Canadians, and you can tell that they are struggling with it since you can still detect a hint of an accent. Occasionally you'll find a word they get wrong. Like "crisps" are actually chips and "chips" are actually French fries and "lifts" are actually elevators and "get stuffed you pompous American git" is actually "thank you for pointing out the shortcomings in my speech".

Finding a good place to eat in England can be a problem. Good luck finding a burrito. And if you do it's probably been boiled and/or deep fried beyond all recognition and had its flavor beaten out of it long before you walked in the door. Remember, pubs are good for beer but not for food. I mean think about it, would you really eat something in a place called the "Screaming Banshee" or the "One Eyed Druid"? Fortunately when the British Empire disbanded and became a Commonwealth they had this deal where anyone in a former colony could emigrate to Britain no problemo. So, it's like they said to India "we're sorry we occupied your country and oppressed you and all. To make it up for it please consider our cold foggy little country your personal home-away-from-home. Unfortunately all our money has the Queen's face on it. But it's okay, it's not the Queen as she looks today but the way she looked back in '48. Yeah, she wasn't exactly a 'looker' back then either, but you're in Britain now and we all need to keep a stiff upper lip ole' mate." I digress. The point is you can find really good Indian, Pakistani, Sudanese, Kuwaiti etc. restaurants in England if you look for them. It's said that all that stuff about Gandhi and civil disobedience played its part but the real reason the British pulled out of India was because the food actually had spice in it. British soldiers were dropping like flies, unaccustomed to flavor. It's humbling to think that centuries of exploration and colonization and oppression and dissent and revolution occurred just so you can get a decent plate of tandoori in Kensington, but its true. So enjoy.

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The cool thing about Belgium is that Brussels is the seat of government for the infant European Union. As such, they have lots of little EU souvenir shops in and around the Gran Place where you can get practically anything with that little blue flag with the circle of yellow stars on it. And you'd better stock up on these trinkets now because they won't be around long. It's only a matter of time before the strong and stable economies of Britain and Germany realize they don't want to be tied to the weak economies of, say, Italy, where the government can be run by Mussilini's granddaughter one day and a porn star the next. So EU stuff will someday be about as valuable as a "Welcome Back Kotter" lunch box or, perhaps more precisely, a complete set of Woodrow Wilson League of Nations trading cards.

If dining in Belgium, order the mussels. Like the Eskimos who have 40 ways to say "snow", the Belgians have 400 ways to cook mussels. My guess is that at one time in their ancient past, proto-Belgians found mussels by the millions clogging their waterways and figured they'd better learn how to eat these disgusting little creatures since they'll never become a sea power if they can't even leave port. By the way, I'm sure your waiter has heard the same lame Jean Claude van Damme joke "I'd like the mussels from Brussels" about a million times, so I'm sure one more time won't kill him.

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I'm not sure where you stand on that whole Hitler thing, but it's safe to say that, having screwed up the first half of the twentieth century for the rest of the world, the Germans are pretty much keeping themselves in check these days and concentrating on building quality cars (which is good when you consider no one has ever blitzed London by car). As with all of Europe you can pretty much divide Germany into north and south (I know it was trendy up until recently to divide Germany into east and west, but that's another story).

North Germany is a fairly flat and industrialized country, and, quite honestly, you can get an authentic North German experience without ever leaving Sacramento. Aside from a few cathedrals here and there, North Germany is really modern. Sure, the North Germans can take a lot of credit for modernizing their industry and highways, but the Allies bombing the crap out of them was probably the big motivator here. I'm trying to think if there is anything worthwhile to see in North Germany. There's a nice railroad museum there... oh wait. That's Sacramento. I'll get back to you if I think of any.

Now South Germany is a different story. The thing to keep in mind about the Southern Germans is that since caveman times they've pretty much been cut off from the rest of the world by mountains and dense forests. On the downside this can lead to stir craziness, resulting in such odd hobbies as building cukoo clocks, wearing liederhosen, and invading France. On the upside, the beer is really good, since its gotta be strong enough to keep you alive all winter but tasty enough to drink without spitting out. Drink as much beer as you can in Southern Germany. I did. I wish I could remember more about Southern Germany, but quite honestly its all a blur.

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Switzerland is a very "Westworld" kind of place. The Alps are pretty, the lakes are gorgeous, the towns are picturesque and the hotels are reasonably priced. But you get the sense that somewhere about a hundred feet underground there's a bunch of guys in lab coats watching their computer monitors making sure everything is running smoothly.

Don't get me wrong. I like the Swiss a lot. Oh sure, you'll never find a more uptight, anal-retentive, humorless, stick-up-their-ass people on the planet (outside of Palo Alto), but I really like the Swiss a lot. Of course, their unparalleled contributions to the pocket knife and chocolate-making sciences is a big part of it, but I mainly admire the Swiss for their neutrality. It's not that namby-pamby "avoid foreign entanglements" type of American isolationism either, since the Swiss have been geographically in the center of some major historical hoodoo. The thing about Switzerland to understand is that every road, bridge and tunnel in and out of that country is rigged to explode. Seriously, if the Swiss don't want you coming into the country, you don't come in. And you don't go home either. Basically they don't want a repeat of that whole Roman Legion thing. And the thing is, if you do decide to invade Switzerland, and somehow get past the booby traps, the rugged mountain terrain, and the warplanes hidden underground everywhere, you're still gonna fail in the end because the Swiss hold *all of your money* in their banks. The Swiss have held the rest of Europe by the short hairs, and that's way cool in my estimation. Centuries of petty and not-so-petty dictators have looked at Switzerland and said "I think we should go around". And did you know that for every bed in Switzerland there's a corresponding bed in a fallout shelter below? This includes hospitals and hotels. So if the big one ever drops, I'm checking into the Geneva Hilton babe. I guess that sums up Switzerland: they'll only let you in if they want you in, but once you're in they've got your back.

Think of it this way: Switzerland is like the "It's a Small World Ride". Enjoy the ride, but don't get out of the boat because the cute little robots are all packing heat.

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Italy is like that old uncle everyone's got. You know, the one who was kinda wild in his youth, traveled the world, got every kind of VD known, has been married like ten times, found religion, founded religions, probably has kids he's never met, been in and out of jail and now has settled down and just sits around reading, the whole time with that knowing smile on his face. See, Italy has come full circle, and, if you ask me, it's the most "adult" country in Europe. In its ancient past the Italians mainly crafted leather, farmed olives and made wine. Then they decided "I'm bored, let's invade the known world", so they did that. That got old so they said, "Let's paint and sculpt and invent. Let's build a city on a lagoon! Let's sail around the earth (even though it's flat)! Let's explore the night skies and discover the planets. Let's build cathedrals like none the world has seen", and so they did that. And they were good at it. Then they saw all these younger whippersnapper countries doing it and figured, "you know, I kinda miss leather crafting, olive farming and wine making", which brings us back to the present.

So with all this history, the first thing you'll notice about Italy is that everything is very old. Seriously, you go to the Coliseum and they tell you it looked a lot better when it was covered in marble, but the marble was scavenged after the fall of the Empire. So you suggest they go find the marble and put it back to restore it, and they say they can't really do that since the marble was used to build the Vatican. At this point it hits you that you've actually suggested tearing down a thousand year old building to restore a two thousand year old building. Believe me, this is very humbling for a guy who's wondering how many more months I can go before I gotta replace my roof.

One last thing I can say about Italy is that I achieved vacation there. Achieving vacation is different from actually going on vacation. Achieving vacation is when you say "What day is it? It's either Wednesday or Tuesday, but I'm not sure which." The thing is, in Italy, they're probably not sure which it is either. But in the vast scheme of things, they know it really doesn't matter that much.

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Don't quote me on this but I liked France. I mean, come on, you gotta admire a country that declares itself a world power despite all evidence to the contrary. Seriously, if memory serves, France's only decisive naval victory of the 20th century was against Greenpeace. And even then I hear the Rainbow Warrior put up a decent fight. Admittedly, my expectation level was fairly low. I'd heard all these horror stories about how French Canadians go there, speaking perfect French, but the French French pretend that they can't understand them. Therefore, the French Canadians come back with stories about how the French French are mean to tourists. Of course, in retrospect, I realize that it's the French Canadians in particular the French French don't like. I'm not sure what that's all about. Maybe France still hasn't forgiven Canada for carelessly littering Normandy with dead people or something. But that's one fight I'm not about to let my self get dragged into. Really the only really rude Parisian we ran into was this young lady working the Louvre gift shop on a Saturday night. But you know what? Compared to the surliness of your average Santa Cruz Bagelry worker, she was strictly an amateur (French word). Besides, it was Saturday night, it was the City o' Light, and I'm sure there were places she would've rather been than work, so I cut her some slack. And of course I'd heard about the waiters there, but, again, I think the less than stellar service I'm accustomed to in California prepared me well. Yeah, there was this one waiter who felt it necessary to point out to me that you can eat the inside of a crab. It was this pathetic little crab about three inches across and I didn't have the heart to tell him that the streets of San Francisco are practically paved with crab ten times this big, so I thanked him for his vast crustacean-eating expertise instead.

Yeah, occasionally you'll find yourself in what I call a "Cantina Scene". Remember in Star Wars when Greedo came after Han Solo? Han Solo was talking to Greedo in English and Greedo was responding to him in Greedonese or whatever? See, they both understood each other's language perfectly fine, but they were still talking in their own languages. It's like that. Most French understand English well enough to understand you, but they will still answer in French. You probably know enough French to hazard out their answer, and, if not, limit your questions to "yes and no" answers. Learn at least "Merci" and they'll appreciate the effort. If you don't, well, I don't need to remind you how that cantina scene ended, do I?

Anyhow, we swung out to Versailles, and it's here I learned something about the French I find admirable. They were giving us the tour and all of the rooms were furnished with the most tacky, god-awful ornate cherub-festooned gold-plated furniture and decorations you'll ever see. It looked like the kind of crap Elvis bought for his mother after he became rich. Now I didn't say anything because the tour guide seemed very proud of it all. Then she said that after the Revolution no one wanted to take any of the furniture. The thing is, if anyone in France during the Revolution was caught admiring any of this tacky furniture, it would be assumed they were aristocrats and they'd get their head chopped off. I'm not sure what the point here is, except, damn, French fashion police play hardball. By the way, you do know France has the bomb don't you? Just thought I'd throw that out there in case you were sleeping too soundly.

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Remember that Raquel Welch movie where they shrink down that submarine and it goes swimming around inside a human body? Well, imagine you've been shrunk down small enough to see what a tax dodge looks like from the inside. Until science can make these dreams a reality, there is Monaco. Monaco is the place where Europeans who are too rich to be taxed declare their citizenship. Have you heard of the saying "see how the other half lives"? Well, seeing "how the other .001% who also happen to worship that dead actress from High Noon lives" is more the case for Monaco. Let's see. I blew about 100 Francs in the casino, and that took about ten minutes. Then we spent the rest of the night in the hotel lobby watching a bunch of old guys and their new young replacement wives walk by. Seriously, it was like a Mid-Life Crisis Telethon. I guess you can go to Monaco just to tell people you've been there, but, quite frankly, even just telling people about it creeps me out. Nice yachts though.

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