"Never go on trips with anyone you do not love"

Hemingway's sound advice - and why wouldn't it be sound, he was Hemingway - probably wasn't intended for newlyweds.


Well, I'm making it so, for the specific purpose of documenting my honeymoon.

Danielle and I were married almost three months ago, so expectations for this little overseas jaunt are high - so high, I'm not even sure Danielle can reach them. What? She's short, she knows it, it's like we put these expectations on the top shelf in our kitchen cabinets.

This trip isn't just about us - it's about the future family that may or may not prevent us from ever doing it again. We want the most out of it, the experience of a lifetime, as they say. My parents never went back to Hawaii. It's my fault. I owe them a trip to Hawaii. As soon as I get back from Europe I'll start saving.

(Sidenote: A special hello to my future kids, I love you! But I want you to understand that there is a little-known tenth circle of Hell reserved for parents who take any child under the age of "not-crapping themselves" onto a plane for more than three hours. Daddy doesn't want to go there, so we're staying stateside for a while.)

So with a little levity, linguistics and luck, Danielle and I head to Europe - yes, Paris, as the title suggests. But we'll be continuing on to Switzerland and Italy, trying to shed our romantically American naiveté. No, I will not be wearing any Red Sox t-shirts.

No tour guides, no bus trips just the belief that the two of us together can navigate the Eurorail and about 50lbs worth of Rick Steves books. In honor of my friend Hemingway, we're taking an Ernest approach - gin at the dive bars, conversation with the natives, and just when you think you've moved on from being just a "temporary local," that's when it's time to go.

I'm hoping to learn a little about them that you can't read in a travel guide or hear from a tour guide. Maybe, later on I can share the stories with my children, maybe while we're on a plane, heading on a trip somewhere less than three hours away.

This blog exists mostly for family and friends to check in while we traipse over the Alps and slide along the European countryside by train (I keep telling myself it'll be just like the old James Bond films, sans the murderous giant with metal jaws).

This is a blog about not knowing how to communicate, get around or generally live without hurting myself in Europe, but doing it anyway.

But this is also a blog about not knowing how to be married, but doing it anyway. This blog is about spontaneity (even though the trip took a year to plan), family (even though we'll be foreigners) and love (even though there's a good chance she'll hate me before she gets a tanline on her ring finger). This blog is about completely relying on one other person - and not just because she knows how to ask, "where's the bathroom" in Italian.