Back to blogging that is. Not the U.S. We’ve had a busy last couple of weeks leaving Italia, getting Alice past UK boarder security, recovering from colds, waking up at 2:00 a.m. to watch the Warriors, and settling into our London flat, so the blog has been on the back burner.

I’ve got at least one post about Italia that I will put up later this week, and I’m sure I’ll have lots to write about London, but for now, here is the story about our journey to the UK and where we spent our first couple of days here.

Arrivederchi, Firenze, hand-made pasta, and gelato . . .

We left Florence on the last day of May. Because I am paranoid about missing flights, we left our apartment at 4:15 a.m. for a 6:30 a.m. flight. Needless to say, we arrived at the airport a solid two hours before takeoff, which made one of the three of us (me) happy. Flew to Charles de Gaulle where we were picked up by a car service, driven to Calais, and then through the Channel Tunnel to England. Why not fly directly to Heathrow, you might ask? Well, where would the fun be in that?! But actually, despite the fun, it is because the UK does not allow you to fly into it with a pet in the cabin. Pets can be in the hold, but not the cabin. No one has explained why this makes sense. So we got the opportunity to drive through the beautiful French country-side for three hours.

All went smoothly until we arrived at “Pet Reception” in Calais, where they told us Alice needed to go to a French vet and get a new passport because, although she was cleared to cross the boarder, a date on her Spanish passport was not written properly . . . . So, we drove to a French vet where the receptionist filled out a new passport — the vet played no role — in exchange for 50 euros cash. This apparently happens with so much frequency that there are a ridiculous number of vets within 10 minutes of the Tunnel to accommodate filling out new paperwork that no one will every look at again. Bright side – Alice has TWO passports now. Thinking of getting her a UK passport in the likely event of a no-deal Brexit.

After that, and a grilling from UK boarder security — she was not convinced we are going to leave in the appropriate amount of time, but we promised we would not use any free health care and she let us by — we were on our way.

And the UK portion of our European Tour began!

We spent four days in Folkestone, a little beach town in southern England, while we waited for our apartment in London to be ready. I loved it. Too sleepy for Dan.

Folkestone feels like the place they would have gone in Downton Abbey to get away from the stress of running a country estate. Our hotel sat back from a cliff overlooking the English Channel. A lovely promenade called The Leas runs all along the cliff. As you walk towards town on The Leas, the sea is on the right, Victorian homes, hotels, and large green lawns are on the left. The cliffside is a maze of paths and stairs that lead down to the ocean. At the base of the cliff are colorfully painted beach huts, and a miles-long red-pebble beach.

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According to some signs I read, King Edward VII (Queen Victoria’s son) spent a lot of time in Folkestone at the fancy hotel, The Grand, with his mistress, Alice Keppel. We stayed next to The Grand in The Burlington, which was built in the 1890s, and is very charming.

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All along The Leas, red poppies — the symbol of remembrance for those who fought in WWI — made of yarn are tied to the railings.

The homes are beautiful, the gardens are beautiful, and it reminds me a lot of the San Juan Islands. Probably why I like it so much. Some views from around town and the small harbor.

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This spring has been unseasonably cold in Europe, and the trend is continuing into early summer. We’ve got our fingers crossed things warm up soon. It was in the low 60’s for most of our time in Folkestone. As a result we didn’t get an idea of how this places looks in the summer, but I imagine by the number of beach huts, that it is full of action and fun.