It was a really, really bad haircut. This is where I most effectively learned about communications breakdown. It was during my transition from "Rocker" to "New-Waver". I was shelving my Def Leppard, Rush, Journey, Survivor, Foreigner and Scorpions tapes for groups like Alphaville, Berlin, The Thompson Twins, Thomas Dolby and others.
Along with the music change came the wardrobe change (I won't even begin talking about that one), and inevitably the hairstyle change. There is now no photographic evidence of my "Rocker" hair stage, which consisted of straight, greasy shoulder length hair *shudders*.
My choice of hairstyles was the spiky-gel look. You need to remember that this was the era when "Top Gun" was all the rage, and I absolutely loved Val Kilmer's hairstyle in that one: The flat top with the frosted tips in front. Since one of my "punk friends" raved and raved about a place called Mediterranean Hair Salons, I decided that this must be the Panacea of all haircut places, and was quick to travel 30 minutes away from home to put my hair in the hands of the cosmetology gods at Mediterranean. This is where the problems really start.
I called up the salon, described exactly what I wanted - twice - and they set me up with their "flat-top specialist". The day of the appointment comes, and I show up at the place. It's kind of a hole-in-the-wall dive, located in the Sugarhouse district in Salt Lake. I wait. And wait. And wait. And then they tell me that my stylist is having car problems. Then, when I'm just about ready to leave, she pulls up in this old clunker of a car that must have been at least fifteen years old if it was a day. She comes in, and we get started.
Again, I repeat exactly what I want... multiple times, just because I want it to be just perfect. She kind of does that "Mmmmm-hmmmm" thing where she pretends like she's listening, but really isn't. I'm now becoming quite alarmed at the amount of hair that is no longer on my head, and I ask her about it ("Oh, I'm sorry...what were you saying?"). She must have gotten the part about the crown being slightly longer, because what I ended up with was about a quarter-inch buzz-cut all over my head, except for a small patch right up front, which was about an inch and a half long.
I was all seriously WTF???!!! Oh, and then she bleached the long part, and charged me $30 for the bleaching. I was amazed. I paid $40 for that haircut, and I looked like I belonged to a British punk group. Which wasn't really the look I was shootin' for there, Tex!
I paid the lady, swearing never to trust what little remained of my hair to anyone who claimed to be a flat-top expert. Ever. Again.
I immediately went to the local department store, where I bought a hat that I wore for most of the trip, ashamed and embarrassed at my near baldness.
My dad and his wife actually liked the haircut, which was another red flag that the whole thing had gone terribly wrong. Only one week to go before leaving, and I was at a loss. Well yeah, quite a bit lost, actually.
Missing Depeche Mode
I had waited all year for this concert, only to miss it by a mere eight hours. Let me introduce you to my luck; you will meet it again and again on my blog.
Early on, it became painfully clear that the concert I had most wanted to attend was going to be upstaged - if only barely - by the foreign exchange trip to Courchevel, France. We would miss the concert by just a few hours.
I watched as other friends would drive to Salt Lake and purchase their concert tickets, coming back with their faces aglow, gripping the tickets as if a trophy. Yeah guys, here's a bottle of lemon juice and a salt shaker. Just go to town on my wounds, eh?
I doubt any other person who went on that trip can even remember our departure date from Salt Lake City International. I do. It was approximately 11:00am, July 3rd 1986. That may or may not have something to do with extensive emotional scarring.
The Trip Over
"Oh, it's a big pretty white plane with a red stripe, curtains at the windows, wheels, and it just looks like a big Tylenol!" - Airplane!
There really wasn't much more to tell than that. We took off, we flew across America, noting the beautiful crop patterns in the midwest. We landed at JFK. We sprinted from the domestic concourses to the international concourses, boarded another plane. Wheezed and panted alot. This was just a few months after Virgin Records launched their own airline, complete with a large red heart painted on it. Somebody remarked "Look! It's a plane with a heart on." Don't think about how it's spelled as much as what it sounds like. We also noticed a sleek white Concorde parked a few spaces down.
Once we were in the air, I would listen to my walkman, occasionally stare out the window at the receding sunlight, and watched it until it faded into pinks and purples, then into a slim band of medium blue, where it remained until a few hours later it started turning into pinks and oranges, and before you know it, the sun has come up again. Evil trick to play on someone, really. Put them on a plane and waste an entire day of their lives. But hey, we were young; with the right amount of sugar and caffeine, we could handle anything.
We landed at Heathrow shortly after 10:00am, and after passing through customs, claiming our baggage, and finding the right bus, we were off to the Park International Hotel. The bus let us off at our stop, at which time, we had to walk, like, three blocks to get to the hotel. Three blocks may not seem like a whole lot, but when you walk it, carrying a 40lb bag, operating on exactly no sleep for the past 28 hours, it rather feels like you've hiked halfway up Everest.
The Park International Hotel
You would think with a name like "Park International Hotel" that we would end up in a nice, towering, modern hotel. "International", however, seemed to only refer to their staff, which was made up entirely of people from India and the Middle East. It seems that elevators in Europe are more of an afterthought than anything, and that the terms "spacious" and "elevator" seem to be entirely unrelated on their side of the Atlantic. The lift in this hotel could easily accomodate maybe a single leg, or a purse. A small dog, perhaps.
Rather than wait at the line that was forming at the obscenely small and slow steel box that carted people between floors, Mark and I made use of the stairwell. Our room was on the third floor. Again, with the luggage and exhaustion, it seemed rather like scaling the Matterhorn. But we got to our room before the elevator had even reached the second floor.
In our room, we had two beds, an alarm clock, a telephone, and a spacious bathroom that had a bathtub, and a handheld shower thingy, but no shower curtain. Result: Any time we attempted to take a shower (in a laying down position), we inevitable ended up with about an inch of water on the floor. Good thing we were only there for a week. We threw our luggage down and crashed on the beds, only to be rudely awakened by something that resembled a blaring klaxon horn.
If any of you have ever been jarred awake from a deep sleep, you know that it takes a few minutes to gain control of your arms, your mouth, and your thought processes in general. So this blaring noise kept repeating itself, while I wildly flailed my arms everywhere and screamed gibberish at Mark who was trying to figure out just exactly where he was. I picked up the alarm clock and held it to my ear. It wasn't making the sound. For some reason I shook the clock, and then held it up to my ear again, as if that would change things. Suddenly, both Mark and I gained lucidity and immediately turned our attention to the telephone, which was making the horrid sound. I answered it. It was one of the adult chaperones saying that a small group of them was heading out to see some of the sights, and ded we want to go with them? We declined, opting for a few more hours of precious sleep.
Sometime around 5:00pm, we awakened to the peaceful sounds of an ambulance blaring its way down the road. Our bodies, having satisfied their demands for sleep had now turned their attention to another necessity: Food.
We left the hotel, went down to the foreign exchange and cashed some money in. European money was soooo much cooler than the plain green stuff that we had at home... so much more colorful. The one thing I could never get used to in London was the crosswalks. "Look Right" was spray painted on the road at the end of the crosswalk. I would see that and look up at the last second, only to see that i was about to be mowed down by some speeding cab driver.
We took the London Underground from the Kensington High Street station, and ended up in Piccadilly Circus. We exited the underground, and one of the first things we noticed when we reached street level was the Mrs. Fields Cookie store on the corner. It was a nerdy thing to do, but as Mrs. Fields was based in our home town of Park City, we felt obligated to go in and buy some cookies. We found much to our pleasure that the wax paper pouch (in which they give you the cookies) had the Park City, Utah corporate address printed on it. We bragged about it to the British staff, who not only looked unimpressed, but rather like they wanted to bludgeon us to death just to wipe the smirk off of our faces.
We took our leave of Mrs. Fields, and wandered around the city, taking in some of the sites. My single biggest regret to this day, is that I never developed most of the film that I took on the trip. You have to understand that my family was "feast or famine" financially, and that at most times, it was more the "famine" variety. And yet, we lived in a $300,000 Deer Valley condo. It boggles the mind.
We happened to be passing by the Hard Rock Cafe when we noticed some other students in the group standing in line. So, we butted in with them, much to the dismay of dozens of English patrons, who gave us nasty looks. Once in, they were having "two-fer" specials, as a way of celebrating the day that they "got rid of the Yanks". I bought a t-shirt, which I still have to this day...somewhere. I think my girls use it as a nightshirt.
One of the nights, a bunch of the others in the group went out to hit the bars and taverns, as there seemed to be no age restriction on drinking over there. There was just one thing on the mind of the guys and girls alike that evening: Beer. Oh, and porn too. Some of the guys came back with some euro-porn magazines that made Playboy or Penthouse look as innocent as a cookbook. I opted to remain at the hotel, and as part of it was being renovated, I set out to explore that part.
I've always had that sort of curiosity to explore... particularly in places that are closed to the public. I found a cool room on the fifth floor that had its windows wide open, so I sat on the rather wide window ledge and drank in the sights and sounds of London. This room was on the backside of the hotel, turned toward the inside of the block, so I had a view of the backside of a bunch of other buildings with open windows. I could see people watching TV, I could hear people playing music, the occasional yell coming from one apartment or another, dogs..cats...the sounds of traffic... I fell in love with London that night, and wished that I didn't have to leave.
The Things We Did: London
Tower of London
When we went on the Tower of London tour, I remember a lot of old things behind glass. It all started looking the same after a while. Then I remember them taking us to the place where they would do the public executions, most notably of which (in my eyes at the time) was Anne Bolyn. I had just seen a history special a few months earlier called "Anne of a Thosand Days." The most memorable point in the show was when the axe fell, and the camera switches immediately to a four or five year old girl looking over toward the tower. The girl was Elizabeth - Anne's daughter, the future queen of England. But yes, the decapitation jokes (most of them awful, none of them memorable) were a-plenty.
Big Ben & Parliament
I know that we went to see Big Ben and Parliament. But for the life of me, I can't really remember much of the experience. This non-drug-induced high came over me the moment we stepped off the plane, as I was enamoured to be in a place that had such a great history, and a lot of what I saw sort of blended together.
Westminster Abbey
I remember going to Westminster Abbey and seeing the graves of the famous people in the floors, and in the walls. I remember some people doing brass rubbings of some of the graves. My parents did some brass rubbings when they went to England in 1980, and I have those in my basement right now.
Changing of the Palace Guard
Mark and I decided we would make our way over to Buckingham Palace to take pictures of the palace itself, maybe one or two of the Beefeaters. We did get there in time for the "Changing of the Palace Guard" ceremony. That was cool. A lot of pomp and circumstance involved.
Piccadilly Circus / London Trocadero
We spent some time in Piccadilly Circus and the Trocadero, doing some shopping, eating and hanging around. I wanted to try some English fish & chips. This is where I learned to really dislike English fish & chips. The chips were okay, but I was imagining that the fish was going to be battered and deep fried. This place basically cleaned the fish of bones and guts, then fried the meat that was left over - scales on the outside and all. Umm, yuck.
We went to see the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not" Museum. I had read "Believe It Or Not" books at my grandparents' house for years, so I totally dug the place. Outside at night, there was a bagpiper on the sidewalk playing for donations. I tried to take a picture of him, but he turned around and wouldn't face me because I hadn't give him money. Cheapskate. Maybe he believed that my camera would steal his soul or something.
Spiral Museum
One of the days, a bunch of us were out walking down a busy street, looking to see a few more sights, when we noticed that the street was no longer busy. In fact, it was absolutely deserted. No sooner did be do the proverbial "Huh" than a thunderclap sounded over our head, and sheets of water started pouring.
We were in the process of crossing the road at the time, and it was maybe 30 feet to the nearest building overhang. We were all completely drenched to the bone in just the few seconds that it took to sprint that 30 feet. We were standing next to some sort of museum that was shaped like a large corkscrew, so we all went in to take a look around.
Topless bar
On one of the nights, I wanted to go out and find a ham and cheese sandwich. We decided to join up with a bunch of the others who were heading downtown around dinner time. An eighth grader named Matt was leading the group, and he had an evil glint in his eye. I would occasionally stop to check out menus, and was doing so when a large man standing next to a stairway yelled out to the kid standing next to me "Hey, Freddy! Get your ass over here!"
Seeing that the rest of the group was disappearing down the stairwell, Freddy and I followed suit. They had a menu posted at the bottom of the stairs, but everything seemed so expensive.
And then I knew why.
Matt, all wild-eyed and excited was spouting off something about getting us into a titty bar. I turned to the large man who had ushered us down. "Why hallo, Mr. Bouncer. Aren't you supposed to be keeping kids like us OUT of places like this?" He just smirked.
About the only thing on the menu I was going to order was a coke. We were seated, and a lovely brunette came and sat down with us and kept us company. And then Matt (Mr. I-Just-Don't-Know-When-To-Stop) started asking her questions about when she was going to take her shirt off. She chuckled under her breath. This is going to be good, I thought.
Then in a very sweet tone of voice she explained the rules of a topless bar to Matt, which in the end left no doubt as to how much it would cost, and that Matt was a complete dolt. Tops can't come off until after 10:00pm, and her rate: $120 per hour (roughly 60 quid), and whether you were there 1 minute or 60, we owed her $120. We? When did this turn into WE? But Matt had to prove that his single brain cell wasn't just lonely, it was missing altogether: So, he says "Who wants to hang out til 10:00 and feel some titty?" We paid up and left. The most expensive coke I have ever had, and I was still hungry.
Drunken Teens
One of the disgusting by-products of being around people who can't handle their liquor is to watch them make perfect jackasses out of themselves. Case in Point: Boy likes Girl, but doesn't let on to anybody about it. Each time Boy get's drunk, he turns into this boobing idiot who cries and cries about how much he wants Girl. Every time. Oh, and Boy also gets photographed doing stunts like peeing out of the second story window. This attraction was free, and took place quite often, as Boy was wont to drink quite often.
Cambridge
During our stay in London, Mark and I hopped on a train and travelled northward to Cambridge. Some of the younger kids who were really into tennis caught a train out to Wimbledon that same day.
For those of you thoroughly unacquainted with Cambridge, it is the college setting for the film "Chariots of Fire". It is the largest university in the UK, comprising over thirty different colleges. The University of Cambridge has been around for over 800 years, making all of our marbled and historic stone buildings on the east coast look shiny, sparkling new.
The train ride to Cambridge was relaxing, and probably only took an hour or two. I watched the landscape of gently rolling hills covered with green fields and ancient rock walls go by as the train made its way to our destination. Having the urge to relieve my bladder, I ducked into the toilet room on the train. Upon flushing the commode, I found that the toilet dumped directly onto the tracks below.
Have you ever had one of those weird metaphysical moments where about twenty minutes worth of horrified thoughts hit you all simultaneously? My mind instantly raced back to every time that I had ever walked along a set of railroad tracks. Oh.... My.... #$^#^&!
This startling revelation did not, however, diminish my appetite (at least not for very long), as we stopped by a street vendor's cart in Cambridge and bought a Beefburger. And all I can say is... Wow. It was the tastiest, most delectable burger I have ever had - even to this day (19 years later). Although, I must confess that the Bleu Bacon Burger at The Training Table (Utah), and the Bacon Cheeseburger at Apollo Burger (Utah) do come in at close second and third.
We toured some of the old buildings and cathedrals there. It would take 3-4 years before I would realize that John Rutter and his Cambridge Singers were right there! Every song of his that I have ever sung in a choir, I have totally loved. Great music, man.
We hopped on the train and headed home, me being careful to avoid the privy this time.
Leaving London
It was with a certain degree of melancholy that I left London... I had truly fallen in love with the city, and had I been independently wealthy, and of legal age, I probably would have just stayed. This time, instead of having to pack our luggage for several blocks, the tour bus pulled right up in front of the hotel. We loaded our luggage, and were off. I watched the urban landscape melt into suburbs, then the occasional field and pasture would appear, until eventually the scenery was all rolling, verdant pastures, dotted with the occasional farmhouse. We were going to Dover.
The English Channel
On arriving at Dover, we saw the famous chalk-white cliffs that Dover is known for. How would we be crossing the channel? Is that underground train built yet? Is there a ferry boat? How about a... oh hey, what the hell is that thing?
This huge, noisy thing that was roughly the size of an office building attached to what looked like a huge inner tube, with four huge propellers was racing across the bay, heading straight at us. Thinking that it would pull up to a dock, like all of the other boats, I was a bit surprised when this huge thing came zooming straight up out of the water on a concrete ramp, and parked probably 100 yards away from us. Did I mention the noise? This Hovercraft was easily noisier than a 747.
We boarded, got strapped in, and the whole thing rumbled and shook as the air cushion reinflated, and then the hovercraft lurched forward into the channel and cruised across the water at an amazing rate of speed... and bumpiness. I had really wanted to take pictures, but all of the windows were covered by the spray that the huge propeller engines kicked up. We landed at Calais some thirty minutes later and crossed through the french customs checkpoint.
Going to Paris
The only thing I really remember about this is a long, long bus ride... where I got a bit car sick... or bus sick, as the case may be. I think I started perking up a bit on the outskirts of Paris. I just wanted to get out so bad... to get a drink, walk around and explore...
Paris: The Things We Saw
The Laundromat
Leaving Paris
The TGV
Arriving in Courchevel
The Parting of Ways
The Hotel Lac Bleu
The Altiport
Courchevel: The Things We Saw
Courchevel: The Things We Did
Sophie
Going Home
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