"Look kids! Big Ben! Parliament!" Highlights from London

The Most American Man in the World took on London. And conquered it. Or maybe crushed it. Well, to be precise, we had a good time and didn't cause an international incident. So that's something, right?

We took the train from Ascot into central London. Travel in a plane or train always makes me pensive, and looking out of the train's big picture window, I note that the sky is overcast but the grass is a vibrant green from all the rain, quite unlike February in New York. And then there are the trees.

The trees in England are not simply characteristic, but characters in and of themselves. There are Hamletian trees, indecisive about which way they want to grow. In a meadow, a Fastaffian oak is laying on its side, its roots obscenely pointing in the air, and Mother Earth, exhausted from trying to coax it to rise, has covered it in a moss blanket. And then there are the Sherlockain ones -- dark trunks with hundreds of synaptic-like branches that stretch to make tenuous connections with the ether.

I realize these metaphors might be a bit forced, but it's been so long since I had a poetic thought, I'm writing each one down in a small red notebook while the train chugs past quintessentially English towns -- Victoria Water, Egham, Feltham.

The Most American Man leans over to whisper in my ear, "I Feltham, did you?"

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When we get to London, Chris is in his element, mainly because he loves monuments, statues and reading boring plaques about dead people. I booked us for a Double Decker tour, which is perfect since it allows us to see most of the main sites and hop off when Chris wants to take a picture or grab a snack (we both accept that there will be no end to snacking on this trip). And the weather gods have cooperated to deliver his ideal climate -- overcast, brisk and misty. (Is this guy not made for England?)

Chris outside Buckingham Palace.

Across Buckingham Palace, the tall, stately, trees with curvy bottoms lining The Green Park remind me of Helen Mirren -- but that may also be because she played The Queen. Meanwhile, Chris notices that the hot chocolate stand in the park sells mini-Belgium waffles drizzled with chocolate syrup, and promptly orders one.

But the highlight of his day is Parliament Square where Chris gets to shout dialogue from National Lampoons European Vacation ("Look kids! Big Ben! Parliament!) and take lots of photos of statues to dead men -- a lumpy Churchill, a sparsely dressed Gandhi, a graceful Nelson Mandela, and curiously, a benevolent-looking Abraham Lincoln. (I get why the other statues are there, but Lincoln seems particularly out of place.) I'm generally bored by both Chevy Chase movies and statues, but there is hope for this trip -- Chris mentions on the plane ride to India that he would have liked to have spent a week in London just seeing all the sights.

Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a burgeoning world traveler? Do I dare hope?

Adventures in Traveling with The Most American Man in the World

In 39 years, I've visited nearly 20 countries. My boyfriend, a nubile 37-years-old, has left the U.S. once -- for Bermuda and the Bahamas.

For friends who have known me for more than 24 hours, this is a highly ironic relationship. It's also a goldmine of cultural misunderstandings, sarcastic banter, and many Felix-and-Oscar moments to which I firmly believe I should not be the sole consumer. So let me present for your reading pleasure Adventures in Traveling with The Most American Man in the World.*

First things first. The Most American Man does not like change. I, Felix, do like change. And new ideas.

My constant flow of new ideas -- for life, for work, for art, for travel destinations -- is often met with indifference or outward resistance from The Boyfriend. In fact, here's a graph of the usually trajectory of my happiness when I introduce Chris to a new idea:

See what happens? A new idea is practically infallibly correlated with my happiness. But the minute I share this new idea with Chris, I am met with 0% enthusiasm. Most of the time, this is not because of an obstinate or grumpy-cat nature; he's simply an introvert who mulls over every idea for long periods of time before getting on board.

He's also a civil servant (see footnote below), who knows when to get on board with management's new plan or initiative. This leads to 10% enthusiasm that can seem like progress, but actually it's the worst stage in the Chris Enthusiasm Building process because it is accompanied with Irish-Catholic-level passive-aggressive statemetns (e.g., "Fiiine, I'll go to India, if it's really that important to you.").

I usually pretend to have Asperger's at this point and simply take Chris at his literal word. I pepper him with questions to which he never knows the answer. ("Do you like to see sights or laze around when you travel?" I ask. "I wouldn't know," he responds.) But life is busy, and it's amazing how much a relationship can progress if you just ignore gaping incompatibilities for a few months.

At some point, Chris will realize that things are moving without much effort on his part. At this point, he adopts adrenaline-junkie jargon like, "Sometimes you just have to turn into the skid." The sheer possibility of chaos brings his enthusiasm to 75%. Which is great.

But then things get tricky. Because The Most American Man can't half commit to something. He can't even let it rest at 75%. It's go big or go home. There's no 100%, just 110%. So now, Chris is not only on board with visiting India, I'm pretty sure that if I mention wanting to travel internationally ever again, he's going to want to come back only to India. "It's a tradition," he'll say. "Why mess with a good thing?"

This makes me want to bury my head in despair for all the countries that are out there to be seen. But then I remember what my cousin Cary once told me. "You want a guy who doesn't like change, because that means he won't want to change you." I'm not sure if he meant Chris won't try to exchange me (for someone else) or won't try to change my fundamental personality. But either way, I realize that this trait, this Most American trait, is why I was happy enough to have all those bright ideas in the first place.

And so we continue on our merry-go-round of algorithmic incompatibility. He makes me happy. I have new ideas. I share those ideas, and he mourns the little creature comforts he so desperately wants, opting instead for a life with me. I charge ahead with my idea, and then he gets on board, outstripping any level of interest or enthusiasm I had. And his dedication makes my heart smile with loyal affection. And so we start again...

*For those of you that may dispute that moniker, I should mention that The Boyfriend is a Firefighter/EMT, was born outside of Boston to parents who are Jersey Italian and Irish, loves chain restaurants, and uses the word awesome at least once a day.