At first I was numb. Then struck with disbelief. We made it. Holy shit, we're in France. 

It seems like a wonderful problem to have, arriving at the home of a lovely English couple who have asked us to come help them out for a couple weeks. They have a small bed and breakfast they run from their 18th century manor house just south of Normandy on a couple hectacres of land and are building another home to rent as a gite. There's a lot to be done before season picks up, and they can use another couple hands.

Wow. It's the one word to sum up the extreme beauty of the Scottish Highlands. Never have we encountered such dramatic sweeping vistas - lush green hills rolling into the sea backed by craggy, snow-capped peaks and landscapes reflected in perfectly still waters. We passed time on the train predicting what natural stunner would come next - rushing waterfall, grazing sheep, lichen-covered stone wall, sunning deer - we sighed in relief every time we would pass through a tunnel and give our senses a chance to recover.

It's a cold and dreary Monday in Chicago - the coldest temperatures on record move through the area today. Last week the city was pounded with snow. Highways are a mess, the high is -29 with the wind chill, hypothermia can set in within a matter of just minutes and it's early January yet. The forecasts call it a polar vortex. Watching it on the news is an uncanny experience. 

We just woke up. Bill's finishing packing his bag before we head down to breakfast. It's cold where we are, too, and damp - a high of 48. We left our coats in Chicago. Even Scotland is not that cold.  

December 17th we sat at Midway, in the Irish pub near our gate, sharing a hot dog, each with a split of champage. We waited for our flight to New Orleans, and were giddy for the adventure. Just three weeks later we're here, in Edinburgh, on the first real leg of our travels.