Olde World charm meets Newe World curves. The Andaz on Liverpool Street blends modern architecture with even more modern prices. Thank goodness the pound isn't what it once was.
Liverpool Street Station on a sunny spring day. Say what? Sunny? Two visits to London in the space of two months, and sunny both times? That's like the The News of the World leaving Rooney alone for two days in a row.
Those Brits sure do tell it like it is.
Don the robes and get ready to read for Latin. Welcome to Oxford, a town that's been running exams longer than half the world's countries have running, period. Or full stop.
Your Empire may have crumbled, those pesky colonies may be better at every sport you ever invented, and those ruffians across the Atlantic may have chucked your tea in a harbor and removed all the superfluous letters from your language, but by golly if anyone tries to invade your scone shoppe you'll be ready in your mighty tower!
Not your typical student hangout.
Christ Church, Oxford. To study here you need at least a Prince in your lineage, although if you're feeling shaky about your A-levels having a King on file is probably a good idea.
Apparently this dinning hall doubles as Hogwarts in its spare time. Not that the students here would stoop to such low brow entertainment. A lively debate on the early-form iambic pentameter in Canterbury Tales or an after-class refresher on campanology will suffice, thank you very much.
God Save the Queen! Because these elegantly attired, but patently nonthreatening, guards in bowler hats certainly won't be up to the task.
Funny how it's always empty until the week before finals.
So this is why Latin is required, so you can read the hymn book. And here I was thinking it was so Carl Linnaeus wouldn't be completely replaced by wikipedia.
In the U.S. you can buy sweatshirts with your alma mater's logo; here memorabilia is a little more refined than "Go Irish, Beat Trojans". Try "Go Moses, Beat Pharaoh" instead.
Even the student dorms hearken from a more civilized age. Like when Beer Pong was Mead Pong.
The preferred mode of transport by students the world over. Complete with chain guard to prevent damage to one's robes on the way to supper.
When this old chap started teaching physics, the big bang was something that happened to the Oxford crew if they were unlucky enough to lose to Cambridge in The Boat Race.
Apparently this dude pioneered the study of the brain. Unfortunately for him, the real path to fame involves wandering into the path of a falling apple instead.
This is probably the only botanic gardens in the world where the majority of the population can read the labels on all the plants.
Are you serious? That's the Department of Statistics?! I can tell you, at the 95 percent confidence level, that this is the poshest stats department in all the world.
This is indeed a rare sight - a physics lab that doesn't consist of a drab concrete building whose decay parameter is matched only by that of the meagre research budget... and Iodine-123.
And it's Drummond-Heathcote-Willoughby coming in now to bowl from the College End... and taking his strike now is Ernle-Plunkett, still fidgeting nervously on a duck. And oh my, he's clean bowled him, right between middle stump! Dear oh dear he's made a right meal of that, has young Ernle-Plunkett. Out for a duck yet again, I dare say this young batsman has all the makings of a fine future captain of England.
Spring time means exam time. You'd think in almost a century of higher learning, the Oxford student body would have come up with a better technique than the venerable all-nighter.
Just to prove the town is more than stuffy academic corridors, Jamie Oliver has brought his... uhm... colorful language to town. Oh, and he brought his restaurant too.
Turns out majors in mid-12th century Romanesque art aren't necessarily the hot ticket they once were. Welcome to the real world folks.
Speaking of business, the Andaz makes a refreshing change from the Tallahassee Marriott Courtyard. At least the internet here doesn't require a 28.8k modem to connect. Of course, it does cost 28 pounds, so there's always a tradeoff.
Next stop, the Continent. It's nice to board a form of transportation that (a) doesn't require an obligatory scrotal exam, (b) doesn't require spending longer on the tarmac than in the air, and (c) actually has space for all the carry on luggage.
And just like that, one quick tunnel later, it's the City of Lights. The Hotel Balzac on the Champs-Élysées makes a fine launchpad. Why is that the Palace of King Louis Vuitton I out the window?
Ah, Paris.
Even the subway signs are works of art. In New York they outsource the artwork to the Astoria graffiti artists.
The national pastime in France is sitting in cafes and watching the world go by. Or in this case, watching another American hurry by like he and his blackberry are the world.
Spring in a city that has seen so many it's lost count.
At least here you don't have to worry about some maniacal yellow cab turning your fluffy baguette into fresh pita.
A bridge fit for a king. Or a president, assuming you have a supermodel wife on your arm.
So this is where it all started. This guy could get a Happy Meal a Michelin Star. Seriously, 26 stars and counting, how many does one man need?
Ah, Paris. Did I say that already?
In Paris you don't get a room, you get an embankment.
Sunset at Notre Dame. Some sights never get old, just ask Monet.
Where's my impressionist filter when I need it?
Who let this impatient American in? Just because Starbucks can crank out a latte in 24 seconds doesn't mean you should.
Sunset over the Seine. It doesn't get any better than this. Well, until you navigate to pretty much any other blog that is.
Night on the Champs. At least at night you can't read the price tags.
Boo, hiss! These guys are about as French as a McDonald's french fry.
They don't call her La Ville-Lumière for nothing. Just like they don't call her Mean Mei for nothing.
Just in case you need a car to go with that new Louis Vuitton.
Nice digs. Too bad the wake up call is scheduled for 6am. Where's my 35 hour work week?
Next stop on the whirlwind tour of non-bankrupt European nations, Frankfurt, the financial capital of Europe.
Frankfurt may be all about high finance, but what little remains of the old city does have some charm. What little remains of this blog post, however, does not.
Not a bad place to unwind when the market is going against you. Which let's face it, is pretty much every day if you have Rock's stockpicking talent.
Just to remind you that building an exotic financial model is not the same as making something useful to put in a boat and ship to your customers. But gosh darn it, it sure is more fun.
Forget the Apple shop folks, the real action is at the Maggi store. Start camping out now for the eagerly anticipated midnight release of Cream of Mushroom 2.
A rare sight in Europe. A building that is less that 300 years old.
How convenient, they were kind enough to place the opera house right at the foot of UBS. Now private banking clients can go straight from their vaults to their private balconies just in time for the opening act.
One bank to rule them all.
The mighty Debit and Credit towers. This is about the only place in Europe the two are actually equal.
The after work crowd spills out onto the streets of Mainhattan after another tough day of bailing out their prolifigate neighbors.
That's it folks. Next stop, the real holiday. 
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