“Write an essay about what you did on your summer vacation.”

Maybe it’s different for students now, but my family usually spent a week or two in some exotic location, like Lake Erie, and the rest of my days were occupied by going to the local swimming pool.

With the usual twist of irony, now that I’m actually taking interesting vacations, no one is asking me to write about them. People don’t even want to see pictures.

Hiking along foot paths for hours each day in the Yorkshire Dales of England, climbing over ancient stone walls and coming face to face with more kinds of sheep than I even knew existed may not be everyone’s ideal holiday, but it certainly worked for me this summer. There’s definitely a cleansing of the soul, or dumping of unwanted data from the brain, that happens in the country air. That’s made possible by removing all outside stimuli of my city life, even for a brief period of time.

But traveling thousands of miles and spending almost as many dollars as miles traveled just to gaze into Lamb Chop’s eyes is difficult to justify, particularly when the path to this pastoral utopia routes through one of the world’s most fascinating cities.

London. Trying to experience all London has to offer in three days is like trying to sample all 33 flavors at Baskin-Robbins in one visit. Technically possible, but ultimately unsatisfying.

In 72 hours, excluding a four-hour nap midday attributed to jet lag, I visited two museums, one scenic attraction, attended two musical performances, ate at one chic restaurant, drank at two local pubs and viewed a plethora of significant historic monuments all older individually than the oldest national treasure the United States has to offer, whatever it may be.

Midway through Sunday afternoon while strolling the spacious Tate Modern Museum, I wandered through the Andy Warhol exhibit. As if trapped in a cartoon frame with the obligatory light bulb appearing in a bubble over my head, it occurred to me that I had traveled across the Atlantic and to this museum when all the while Pittsburgh’s most notable artist had his work on display practically in my back yard. The last time I was in that building on the North Side, I was purchasing music from a Volkwein’s clerk!