When back in the US this summer, someone asked Brett and I what was one unexpected thing we noticed about the difference between living in the US and Luxembourg.
Jet lag dreams
Images from Italy - Umbria
Charlie – an Italian pizzeria of course!
Seven hours is a long day in a smallish car with five people. Even longer when you don’t get on the road until after noon. But when you wake up to the sounds of a waterfall in the Swiss Alps – hike you must. A quick disclosure: Brett does all road trip driving. There are many reasons for this, but the simplest of which is: It’s better for everyone. It’s possible that I got my driving skills from my Italian side.
After 450 mind-numbing kilometers going South on the A-1 through Italy, we finally exited the toll road in Orvieto. Orvieto is a spectacular Umbrian hilltown set up on a volcanic turf which is perfectly placed between Rome and Florence, making it a popular tourist destination. It was also the closest big town to where we were staying 35 minutes away in Morruzze (a town of 30 people.)
The owner (an American living in London) of the place we were staying in Morruzze recommended a pizzeria in Orvieto for dinner. The recommendation came with the warning that despite its bad name and website, the pizza was really good. Thank goodness for that disclosure because after hours dreaming of our first bite of authentic Italian pizza, a place called “Charlie” would not have hit our radar. “Betty” (our GPS) freaked out when we punched in Charlie’s address, taking us up narrow cobblestone streets/alleys that didn’t appear meant for cars or cars with concerned passenger wives.
As Orvieto is an old hill town, cars are more or less prohibited. The guidebooks told us so. Our American host told us so. And even if you were to try, finding a (legal) parking space is a gamble you’d only take when desperately hungry and tired. Also, there were bikes on top of our car and a driver with dogged belief in his ability to find a parking space. Betty (though she was doubted) proved reliable once again bringing us to the summit. After a brief search, we found an (illegal resident only) parking space. Conflicted about whether to stay or go, a jovial gentleman resident greeted us and sanctioned our short term parking stay. We Italians may not be able to drive, but we sure do know how to make someone feel welcome.
(Note: We went back to Orvieto a couple of times during our visit. The second time we went back, we parked at the train station and took a funicular up to the top. That was easy, until we tried to come down and discovered that the funicular closes at 7:30pm and taxi drivers aren’t interested in the fare to bring you back down. There is a shuttle bus that apparently goes down hourly, but they must have been off schedule (or off duty) that night. When all else fails (and it did), stick out your thumb and when that fails, have your son stand next to you and stick out his. The third time we went back, we parked below the city on the other side of town and took a series of escalators up to the top. The escalators were also closed when we tried to come down, but we found the elevator! We tried not to think about how far our elevator was going and how likely it was to get stuck. Transit mishaps aside, we found Orvieto to be a town with just the right balance between urban center and tourist center. Unlike Todi which we thought much more touristy, Orvieto is a must do if you are in Umbria and if you are traveling to Rome or Florence probably even worth the 1+ hour and 1.5 hour train rides, respectively. If you go, take the escalators!)
Back to our first night in Orvieto... Unlike the previous
night in Switzerland, we found Charlie within ten minutes of parking. And it
WAS perfect. Well-cooked wood oven
pizza with fresh toppings on a slightly doughy crust with a crisp glass of
Orvieto Classico white wine eaten outside in a large outdoor dining courtyard … we would have loved this place had it been called Godfathers. It was so good, we came back another night (or two.)
As we were inhaling our pizzas over candlelight in the
courtyard, Lawton leaned it to say: “I decided something. I want …” Another pizza, I thought? “I want
to make a commitment to Jesus.” There
had been no talk about God leading up to that moment, no dinner time prayer, no
Crucifix within sight. It seemed to come
out of the blue, and yet his words and eyes were earnest. “What made you decide that now?” Brett
asked. “Because I want to stop making mistakes,” he
said. Now there are days that Lawton has his fair share of getting in trouble. This was not one of them, which made the decision and confession that much more sincere.
If only we could make our mistakes go away. But a life without mistakes is a life without grace. I made my commitment to Jesus as a youth, back when I had a shallow understanding of my sin and barely a hint of God’s unconditional love for me. After all these years walking with Him, I’m more aware of my sin and shortcomings but also more convinced of his unconditional love. He does make all things new every morning, and so with that explained in our best six year old vocabulary, we all put our pizza down and Lawton prayed to commit his life to Jesus. Over candlelight at a place called Charlie.
After dinner, we found gelato and Brett pulled up the car in this plaza to pick us up. The surrealness of this photo – an illegal car on a cliff-edged remnant of where four volcanoes erupted years ago – a hint that though we should be banned, God invites up out of the mess to the hilltop to see what we couldn’t see before. Some of us take the speedy funicular up, some of us take the slower escalator up, and some of us follow a person like Betty we aren’t sure is going to get us to the top. But however we get here, the view from the summit is worth the journey.
Oberalppass
“If I can be an example of getting ober, than I can be an example of starting over.” Lawton's version of Macklemore’s lyrics for “Starting Over.”
Ober, sober. I’m
afraid you’ll need full capacity of your s’s if you want to get sober. We, on the other hand, needed five hours to
get from Luxembourg to Oberalppass in the Swiss Alps – the almost but
definitely not half-way point on our twelve hour road trip to Umbria, Italy. (Day two was seven hours of going "straight on" the A-1 motorway through Lake Como, Milan, Tuscany and Umbria with drivers who do not abide their lanes.)
Day one of the drive however was beautiful. Switzerland hit the jackpot with ubiquitous beauty. Combine that beauty with good roads, safe drivers, clean and plentiful rest stops, and mountain tunnels and you’ve got yourself an awesome start to a road trip.
Before getting lost in Lucerne.
Food is crazy expensive in Switzerland, and frankly not that great, so we decided to stop in Lucerne – an hour shy of our overnight stop at Oberalppass -- for dinner. We zeroed in on a won’t-break-the-bank Wurst house on Trip Advisor. After finding/vetting a non-underground parking space (re: husband and bikes on top of car) and locating some Swiss Francs (come on Switzerland, join the Eurozone!) to feed the meter, we headed toward the restaurant hungry and dry mouthed from too many road trip pretzels. When the blue dot failed us (Google Maps is great when it works, but the wurst when it doesn’t), Brett successfully used his German to ask for directions. Turns out we were circling the restaurant but didn’t notice because it was under construction and closed for the week. Snag.
Some families can audible and head to the nearest place to
take their chances. We cannot. The younger members of the family understand
this about their parents. The teen does
not. He instead decided to clock the
time from parking to first bite, with running commentary. Harsh words were said about Trip Advisor and
dependence. Not wanting to drop 35 euros
per person to eat ordinary Swiss food by the river, we finally
(55 minutes later) opted for a small take out Mexican restaurant (Trip Advisor
recommended.) Any decision pleased the
teen, but not the middle foodie child who spiraled into a crisis of faith about
his parents and their commitment to good food.
Lawton, on the other hand, found the bright spot amidst the ordinary
burrito served by the super nice Guatemalan co-owner of the restaurant:
“Mom, that always happens to us! We meet people everywhere we go, we talk to
them, get to know them and then they become our friends.”
Post dinner.
What brought our new Guatemalan friend to Lucerne, Switzerland you ask? Love actually. We know because we asked. And later as we walked towards our safely parked car in search of ice cream, Lawton witnessed/stared at a young couple in a spirited Swiss German conversation to which he observed out loud:
“I think they’re breaking up.”
How did he know we asked? “Because they were talking loud, and looked angry and then the guy walked away."
If what remains of our stopover in Lucerne is our children a) observing that our family brand is to engage with people and b) learning how to listen with their eyes as well as their ears, then that's something to be ober joyed about.
The guest house
In Oberalppass (11 kilometers up a mountain from Andermatt driven in the dark), we overnighted in a guest house reminiscent of my Youth Hostel days staying in a family bunk room with a shared bathroom. It was the wrong day of the month for a shared bathroom. But with the light of morning, an included breakfast, and a morning hike through furry green hills filled with wildflowers and rushing streams – any slight inconvenience of the toilet situation was soon forgotten. And when the two big boys got the chance to ride their bikes the 11 kilometers back down the mountain to Andermatt (cycling in the Swiss Alps!), we knew we’d rebook our room for the return road trip home.
Lawton powered up the mountain on the early morning hike, with the rest of us trailing. He was unstoppable (literally). When he returned down, he suggested:
“Mom. You should do a blog about Switzerland and have a photo of me with this sign, and call it BEST HIKER.”
So here’s to my Best (and oh so quotable) Hiker!
BEST HIKER!
More Salt, Please
More Popsicle, please.
If you ever find yourself in a Spanish grocery store, you should know “bicarbonato de sodio” is not salt. Don’t be misled by the salt shaped vessel it’s in or that it’s on the same shelf as the pepper. That superfine salt that you think you are buying and then dumping into a darling Moroccan salt container is actually baking soda. Baking soda in a never-seen-in-the-US- type consistency. (It looked like salt, really. You must believe me.)
We discovered this on Day 6 of our six day trip to Spain. Six dinners spiked with bicardonato de sodio. As you might expect, this substitution not only doesn’t season your food – it makes everything taste slightly off. Everyone noticed but the teenager. He appreciated whatever I did in the kitchen, as long as there was sufficient quantity and dessert to follow. When we outed our mistake (finally tasting the chemical substance in the lovely Moroccan container), Lawton tried to soothe the week of unsavory food disappointment by offering: “At least the pepper was good.”
Hrumph. All that good food wasted (or at a minimum not enjoyed in the way it was intended) because of one lousy ingredient. A lousy ingredient we kept pouring on in increasing amounts, desperate for a flavor pop. You can have all the makings of a perfect meal – the finest ingredients (our investments), the best cookbook (our education), a well equipped kitchen (our friends and family), cookery skills (10,000 hours) – but without a bit of salt (daily gratitude) – it’s all a bit flat, eh? Pepper (adventure) is indeed good, but we need a little splash of salt to bring out the flavor of what’s already there.
Beyond using Google Translate (which I do regularly when I grocery shop at home) or thinking back harder on my high school Spanish, I should have known about the bicardonato de sodio in another way. The baking soda was expensive, and sold in a much smaller container. Salt is cheap, and is sold in the big bags. Daily gratitude too doesn’t cost much, but it useful in so many ways than you’ll want to super-size it.
I almost lost my salt when we arrived in Spain. This was my first trip traveling with the boys in Europe by myself. To compensate for the solo parent travel jitters, I decided to go back to a place we’d been before – the small white village of Guaro in the mountains of Andalucia, Spain. We found some ridiculously cheap plane tickets on Ryan Air which happened to match up with the only available summer dates in my happy-place-away-from-home. Since Quinn had missed our trip in May, and we had all missed the sun that week, I resolved to follow Chris Stewart’s example of optimism and come back to Andalucia to “Drive Over Lemons” – this time in the heat.
Easy to be an Optimist here.
Morning world!
The flight was smooth, the deplaning was not. Think cat and bull dog fighting in a sweltering 100% full airplane, with four carry-ons, and a preoccupied Master wondering how strict the Spanish are about renting a car to someone who forgot their driver’s license. Turns out they are very strict. There are details/excuses on how this oversight happened, none of which has yet to be received with a nod of “Oh yeah, totally happened to me too.” But before the Master completely lost it, she had the benefit of muzzled judgment by her loved ones, an available and helpful US DMV employee(!), and a soft-hearted, US friendly Hertz agent. Not sure if they Hertz guy took pity on my situation or was weakened by the 10 year old stare down, but I eventually got the car. Even better? I got the experience of having my 15 year old be the voice of calm. He is such his father’s son, and I am glad for it.
My intention for this trip was to relax, not go go. We had seen a lot of Andalucia on our May trip, and for this trip I wanted the boys to see the bottom of the pool. I was also a little timid about driving around too much - the whole not having a license thing combined with my natural navigation challenges. Marvelously, with the exception of one day trip to the thoroughly-researched Aqualand Torremolinos water park and another day trip to the beach town of Marbella, the boys were on my same page. It helped that the Tour de France was in full swing (and available in English on Sky TV!) and that the place just up the road from us was a B&B run by a Dutch Spaniard who happened to have a fleet of five rental bikes. Two of the five bikes fit the boys perfectly. The sun and hills zapped their energy pretty quickly, but it was a boon for them to be able to ride by themselves on the country mountain roads and for me to not have to figure out how to transport bikes on the rental car that surely had been flagged by authorities. (Not really, but so goes my imagination which also flares around noises in the night and snakes in my bed.)
Watching the Tour. Notice games Mommy brought on table.
Rented bikes, for them hills.
The water park was an unexpected wave of fun for even me. My intention was to read in the shade, but instead I locked up my Kindle and bounded down (most) of the slides with my kiddos. Only one of my children did ALL the rides. It was not the oldest one; it was the middle one who had done the exhaustive water park research and also the ATV research in Greece. The beach was a bit of a letdown (in some cases two), but only because we were so spoiled by the beaches of Greece. The rest of the days – sidelined by a blister that prevented my hypochondriac Lawton from walking normally and kept him shrieking regularly – we stayed close to home. No one protested the pace.
The boys jumped in the pool about 25 times a day. We worked out on the terrace. We wore clothes sparingly. We read, we listened to audiobooks to keep the car quiet as I drove. We played games. No, that’s not right, I brought games. They played games on the iPad and their phones. They glued themselves to the Tour on the TV, while I glued myself to the couch on the terrace. They didn’t sleep enough, but who does in summer. We laughed and we all got along really well. We ate M&M’s and I drank Diet Coke because my husband wasn’t there. It was a little bit of Seattle summer by the pool, plus the view. In a different mind space, it could have seemed like a “boring” vacation but it wasn’t because we all CHOOSE to shake our salt shakers together.
When you don't feel like finishing dinner, make an M&M mustache.
We also ate every meal outside, and though they were tasteless, this view – and the relaxation of this happy place for all four of us – was better than a box of chocolates. And I really like chocolate.
Maybe opening one's heart has something to do with studying the landscape of your life. With all its peaks and valleys; with things in the foreground, the distance and over the mountain; with areas of pattern, stretches of free form, and pockets of unruly messes; with the thousands of unique experiences that have taken root; celebrating the beautiful mosaic that is only your life and realizing that your neighbor is over the hill looking at a different but equally divine vista.
Bit of Salt - Greece
It’s been 25 days since my last blog. I mention this hiatus because it now feels like I’m trying to summarize a 600 page book with a thin plot line read while slightly buzzed. Writing is hard enough; catch up writing without notes feels a little bit like homework.
I shouldn’t complain though because my little boys are in the middle of tackling the impossible. Since they’ve earned all the money they can “cleaning” for me inside, they are now outside trying to sell a fake gem for 5 euros. It’s a single gem, so supply is tight. Never mind that we don’t have ANY foot traffic near our apartment, or enough French language skills to complete a transaction – especially of the gem variety. They have a table, sign and everything. Brimming with optimism, one of them just came back in for change in case someone pays with a 10 or 20 euro bill. If they can do that, surely I can type out a little blog.
The Greece narrative can be summarized like this:
- Go to another mind-blowing beach.
- Bark sunscreen commands at people who ignore you.
- Eat amazing food that you did not have to fix, and someone caught for you that morning.
That really is the overarching storyline of our 10 day trip to Greece, but here are a few more details and observations.
The Greek Isles Rule.
The Spanish Costa del Sol along the Mediterranean is to Florida beaches
as the Greek Isles are to Hawaii. Gorgeous clear blue warm saltwater and golden
beaches, except there are way more islands in Greece. It can make your head hurt in deciding which
one to go to. It can make your husband’s
head hurt when you decide on one, and then tell him it’s his job to figure out
how to get there. My research took us to
the Cyclades island of Paros in the central Aegean Sea. It’s as
beautiful as the islands you’ve heard about, but less hilly than Santorini,
more kid-friendly than Mykonos and cheaper and less touristy than both. Honestly, I can’t compare then but I can tell you
that Paros (and it’s neighbor Antiparos) exceeded our expectations. And we've been to Kauai. We felt the oppression of 27% unemployment in Athens, but there was nary a hint of the Euro crisis on the island.
Packed in like Sardines. To get to Paros required us to fly into Athens, bus an hour to the port and then take a four hour ferry to the island. We got to the ferry early, and were initially impressed with how big and un-Washington State Ferry it seemed. That was until it filled with people. Lots of people. We learned later that it was a Greek holiday that weekend, and so all the locals were heading for the islands. There were people in every crevice of that boat, playing cards and smoking like chimneys. It felt like a floating summer festival, complete with body odor and unsightly tank tops. We couldn’t detect another American on the ferry, but there were Norwegians…
Norwegian Season. Turns out the Norwegians love Paros, and the island is teeming with them the last week of June. We met a wonderful Norwegian family while we were there. Eric, the Dad, is anti-Antiparos because there are too many Norwegians over there. We felt the same way by noon at the Acropolis because there were a few too many Americans shouting “Jerry! The tour bus is leaving!” Colin and their youngest son Sander met on the beach, and totally bonded in that 10 year old boy kind of way. They asked for a sleepover the day they met on the beach because “they had so much more to talk about.” So sweet. We’ll table the “one night stand” conversation for another time. They left with matching friendship bracelets, and we are now planning a family trip to visit the entire clan in Bergen.
Greek food is from the gods. The fresh fish. The grilled sardines. The salads. It finally made a feta lover out of me. Forgive me, but my fixation with food photography went into overdrive.
Beach Umbrellas. Turns out we are beach umbrella people. Most of the beaches had “services” meaning that you could pay 15 euros for two beach chairs, a small table and an umbrella. We liked this very much. Fewer conversations about sunscreen, less sand to mess with my Kindle. We tried to be Sand Castle people too, but we are more like Sand Hills and Holes people.
Paddle it Out. The Greeks are serious about Beach Paddle Ball. It’s full swing on the beach, baby. We got a set of the wooden paddles and tennis balls. When we tired of swimming in what felt like the largest waist high saltwater pool you’ve ever seen, we’d paddle it out. One paddle may have gone hurling into our neighbor’s umbrella once, but unfortunately I have people that must make everything a competition. There were Paddle Ball competitions, running competitions, swimming competitions, who-has-the-best-tan competitions … It’s exhausting, and no one ever falls for my who-can-read-the-most-books competition.
Things that Go. We
rented a car for two of the days we were there – one to explore Antiparos and
another day to explore the other side of the island. Otherwise, we took one of the island’s 26
taxis to different beaches which worked great. The rest of time we fielded
questions about why we couldn’t rent an ATV, and when that exhausted itself - when
exactly we could rent a scooter. We did
rent a scooter one day and that seemed to satisfy the testosterone need for something
resembling speed. We also promised that my brother Pete will be taking my boys four wheeling at some future date. He does not know this yet.
Vacation Rhythms. We
picked the right spot on the island by staying near the charming fishing
village of Naoussa. We stayed (mostly
just slept, had breakfast and an evening swim) in a great family studio in the
friendly Paliomylos Hotel (definitely recommend.) By the third day, we got into a daily rhythm
where Brett and I would wake early and walk the 7 minutes into Naoussa and sit
outside for a double cappuccino and wifi at Café Karino. On our walk back an hour or so later, we’d
see a just out of bed Quinn outside on our apartment terrace catching up on
texts. They didn’t miss us at all. We’d then often return to Café Karino before
dinner for a cold (the Greeks like ice!) lemonade, Alpha beer and hand of
Uno. After dinner we'd stop to get a scoop of gelato from our friend Koco. We had everything we needed in Naoussa, including a great selection of restaurants with outdoor dining.
Deserted Island. The
highlight of the trip was our day trip in Antiparos (the vacation destination
of Jennifer Aniston and Tom Hanks.) Antiparos can be reached by a short ferry ride
from Paros. It too has beautiful
beaches, but we got a tip from someone staying in our hotel about an even more
remote island. From May-September, there
is a fishing boat that ferries people from Antiparos to a small, uninhabited
archaeological island called Despotiko. For 80 euros for our whole family, we got a
spectacular boat ride, two hours on a deserted beach to swim, and a return boat
trip that involved a stop to visit some caves.
But instead of just seeing the caves, our hosts anchored the boat, put
on some tunes, and motioned for us to jump in.
The best part was they jumped in
right along with us. Not in the
guidebooks, no waivers, no mandatory life vests, no marketing of the free
watermelon and local wine -- just a couple Greek guys sharing their love for
the islands. It was one of those truly
unique vacation experiences to remember. Trite, but true.
Here are the all the pictures from the trip. (Okay hyperlink not working, so just click over to Travel Photos.)
Now for a gem sale update. The boys stuck with it for an hour, but gave up when a police car came by and asked them to not sit on the curb. Clearly it was a slow day in Luxembourg. Every day was a slow day in Greece, which is just the way we wanted it.
The Best Trip I'm Not Going On
Hey sister (upper left) and new friends!
I’ve been to Zambia.
Twice now. Once to be part of a
team that administered health exams to 350 students, and the second time to be
the team leader on delivering a few Kindles.
Both trips were to the same school. I’m neither a medical professional (my job
was to chart height and weight) or educator (my job was to explain how to use a
Kindle, not teach literature.) The
trips involved service and yes, a safari – but that’s not what made them
great. They were great because they came
with an invitation. And of course, Africa is pretty awesome too.
Anyone can helicopter in to a place of need and do a feel-good project. Only friends invite you back. Good friends even slaughter a goat and prepare a community celebration on par with a wedding every single time you come back. And they do it for friends of your friends too. As amazing as Paris was (my previous post) and the beaches of Greece will be (tomorrow!), it’s hard to beat a trip where you are greeted with a ceremonial dance. In Africa, relationship runs supreme.
My friends liked the Kindles. Here's the video we made about it. It took some mutual trust to say “Yes” to this crazy idea about bringing an electronic library to the bush and putting their life on film. It also took some vulnerability to say, “Thank you – we are so grateful that you are here teaching us about the Kindles, but our students are also hungry at this time of year – can you help with that?” Yes, yes we can. Let's do that first.
People are helping, and new friends are jumping on board. Tomorrow a group of 7 people – educators! from
Seattle and World Reader – will be making another trip to Zambia with 50 more
Kindles, 600 school backpacks, and One World Futbols. They will be there from June 21 – July 2 on a
focused Education trip. A little mustard
seed that just keeps growing. My super
organized sister, Beth MacLean, will be making her fourth trip to lead the
team. She’ll also be delivering my
personal hugs and kisses. I would tell her to score a goal for me with the new futbols, but they already know I can't play futbol.
Here’s a link to the team’s blog. You may want to follow it. Not only because it’s a good cause and the guy writing it knows how to write, but
because if you’re reading this – you’re my friend – and I’d like you to meet and hear more about my
friends in Zambia.
I know I've just hyper-linked this post to death, but if you haven't heard me talk about Dwankhozi Hope before -- check out this 5 minute video that captures a day in a Boy's Life in rural Zambia. If you already know about Dwankhozi (pronounced "do you want a cozy" for those in the know), then skip my blog for the rest of the month and head to the team's blog. Or, simply like Dwankhozi Hope on Facebook. Okay. Enough with the instructions. I'm getting all teachery.
This is eHow you follow an agenda
I had my second day trip to Paris on Monday. This time instead of going with a list of unmapped addresses of places I wanted to check out, I decided to make myself an agenda. This is eHow you follow an agenda.
- Step 1. Decide what specifically needs to be accomplished. More sightseeing, less getting lost.
- Step 1B. Try that again. Okay … one museum, one neighborhood.
- Step 2. Consult with colleagues. Paris Guidebook, husband, David. Practice your I’m-not-a-stalker-banter in case you bump into David.
- Step 3. Distribute the agenda in preliminary form making sure to allot enough time for each item. Google calculate walking times. Print accompanying Google Map with specific points of interest. Whip out the highlighter to do some color coding. Do NOT send agenda to David.
- Step 4. Stick to the agenda, follow the plan item by item, be ready to move on when necessary. Shopping streets are dangerous. Café lingering, while on plan, can become a distraction.
- Step 5. Table some items until next time, be flexible, know what needs to be completed. Making train home.
So how did I do? I successfully visited everything on my agenda (though in a slightly different order) plus had time for a couple of extra stops. The overarching goal for the day was to hit one museum (the Pompidou – the museum of modern and contemporary art) and wander one neighborhood (the Marais -- the bustling, fashionable district on the Right Bank home to small cafes, chic boutiques, art galleries with an ethnic mix of Jews, Alergians, Asians, and the gay community.) Here then is the detailed agenda, revised for actual events.
8:50 – Train arrives in Gare de l’Est. Take Metro M5 towards Place d’Italie and get off at Bastille (6th stop). Use leftover metro tickets. Push your way onto the subway train and make like a sardine. Count stops.
9:20 - Arrive Bastille Metro. Exit nearest exit, correct when above ground. Pull out map and walk 1 KM towards Soluna Café (52, rue de l’Hôtel de Ville, 4th), otherwise known as the Caféothèque . Walk fast because Guatemalan coffee is waiting. Notice Seine to your left, but don’t be distracted. You’ll see the river again.
9:30 – Caféothèque. Here, they know that Parisian coffee blows and they want to make it up to you. Delicious, full of cozy nooks and crannies to sit, and quirky in that “plants coming out of wall” kind of way. Text photo to husband to let him know you’re safe and caffeinated. Take home some Guatemalan bean$. Gulp quietly when they tell you your total.
Paris meets Seattle.
10:00 – Be flexible, part 1. Caféothèque is right next door to the Memorial de la Shoah, a memorial that honors the 76,000 Jews who were deported from France to Nazi death camps. Stop here.
10:30 – Walk the quarter of Le Marais. Try to not be in the grip of the map. Let it flow, but make sure to hit Rue de
Turenne, Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, and Rue des Rosiers. If you miss them, you’re walking another
quarter and best to consult the map again. You'll want to come back here on every trip to Paris.
11:30 - Bernard Garbo (41, rue de Turenne) and Palenzo Chemise a couple of doors down. Stylish shirts at unlikely good prices. Buy your husband some shirts. He will love you. Remember the “shopping streets are dangerous” caution and refocus on your husband’s shirts. Table trendy she shops for next time.
This shirt made it home.
12:00 – Place des Vosges. Take in the square that is considered among the most beautiful in the world by Parisians. Give it a few minutes. Notice the impressive symmetry – 36 houses with 9 on each side. Try not to notice the construction equipment. Time’s up. Don’t beat yourself up if it looks just like an ordinary square with trees and park benches. Take a picture anyway.
As you can see, my heart wasn't in the square or taking the picture.
12:07 – Be flexible, part 2. Thou shalt not be in the grip of the map, but best to hold on to it. Search purse/shirt bag/coffee bag. Again. Search in tiny places too small for a map – your back pocket, your wallet, your bra. Retrace steps. OK to beat yourself up on this one, particularly if it’s a special map. Be glad that today you weren’t responsible for things you cannot lose like children and car keys.
12:30 – L’As du Fallafel (34, rue des Rosiers) for to-go lunch. Follow the bouncing blue ball on your iPhone and don’t think about the international data usage charges. Join the cultish crowd salivating at the window and be ready to order. Crispy on the outside/soft on the inside fallafel, slightly pickled cabbage, cucumbers, perfectly grilled eggplant, tahini sauce, hot sauce, all packed into a heavenly pita. Order a water and be ready for the harassment. Don’t forget a fork and lots of napkins.
Beautiful things happening inside this pita.
1:00 - Pompidou (can’t miss it in the Beaubourg area of the 4th arrondissement of Paris). Focus 90 minutes on the permanent collection on level 4 (contemporary art from 1960 onward) and level 5 (works from 1905-1960.) Enjoy the glass enclosed escalator that overlooks the piazza filled with street performers and smokers.
2:30 – Look for Pompidou checked bag ticket in same place you put map. OMG, how old are you? Locate passport and move it to a zipped pocket. Describe bag to French attendant and pray for mercy.
Stop looking at me like that We all lose things.
2:35 - Be flexible, part 3. Find your way past the Forum des Halles complex – an unsightly 17 acre fortress that is also a mall. Don’t curse the remodeling project that has trapped you on the wrong side. Be glad that there is a plan to overhaul these retail ruins.
2:45 – Be flexible, part 4. Stop in a bookstore, buy a new map. Know that it will not live up to your old map. Tell the blue bouncing ball you no longer need him.
2:55 – E. Dehillerin (51, rue Jean- Jacques Rousseau). Not on the agenda, and you have paid tickets for something starting in 5 minutes. Still you must walk in to this amazing professional french stainless steel cookware shop. Touch the copper and table for next time - preferably when you have an able bodied sherpa with you.
The best photo I could muster in 60 seconds.
3:00 - O Chateau (68, rue Jean- Jacques Rousseau) for the Beginner French Wine Tasting booking. Stop judging that all 30 people there are tourists from the US or Canada – you signed up for the English class, you expat snob. Taste a Sauvignon Blanc from Loire, a Cabernet Sauvignon Rose, and a Malbec from Cahors. Get tips for reading French wine labels. Buy a couple bottles of the Rose – who knew all French Rose was dry and unlike the sweet passable stuff back home.
Pierre and the Americans.
4:45 - Candaleria (52, rue de Saintonge) taqueria for dinner. A choice only a Mexican food-deprived American would make. Open every day, Sunday- Wednesday 12:30pm-11pm and Thursday-Saturday 12:30pm-midnight. Be flexible, part 5. Candaleria’s kitchen may be closed from 4:45-5:30. Do not mention hours listed on door.
Please let me come in.
4:50 – Café Charlot (39, rue de Bretagne) aka David’s favorite place to write and people watch. Sit outside, order an overpriced espresso, and eavesdrop on a beautiful, 20 something US Rhodes Scholar interviewing a Parisian women about energy policy for an article she’s writing. Best not to get out your Moleskine. Just listen and remember back when the whole world was still in front of you.
5:29 – Candaleria, second attempt. Order chips and black beans, roasted squash and Queso fresca tacos on real corn tortillas. Belly up to the one communal table. Apply hot sauce liberally, savor every perfectly (it’s been so long, the threshold for perfect is low) fried chip, use the electrical outlet to charge your phone. Order another roasted squash taco and celebrate the vegetarian day you weren’t planning on having.
Perfect-enough chips and hot sauce.
6ish – Remember your power cord, skip the metro and leisurely walk in the direction of the Gare d’Est.
6:30 – Triple check that you are only 5 minutes away from
Gare d’Est. Stop into an outdoor café that’s
not on your agenda. Who cares which one. Order a glass of wine. Confirm that no
interesting conversations are going on around you. Bring out your agenda to take notes on the day. Linger.
7:15 - Arrive Gare d’Est. Stop for 4 small chocolates and a bottle of water. Wait to board train to savor the chocolates … or not. Stay vigilant on watching boards for when track number appears.
7:40 – Train departs Gare d'Est for Lux. Be on it!
Wandering Thoughts
I wish I was smarter
There’s so much to know.
And so much in need of understanding.
I wish I wanted for wisdom as much as knowledge
One can be accumulated,
The other earned through trial and failure.
I wish my idling thoughts were deeper
Full of wondering questions.
Full of more than myself.
I wish my memory bank was more organized
That it sprung fewer leaks.
Captured only the important stuff.
I wish I had curiosity to send me further afield
Back to the history books
To more than what’s in easy reach.
But my mind is tied down
I’m carrying around all those packages of worry
And other icky stuff.
They’re so heavy, you know?
Maybe I could leave them here.
You could too.
We can see more of the world if we do.
It won’t make us smarter.
Or plug all our leaks.
But our journey will be lighter.
A wise man once said:
Bring all that you have
And that will be enough.