Paris & London Trip Report: Skatterfly's Virgin Voyage with Toddler
 

Long overdue, here’s my trip report from our “virgin voyage” to London and Paris in September with our 18-month-old daughter.

Consider yourself warned… it’s probably too long, but I hope it’s worthy of the excellent advice and generally good humor I received here when planning the trip.

Though it wasn’t our first trip overseas, there were plenty of firsts for us. First time traveling with a toddler. First time (and probably our last) flying in anything other than cattle class. First time renting flats instead of hotels. First time missing the train, and not just any train but our nonrefundable Eurostar to Paris. And the first (and second and third) time we have ever felt like the National Lampoon’s Griswolds.

This was also a different trip with a baby, and anyone considering travel with children should heed the warnings you get. Travel with a toddler is hard stuff. It takes a few days for their schedules to adjust. You have to forego “fine dining” and forget about seeing every museum and exhibit on your itinerary.

But being the travel junkies that we are, we weren’t about to stop traveling altogether for the next decade. So we just scaled back our goals to include lots of people watching at cafes, playing with the locals at parks, cooking with the delightful fresh food we have always seen in the markets, and enjoying the magnificent architecture and fashion and foreign languages and smells and sights of everyday life in these two very beautiful European cities.

Though it sometimes felt more like an expensive photo op than a relaxing vacation, I have some priceless memories. Like our daughter chasing the birds in St. James Park, and seeing her face light up when she heard the first notes of Evensong at St. Paul’s cathedral. Her pointing to the rich colors of the stained glass inside Notre Dame, and hearing her giggle with her daddy as they rode the Carousel in the Tuileries, again and again and again. I don’t regret the trip at all and can’t wait to go again in the next year or two if we can swing it.

Luckily, my parents joined us on the trip. Built-in babysitters and fellow travel junkies. Though there were times they drove me nuts, I was grateful they came along, not having lived under the same roof with them for nearly 17 years. I loved waking up in the morning to see my mom with her cup of coffee, wearing her fuzzy slippers, playing with her granddaughter. Together, we indulged in lots (and lots) of good wine, chocolate, and cheese, giving us cherished moments—not to mention a few extra pounds on my hips.

Nearly six months later, my mouth still waters for a pain au chocolat from Gerard Mulot, and the apple grillé from Patisserie Paul. And my eyes will always ache to see the Seine.

More to follow…

<b>London or Paris… your favorite?</b>

You’ve seen the question dozens of times here, and the consensus seems to be that if you love one you probably won’t like the other. And then there’s that old adage, “Paris is to Florence as London is to Rome.”

Since I’m one of those people who adores Paris and Florence and could live without Rome, I didn’t have high expectations for “loving” London. I never even gave much thought to London, until my brother-in-law relocated there for work and it became the only way to get our families together. I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.

It took me days to adjust to the pace, congestion, and sheer size of the city. I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the massive urban expanse of London and the more intimate, relatively walkable neighborhoods of my beloved Paris or even Florence. I kept underestimating the travel time to various places, and occasionally got frustrated when it seemed like long journeys back to the apartment (usually for the baby’s nap) were eating into valuable tourist time. And London was so much more international than I’ve ever seen before or expected. I was intrigued by the flights arriving at Heathrow from places like Angola and Kuwait and other exotic locales that don't fly direct into my own local SFO.

And in spite of all this—or maybe because of it—I was pleasantly surprised at how much I did enjoy London. I was charmed by its traditional pubs, ancient churches, and historic architecture—all contrasted against the uber-modern, uber-hip urban life pulsing everywhere in London. Then there’s the incredible shopping, theater, art exhibits, and restaurants—I just didn’t get to partake in much of these things this trip.

We had 9 full days in London, and it was simply not enough. Not enough time with a small child in tow, and probably not enough time even on our own. More than once I caught myself saying, &quot;if only we could cancel our reservations in Paris.&quot;

<i>That is, until we actually arrived back in Paris and I was reminded how enchanting Paris can be and why it’s still one of my favorite places in the world.</i>

Since this would be our fourth trip to Paris, we initially planned it as a quick 3-day side trip. Then the in-laws invited themselves to stay with us—hey, we’ll just pop over for the weekend and crash with you—so we changed it to 7 nights. We’re glad we did, because we had a chance to “live” in Paris for a week in an exquisite apartment in the Saint Germain des Pres. This time more than on previous trips, we left Paris dreaming up ways we could actually afford to move there.

So the moral of the story is… win the lottery so you can regularly visit both cities!

More to come…

<b> Yes, but are they baby friendly?</b>

<i>I feel compelled to say a little bit about traveling with a baby because, well, my trip actually WAS with a baby and I hope I can help fellow parents considering it. </i>

Some people say that London and Paris aren’t baby-friendly, but nothing could be further from our experience. Whether we were on the Tube, in the grocery store, or playing in the park, Londoners were overtly friendly to us. They grabbed our daughter’s hands, played peek-a-boo with her, offered the occasional parenting tip, and helped us find special items or baby products. And every time we took the Tube with the stroller, I was shocked that complete strangers and exhausted commuters would offer to help carry bags, or lend a hand with the stroller on the stairs, or hold the door for us. (We don’t get that level of kindness here on BART.)

Likewise, in Paris in the Saint Germain des Pres where we stayed, there were babies and strollers everywhere. I often saw the same Parisienne moms at different times, coming or going to school or the park, and we even exchanged a few knowing smiles. And with the stroller, I was always careful and courteous to ask before taking it into a small shop or boutique, and always invited in when they just as easily could have said no. As I’ve always said about Paris, you get back what you give. The Parisiens, in spite of what many people like to insinuate, were excessively polite to us—and even a little uncharacteristically “friendly” this time—with a toddler in tow.

Admittedly, you need to exercise some good sense in where you take your child—like fine restaurants, the theatre, or other quiet, adult-oriented soirees. But the fact is that families with children live and abound in these two cities, and I saw as many children at restaurants and museums as I did at the parks and playgrounds. You might need to master a quick escape strategy if your child—like mine did—starts to fuss in a museum. Or you tag team with one parent while the other goes outside to play with the pigeons.

In London we used the Tube (with and without the stroller) a handful of times before switching to taxis. There was a lot of work happening on our lines while we were there, so the frequent delays were difficult with a grumpy jet-lagged toddler. It was also unseasonably warm while we were there, making the trains like hot tin cans. And since we didn’t buy a pass (thinking we wouldn’t use the Tube too much), the point-to-point fares became expensive. So we took a cue from our in-laws who were cabbing it everywhere, and often hopped on taxis for the shorter trips. It was just easier, quicker, and not generally more expensive. On the other hand, my smart-traveling parents bought their passes the day we landed and used them extensively every day, traipsing off to Kew and Trafalgar Square and Hampstead and various other cool places whenever we let them loose.

I’ll admit, I had a hard time understanding the point-to-point Tube fares. And we were surprised when, about half of the time, they made us buy our toddler a ticket even though she was not yet two and should have (as we understood it) traveled free. Yet another comparison to Paris: I much prefer the simplicity of the little green billets (or are they purple now?) for any ride within central Paris. And once we were in Paris, we ended up taking the Metro only a couple times. Not simply because it’s more manageable on foot but because we didn’t feel very compelled to race around like we did in London.

<i>I promise, the trip report is coming, soon.</i>

The intro is EXCELLENT ..cannot wait for the report, especially the name of the paris Apt!

Hi skatterfly-

I remember that you were getting ready to leave for your trip just as I began planning my own trip to London. I'm glad you made it back to Fodors to post your experiences. Looking forward to your report!

kvadragon

Very well written, skatterfly.

Looking forward to more.

((I))

<b>Just a bit more about travel with babies…</b>

Traveling with a toddler was harder than I ever imagined and at times we questioned our sanity for trying the trip at this age. I should have taken better notes the day this topic was covered in class. ;-)

When you factor in breakfast, then a morning nap, then changing diapers, and some playtime, we averaged a few scant hours a day for touring. Less if our destination was more than a quick walking distance from our apartment. Even with a set of parents to babysit and help with the luggage (we jokingly called them our porters), I still needed to be there for feedings and naptimes and bath times and bedtimes. This obviously cut into what would have otherwise been prime traveling time.

As a result, our trip had a rushed quality to it. We had to be satisfied with only an hour or two at the D’Orsay, and a couple hours total in two trips to the British Museum. More often than not, we quickly rolled by stunning pieces of art or history. <i>“Yep. Uh huh. That’s nice. I like that piece. Okay, let’s go.” </i>

We also had plenty of long walks, but to keep the baby moving they were superficial sweeps through whole neighborhoods just to get the overall feel of the place. We weren’t often able to stop and meander and explore the way we would have in previous trips.

<b>So this would be my one serious warning to other parents of little ones planning a European trip with your child.</b> If you can be happy doing many of the things you’ll normally do at home—parks, zoos, naptimes, long walks, the occasional museum—you’ll do fine. If you push yourselves and the baby to see it all, you’ll be disappointed because it simply can’t be done.

And let me state it another way: if this had been our first trip overseas, we most surely would have been disappointed by these limitations. Or exhausted ourselves trying to “do it all.”

Don't get me wrong. We enjoyed ourselves, but I’m a serious travel addict, and I actually <i>want</i> to share travel with my children rather than leave them at home. But I now understand why most of our friends, even those that traveled before they had kids, all thought we were a) crazy; b) brave; c) stupid; d) all of the above to undertake the trip.

<i>I'll keep breaking this up to keep it easier to post, so more to come...</i>

Eagerly awaitng more....

Skatterfly,

This looks like it's going to be good! Can't wait for more....

Sally

Beautifully written and this will be essential reading for many parents of young children. Well done.

More,more, please!

<b>And then there’s Forget Murphy's Law of Teething</b>

<i>If you have planned a relatively expensive European trip, count on the fact that your child—who has only gotten 3 teeth in her first 16 months—will suddenly, on the eve of your departure, begin teething again and cut 5 teeth in 14 days. </i>

Yes, this really happened to us.

And the teething pain, combined with her jet lag and being in a strange new place, unsettled her so badly that she refused to eat solid foods for the first 5 days of the trip.

One of my initial questions here at Fodor’s was whether it was easy to breastfeed in London and Paris, and the quick answer is “Yes, especially if you have to.”

I have a long list of all the places I nursed in public, out of sheer necessity with a tired, teething baby who wanted to nurse several times a day. It’s very easy to be discrete, and most people don’t even realize or care what’s going on. One man asked me directions and another (seriously) tried to hand me a camera to take his photo, all with my daughter latched on.

I also brought and used about 8 bottles of Infant Advil on the trip because it’s the only drug that would knock out her teething pain. Yes, you <i>can</i> easily find the UK equivalent, Nurofen, but in looking at the package in London I saw it warns of possible stomach upset and a diuretic effect. So I’m satisfied that I schlepped those Advil bottles in my carry on. I really wouldn’t have wanted to give her something that might cause the runs, making her feel even worse.

<i>need to keep breaking it up to post...</i>

In spite of it all, our toddler was a real trooper. She loves being on trains and buses, and she would squeal in delight every time a bus, truck, or fire engine drove by. She also discovered pigeons and geese, and we spent a lot of time in the parks feeding and chasing them.

She eventually started eating and sleeping well again on the trip, and I am so happy we had this time together as a family. And it’s pretty cool to have pictures of her with places like Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop.

I will say that the list of what we didn’t see far outnumbers the list of what we saw. I’m not complaining, and I don’t think we could have actually <i>done</i> any more than we did on the trip.

Our 9 days in London flew by in a blur, and we missed a lot of what first-timers usually see. I really regret missing the Tower, and I would have enjoyed going on at least one of the London Walks. We didn’t go to Kensington Palace, or Hampton Court, or Buckingham Palace (and the Palace rooms were actuallly <i>open</i> when we were there). We never made it to Bath, or Hampstead, or Kew, or any of the other charming places I had so diligently researched before our trip. And surprisingly, we didn’t even do “baby” things like the London zoo or the aquarium, or Hamleys.

In Paris, we felt there were fewer “must sees” because it was our fourth trip and we deliberately kept our wish list to a few favorites. Even so, we missed going back to the Rodin Gardens, didn’t see as many street markets as we intended, and didn’t branch out to new places. But hey, all the more reason to go back to both cities.

<i>So what DID we see, you ask? Seems like an excellent segue to the “report” in my report. Thanks for reading this far.</i>

<i>Well, without further ado, here's the Trip Report. </i>

<b>SFO to London on Virgin Atlantic</b>

We knew the baby would be in my arms for much of the flight any way we sliced it, so we splurged for the larger seats in Virgin’s Premium Economy. Even though it’s the same flight crew and food as in Economy, the extra physical space on such a long flight was worth every penny.

It’ll be hard to go back to coach. :O

I was impressed with Virgin after four previous trips with Air France and Alitalia. The flight crew was exceptional and our food was probably the best airline food we’ve ever had. The baby did remarkably well and didn’t cry once on the flight over.

I nursed her during takeoff and landing, and she stayed latched on for much of the flight… so we all got some sleep, too. When she did get a little bored mid-flight, the 85,000 or so stickers I brought worked wonders.

She also played quietly with a friendly woman in front of us who had left her own toddler at home in London for two weeks while she had been in the US on business. She was so excited to see another baby that I thought she might actually grab my daughter and snuggle her the whole flight.

She was very sweet, and told me all about the very potent infant teething remedies—ahem... narcotics... <i>“oh we just knock them out, dear”</i>—available in the UK. She quickly eased my lingering fears of being a possible nuisance to fellow passengers.

Speaking of fellow passengers, I finally met someone who was worthy of the “most annoying” list. The other woman in front of us (not traveling with the previously mentioned woman) seemed to have a set routine for getting upgrades from the airline and she was hell bent on irritating everyone around her.

First, as soon as she saw us, she only half-jokingly said, “Oh, you have a baby? Maybe they’ll upgrade me to Upper Class today.” She then feigned a series of “technical malfunctions,” first with her seat’s leg rest, then with her individual video—both of which were fully functional, but she still asked to move up to Upper Class for the inconvenience of having to call a flight attendant for help. When this wasn’t given, she then demanded a feedback card so she could complain to the higher ups.

Then she had the gall to ask if she could use her free coupon for a massage in Upper Class even though (as 2 flight attendants told her) it stated clearly in big bold lettering that it was valid only when actually <i>flying</i> in upper class. She escalated it to the flight services manager, and when the FSM told her the massages were fully booked anyway, she asked for yet another feedback card and complained about that, too.

We were all relieved when she announced to us all she was taking a valium (hooray) and then (again half jokingly) instructed us all not to wake her.

<i>As if any of us wanted her awake on the flight.</i>

<b>Arrival in London and Ray’s Transfer</b>

The day we arrived in London was sunny and warm, almost balmy. (The first of almost 8 straight days of pretty high temperatures.) We had booked a ride with Ray’s London Transfers, but apparently he had the flu (or perhaps was out enjoying the sunshine) and he sent a colleague with apologies that he couldn’t be there personally.

You might recall that I was a little obsessed about the issue of car seats, but ultimately opted out of dragging ours with us. We’re pretty glad we didn’t bother, since Virgin Airlines wouldn’t have allowed us to use ours on the flight anyway.

But you can imagine my anxiety when Ray’s driver arrived without our requested car seat, and I about had a conniption. He offered to drive to a nearby friend’s house to borrow theirs. He promised he’d be back in 15 minutes, which seemed suspicious given the traffic situation.

For a minute we wondered if he would actually come back for us at all. We had visions of us stranded in the diesel-fumes in the basement of the Heathrow parking lot with too much luggage and no cell reception. But the guy either had magic powers or good car karma, because he was back in exactly 15 minutes.

Never mind that it was a flimsy plastic bucket seat for a small infant and he didn’t even know how to install it. We just wedged our pudgy toddler into the seat and held on tight for the easy drive to our apartment in South Kensington. No harm, no foul, but it was a bumpy end to the first part of our trip, and not the first time we had trouble requesting taxis with car seats.

<b>The Apartment in South Kensington</b>

Our apartment was located on Collingham Place between South Kensington and Earl’s Court, a spacious 2-bedroom 2-bath flat decorated with some lovely artwork and comfortable furniture. The cozy bedrooms faced the very quiet back of the apartment. The tiny courtyard between the cramped brick buildings was shady and cold, inspite of the sunshine everywhere else. I immediately opened up the windows and breathed in the quiet, cool air and my first smell of London. There was a peculiar blend of musty damp bricks, cooking aromas, and a hint of—I think—propane gas, a mix of smells I will forever associate with London and that cozy apartment.

<i>After just a few short minutes I felt so at home there and could have stayed for months.</i>

<b>Day 1—Getting Settled In</b>
The day we landed, we unpacked and settled in. In the evening my in-laws (who are living in London, hence the trip) came over with their little one (our niece). They brought delicious steak pies (I think from “The Pie Man”) and ale.

<b>Day 2—Bus Tour</b>
In the morning I got my first chance to walk around our neighborhood, quickly, while the baby took her nap. In the afternoon, the in-laws joined us for the Original Bus Tour. It was another gorgeous, sunny day, and sitting in the open top with the sun and fresh air helped us fight the jet lag.

As London’s stunning landmarks whizzed by, I filled my digital camera with shots of the London Eye, Parliament and Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, the distinctive pubs, and the colorful bridges. I was struck by how massive and spread out London is, and tried to accept the fact that we would barely be able to scratch the surface of this vibrant city during this visit.

We ended the day with a quick dinner at Chiquita’s in Leicester Square. It’s a pretty mediocre TexMex-themed restaurant (a la “Chevy’s”), but my in-laws were thrilled because they’d been craving Mexican food since leaving Southern California.

<b>Day 3—Lots of Walking</b>
We couldn’t shake the jetlag so we wanted to spend our second day using the remaining time on our 24-hour bus tour tickets. We walked over to a nearby bus stop shown on the tour bus map, but when no bus came we just continued walking up Cromwell Road past the Natural History Museum. We explored swanky side streets like Beachamp Place in Knightsbridge, drooled our way through Harrod’s food halls, cut through Hyde Park, and ultimately made it all the way to Speakers Corner and the bus tour company’s booth—just in time for them to tell us our tickets had expired.

I can laugh about it now, but I think the color drained from my cheeks a little when they showed us the expiration time. I had so hoped to rest a little after all that walking, event though we had enjoyed seeing everything along the way. Apparently, we had only narrowly missed the last tour bus leaving our South Kensington stop, so they reinstated our tickets for a few more hours and offered their apologies for any inconvenience.

That evening for dinner, I was craving a spit roasted chicken I had seen at Harrod’s, though we couldn’t quite fathom spending the equivalent of almost $30 US for a cooked chicken, so we went to Marks &amp; Spencer for one instead and gobbled up a whole box of After Eight mints.

<b>Day 4—Natural History Museum</b>
Finally, the whole family woke up alert and ready for some activity. My parents were probably sick of being chained to us all day, so they took off before we could say “Good morning.” I think they went to the Guildhall while we went up to the Natural History Museum with our daughter. She loved playing outside by the rhino and elephant sculptures, and we spent more time outside than we did inside the museum.

We also walked around South Kensington, but came home early to help get our daughter on a good bedtime routine. For my husband and I, dinner was another yummy roast chicken and potatoes from Marks &amp; Sparks—I must have been craving comfort food. My parents returned well after dark, a little tipsy from the wine bar they discovered.

<i>More to come...</i>

<b>Day 5—A Very Big Day</b>
Our daughter woke up very early, so we <i>thought</i> we could work in a quick visit to the Princess Diana Memorial playground for some playtime before her morning nap. Nice idea. Poorly executed. We mistook the route for a quick walk, then had a tube delay, then turned the wrong direction away from the park, and then after all the effort of getting there it was closed. Until 10 a.m. It was only 9 am at this point and almost time for her nap, so we gave her a few minutes to walk by the geese at the pond, and then hoofed it home through Kensington.

During her nap, my mom had baby duty while we went back up to Kensington High Street in search of our sanity and some adult time. We did some people watching and shopped for a clothes and music, and returned just as the babe was waking from her nap.

Later that day, we went to the British Museum with our whole entourage of the parents and the in-laws. But it was sheer comedy trying to coordinate with two other couples, two babies, diaper changes and naptimes, and the travel time on the Tube.

We finally made it to the museum at 3:30, just in time for afternoon tea—which we all agreed would soothe our nerves and empty tummies. I was initially reluctant to bring the babies into the restaurant upstairs, but it turned out to be a really pleasant experience. The caf&eacute; staff was gracious, if a little slow on the service, and it was a quiet place to sit and take in the stunning glass ceiling. And the scones and tea were delicious.

With our limited remaining time at the British Museum, we strolled slowly through the mummy exhibit, and then down to the first floor on our way to the Elgin Marbles just as the lights started turning off a few minutes before closing time. We vowed we’d definitely come back to the British Museum even if we saw nothing else in London.

That night, my parents insisted they babysit while we try at least one restaurant alone. So we ventured out to an Italian restaurant in Kensington—Meridiana, about a 15-minute walk from our flat. Our mobile phones were on buzz in case the baby woke up screaming. The restaurant was in a residential neighborhood on Marloes Road, and the food was delicious and reasonably priced for London. We sat at one of their outdoor tables and enjoyed the fresh warm air. We had a chance to chat with the owner, Augusto, about the restaurants he had previously managed in San Francisco before moving to London and opening his own.

<i>We were able to stay through dessert, and walked into the apartment just as our girl was starting to stir, ahem, shriek. </i>

<b>Day 6—Strolling Through</b>
While my parents disappeared to Trafalgar Square, we took the tube to St. James Park, which turned out to be my favorite park in London. I liked the close proximity to the Horse Guards and the War Rooms (though we didn’t go into either) and we found a shady spot on the lawn amid the many young London government professionals eating their bag lunches.

While we watched our daughter feed the geese, we felt like a small part of this living, breathing city—sheltered from the hustle and bustle of the “tourist” sites of London.

Later, we walked over to Westminster Abbey, but didn’t go in because it was near closing, so we went instead into the St. Margaret’s Church next door and admired the windows and the artwork before heading home.

From there, we walked all the way home to Collingham Place, giving us a chance to stroll through more neighborhoods—through St. James Park, by Buckingham Palace, along Green Park, through Belgravia, to Knightsbridge.

On a whim, we made a pit stop at the Basil Street Hotel, sort of behind and a few blocks away from Harrods, for afternoon tea. They were very welcoming with the baby, and the room was almost empty, probably because it was at the end of “tea-time” on a weekday. I loved the quiet, the chintz pillows and comfy (though a bit worn) chairs and sofas. Since I wasn’t a great tea aficionado before this trip, this more traditional setting was an interesting contrast to the chic, modern architecture and haute cuisine of the British Museum. Not better or worse, just different.

I have to admit that finger sandwiches don’t do it for me. I’m much more of a scone and dessert kind of gal.

Leaving the Basil Street Hotel, we walked home through Brompton, Old Brompton Road, and into South Kensington in time to get our girl down for bed.

<i>I was so exhausted from the walking and afternoon tea that I scrambled some eggs for dinner and stumbled into bed.</i>

<b>Day 7—British Museum and Fish &amp; Chips</b>

When my daughter woke up at the ungodly hour of 5 am, I was barely functional and demanded that my husband entertain her while I slept more. At some point he put her into bed with me for her nap, and we both woke up hours later—refreshed, but with the morning lost.

And my husband had relieved my parents of their naptime responsibilities, so they promptly left for the day.

So I woke up grumbling that our time in London was flying by, and cranky that I had slept through one of our only remaining chances to leave the baby with mom and go back up to Harrods to dream up ways we could spend half our mortgage on food.

At some point that afternoon, we were supposed to meet up with my parents at the British Museum. So we decided to head over to Bloomsbury on the Tube, with a pit stop to Bloomsbury Square to let my daughter chase pigeons.

Hungry for lunch, we detoured over to North Sea Fish (recommended a lot here on Fodors) for fish and chips. But it was starting to rain, and there wasn’t a good dry place to eat outside, so we sprinted to the British Museum with our takeaway bags.

It was there, at the downstairs cafeteria tables, that we enjoyed our delicious, greasy, malty, crispy fish and chips.

After our quick lunch, we went in to see the clock room, which my husband had seen 20 years ago as a teenager. It’s a remarkable exhibit, with amazing specimens of early clock designs.

We arrived right on the hour, when many of the clocks started chiming—an added delight for our daughter who did a cute, wobbly-legged “dance” whenever she heard the music.

From there, we went down to the ground floor for the Elgin Marbles. Controversy over ownership aside, it’s incredible to be able to see these well-preserved artifacts from the ancient world. We spent a long time just enjoying the sculptures, which is where my parents found us a little while later.

Not wanting to miss an opportunity for our daily dose of mid-afternoon carbohydrates and fragrant hot beverages, we went back up to the restaurant for afternoon tea.

Afterwards, my husband and his brother left to go out to a pub for some brotherly bonding, leaving my parents and the baby and I to get ourselves home on the Tube.

But before we left the area, we detoured back to North Sea Fish for more fish and chips—tightly sealed our takeout orders into plastic shopping bags so we could transport them on the Tube to enjoy later, after the baby went to sleep. Even reheated, it was delicious.

<i>More to come...</i>

skatterfly, I'm really looking forward to the balance of your report!

Wonderful report! I have a 14 month old daughter, and I can just picture yours dancing in the clock room and happily chasing pigeons.

Thanks for the report and advice!

<b>Day 8—Family Obligations, Notting Hill, and Harrod's</b>
In the morning my parents took off to Kew Gardens, a daytrip I would have loved to do if we didn’t have plans to have breakfast with the in-laws over in Notting Hill. Family obligations.

After seeing their postage-stamp-sized apartment and strolling over to their gated members-only park, we ate a delicious breakfast at Electric—a popular caf&eacute; in Notting Hill that apparently does dinners as well as their great breakfasts, and there seemed to be lots of young hip singles as well as plenty of families.

We also wandered through some of the Portobello Road market, then said our “goodbyes” so the kids could get their respective naps.

As our daughter slept in the stroller, we walked back from Notting Hill to Kensington Palace past some swanky residential streets with large mansions and diplomatic residences.

Then we continued through Hyde Park and back to Harrod’s food halls to feast our eyes (and tummies) on the amazing prepared foods. This was definitely foodie heaven. Something for almost every mood or craving.

Even though I had heard Krispy Kreme was &quot;popular&quot; in London, I was still surprised that the line at the Krispy Kreme counter was all the way up the stairs to the next floor. What’s the world coming to?

Knowing we wouldn't make it to Hamley's, we went up to the children's floor, passed on the corny Harrod's bears wearing the union jack, and headed home for the night.

<b>Day 9—Evensong, and our Last Night in London</b>
On our last day in London, we realized that our one remaining “must-see” was Evensong at Saint Paul's Cathedral. So we all kept our daytime activities pretty quiet, staying around the apartment and packing for our journey to Paris the next day.

In the late afternoon, our entire entourage, including my brother-in-law, hopped on the Tube for Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

Evensong was truly one of the trip highlights for us. The signing was glorious, and my daughter lit up when she heard those first high notes. When she got a little bored and started to fuss, the church's ushers eagerly invited me into an empty roped off section to let her crawl around the chairs so I didn't have to miss the service.

Unfortunately, since no photos are allowed inside the church, I have only my memories and a couple postcards I bought downstairs in the crypt shop to remember the magnificent interior.

Afterwards, my husband went off to the London Eye with his brother, leaving me and the baby with my parents to navigate the Tube home alone. I vaguely recall munching on the remaining bits of food we had in the fridge: scrambled eggs, toast and jam, salad, and some more after dinner mints.

This being our last night in London, I kept thinking how much I had enjoyed this city. I wished we could stay longer, even though it felt like we had already been there for weeks.

<i>I fell asleep in anticipation of our train ride to Paris and what it would be like to be back in my favorite city, this time with my baby.</i>

<b>Day 10—Eurostar from London to Paris, also known as &quot;How (Not) to Miss Your Train&quot;</b>
We should have known things were going to be bad when we had our first day of ourtright soggy, cold rain after 8 previous days of sunshine.

Of course, now we know we <i>should have</i> booked a taxi the night before. But at the time, we mistakenly assumed that we could just grab a taxi at the nearby hotel where dozens of open cabs had sat empty and waiting for fares every other day of our trip.

But then it rained. And it was commute time. And then there was a massive security stoppage on the Tube that halted all service for about an hour.

We watched as more and more people started filing out of Gloucester Tube station like ants. The competition for a cab was fierce, with people scattering over all different corners and not a single taxi was empty.

So we went back into the tube station when it reopened. We mapped out the easiest route to Waterloo with the best transfer spot given our luggage, stroller, and entourage. And we arrived at Waterloo just barely in time to catch our 11 am train.

<i>Except that the train that I told everyone left at 11 am actually left at 10:40. Ooops, my bad.</i>

We ultimately arrived with only 9 minutes to spare, and they wouldn’t even allow us through security with such a short window. Thank heavens for the well-documented Tube delay—they put us on the next train and reissued our tickets at no charge.

But had they known it was my mistake, we would have been out a small fortune to buy new tickets at full price. It was terribly embarrassing, and I’ve never missed a train when traveling. I guess the constant sleep deprivation of being a new parent has probably killed some brain cells.

Needless to say, I’m no longer in charge of carrying the train tickets.

<i>At least we made it to Paris.</i>

<b>Ahh… Paris and Saint Germain des Pres</b>
From the moment I stepped out of Gare du Nord and saw the ubiquitous gold-hued stone buildings and wrought iron balconies, I knew I was back “home” in Paris.

We waited in a long line for a taxi, and for a moment fretted about the lack of a car seat. But after days in London, I had relaxed a bit about the taxis, and figured out a way to restrain her to my body using a handy fleece sling I had brought on the trip at the last minute. Though she rarely rode in it as a carrier, it served us well as a blanket, pillow, and seatbelt during the trip.

When we stepped into our apartment on in the Saint Germain des Pres, it quite simply took my breath away. The interior d&eacute;cor was exquisite, with a mix of antiques and custom made pieces, faux finished walls, hand-made light fixtures, and a tiny gourmet kitchen with stainless appliances. The 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms came in handy too, since my in-laws had invited themselves to Paris for a few days—i.e. free accommodation.

We were located a short walking distance to Saint Sulpice, and only a few minutes more to the Luxembourg Gardens in one direction and rue de Buci in the other direction.

I started taking pictures of the apartment while it was still glorious, tidy and elegant—before we spoiled the illusion with luggage and baby toys. After I pulled my jaw off the floor, my only other order of business that evening was getting the baby situated. So mom stayed with me to help with her bath, and the men went out in search of dinner.

They returned with wine, and salad greens, and the most amazing quiche from Gerard Mulot filled with fine herbs and goat cheese.

Skatterfly:

I was right there with you the whole trip. What evocative writing! You deserve a publisher who pays.
Make sure you have a hard copy of this report. Your daughter is going to love reading it in 20 years or so.

Virginia

Oh, this is wonderful! I remember your posts while you were planning, thank you so much for taking the time to write a report, I am really enjoying this! Could you write a little about how you booked your apartments? If you don't want to give a way a secret, that's ok too!

Your apartment in Paris sounds fabulous! I'd LOVE to stay there on my next visit...wish I knew when that would be ;)

How did your parents like Kew? Weather permitting, I am thinking of going next week. Any idea what kinds of flowers were there?

<b>Day 11—Strolling to the Seine</b>
The next morning we decided to unpack and settle in while my daughter napped. But as soon as woke up, we threw her into the stroller, and set out in the direction of the Seine, with no plans except to enjoy being there.

First we walked through Boulevard Saint Germain, down rue Bellechasse, towards the Musee D’Orsay and then onto the Seine.

Along the way I stopped into the Annick Goutal boutique near the D'Orsay, and impulsively bought my favorite fragrance—I've learned that with a baby you always do things “now.” We weren’t certain if, or when, we’d make it back to the Annick Goutal boutique that was only blocks from our apartment in Saint Sulpice, so there was no time like the present.

From there, we walked across the Passerelle Solferino and took in a 360-degree view of the Seine, the Musee D’Orsay, and—on our left in the distance—the Palais du Louvre. Just looking at the exterior of that massive palace, it’s obvious why it can take a lifetime of visiting to see all the artwork. We’d already been to the Louvre a couple times, so were content to see it from afar this trip.

We then wandered through the Tuileries, and let my daughter ride the carousel and chase pigeons by the playground.

It was also in the Tuileries—in the open gravel square by the water fountain, surrounded by Parisiens eating their lunches—that we had our first real experience with beggars hassling the tourists in Paris.

In all our previous trips to Paris in the last decade, I had only seen “gypsies” on the metro, and only a couple times. This time, the roving pairs of young girls, dressed head to toe in dirty skirts and headscarves, were aggressively asking people “Speaky English?”

Later in the trip we saw these same groups of girls at the tiny, gated Cloisters Garden at Notre Dame. Although they were harmless, it was unsettling and sad to see them looking for targets in these two relatively peaceful, not-overtly &quot;touristy&quot; spots.

<i>Then again, the world has changed a lot in the last 10 years. I'd be naive to think that Paris hadn't changed a little itself.</i>

Before heading back to the apartment, we took some great pictures of our daughter in front of the Louvre—in spite of the huge crane doing work on the Pyramide.

We walked across the Pont Royal and past my favorite Hotel du Quai Voltaire along the Seine. Our days of staying in a noisy but romantic hotel on the Seine are long gone, but it was fun popping in and picking up a brochure.

I am not kidding when I tell you the host (a new man I don't know) misunderstood me when I told him we said we had stayed there before. <i>He thought our daughter was a little souvenir.</i>

After that funny mixup, we window shopped and strolled up Rue du Bac, then turned left onto Rue Jacob past the many art galleries and fabric stores.

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I rang my mom, and we all agreed to meet up at the Marche Buci for dinner accoutrements.

Along the way we saw the Bistro de Paris and La Boissoniere recommended so often here at Fodor’s. We stopped to read the menus but sighed because we knew our chances of making it to either place on this trip were slim to none.

That night for dinner, we grabbed a roasted Poulet Fermier with potatoes from the meat vendor in Marche Buci, and stocked up on more delicious cheeses from La Fromagerie 31.

<b>Day 12—The Musee D'Orsay, also known as The Day My Parents Worked My Last Nerve</b>
I had <i>optimistic</i> plans to share the Musee D’Orsay—my absolute favorite museum in the world—with my parents.

But this turned into one of those days when the stresses of traveling with another couple, living in close quarters, and parenting a fussy child—meaning me with my daughter <i>and</i> my mom with me—started to grate on all our nerves.

The weather was colder than all our previous days, so my father quickly shot down my suggestion of sitting outside and eating delicious crusty baguette sandwiches from Patisserie Paul.

Then the baby started to cry in the museum, so my husband and I ran for one of the pedestrian bridges and passed the time on a bench, enjoying the views while my daughter nursed a little. After she settled down, we returned to the D’Orsay for a quick run through the Impressionist floor so I could revisited some of my favorite paintings.

Afterwards, we went up to the Grand Epicerie at Bon Marche and assembled ingredients for a wonderful dinner. We bought a large filet of a bass-like fish (can’t remember the name) that we poached in a light tomato-based, gazpacho-like soup.

We finished the meal with more cheeses from Berthelemy. I had essentially given up all dairy after having my daughter for health reasons, but fell very hard off the wagon in Paris. My waistline still hasn't recovered from the trip, but it was definitely worth it.

<i>And the wonderful Burgundy we discovered at the local wine shop that afternoon certainly lightened the tense moods before we all went to bed that night.</i>

<b>Day 13—Notre Dame</b>
Needing a quieter day, we slowed our pace and stayed in the apartment until after naptime, when we ventured over to Notre Dame.

Not wanting to waste a minute of our daughter’s awake time, we decided to take the Metro to get there quickly—even though it involved a correspondance.

But at our transfer station, my mom got so distracted trying to help me off the train with the baby that she got stuck on the train, leaving us on the platform while she whizzed away with a look of panic on her face.

You’d think with all of us having cell phones, the easiest solution would be to go above ground and call each other. Or better yet, my mom is a confident, seasoned traveler—she could have figured out how to get to Notre Dame pretty easily on her own.

But instead, my father wanted to wait on the platform for her, and about 15 minutes later my frazzled and very embarrassed mom stumbled off a returning train. But only after struggling with the door latch again and almost missing this stop, too. Probably the only time I’ve seen that many smiles from non-Americans in Paris, all waving goodbye to her.

We came up from the Metro at the exotic flower market facing the historic police building on the square (I can’t think of the name). Hanging from the stone facade were massive banners with life-sized black and white photos commemorating the liberation of Paris. How easy it is to forget that a mere 50 years ago Paris (like all other cities in Europe) was a war zone. This was a somber reminder.

So we walked towards Notre Dame and headed straight for the intimate Cloisters gardens behind the Cathedral. There, we ate crepes from a stand across the street, took lots of photos, and watched the baby chase the pigeons.

The sun was back, and the sky was a deep blue and filled with the white puffy clouds that I always associate with Paris. The effect was almost painterly, and it reminded me of the ceiling frescoes inside the Louvre. Like white cotton candy on a sea of blue velvet. It was peaceful, and surreal, and just what we needed.

What a wonderful, honest, refreshing report.

After we left the Cloisters garden, we crossed over to the Ile St Louis in search of the famous Berthillon ice cream.

My husband had what I <i>used</i> to call a &quot;gelato moment&quot;—named after his propensity to order practically one of each flavor in the Gelaterie. It has temporarily been renamed renamed a &quot;Berthillon moment.&quot;

My husband is a marathon runner, so he usually can excuse (or at least rationalize) his fierce sweet tooth. But out of respect for the rest of us metabolically-challenged non-runners, he politely reigned himself in at just a few of flavors—cafe, green apple, and something like blackberry cabernet.

I ordered dark chocolate—<i>you just can't go wrong with chocolate</i>—and proceeded to share most of it with him and our daughter.

This was really the first time we had ever given her ice cream, and she quickly gobbled it up. She comes by her sweet tooth honestly, I suppose.

We captured a great shot of her face covered in dark chocolate. It was no surprise that her second word learned on this trip was &quot;chock-lit.&quot; (Second only to &quot;bus,&quot; which she shouted every time we saw a red double decker—or garbage truck, or fire engine, or delivery van—in London.

Our in-laws were due to arrive from London that afternoon, so my husband and I took the Metro back home to welcome them.

My parents were having too much fun exploring the Ile to help with my in-laws, so we gave them a &quot;get out of jail free card&quot; to enjoy the rest of the evening alone.

<b>Day 14—Back to Notre Dame</b>
The next morning, my parents took an early train to Chartres, eager to join Malcolm Miller's tour after seeing him speak once in San Francisco at Grace Cathedral.

This was their second side trip that I would have enjoyed taking with them, but it didn't seem feasible with the baby and the train times.

Not to mention, I had those darned in-laws, who woke up and announced that their baby was running a fever. Turns out she had been &quot;a little stuffy&quot; in London. <i>Oh yeah, and her playmate was being treated for strep throat back in London. We didn't think it would be a problem. Oops, we're sorry.</i>

I should have been more sympathetic, but they're not what I'd call the most &quot;responsible&quot; parents. I was furious with their lack of courtesy, exposing the rest of us to some nasty germfest a few days before we had our flight home. I. Was. Not. Happy.

So my sister-in-law reluctantly stayed back with my niece while we returned to Notre Dame with my brother-in-law. Luckily, I never tire of its stony gargoyles, the stained glass, and the peaceful Cloister gardens.

Inside the Cathedral, there were hordes of tourists—including a loud couple with matching Texas sweatshirts and khaki short. While I sat at one of the altars admiring the Rose windows, Team Texas asked me if the prayer candles were souvenirs.

I wandered away from the crowds and into a tiny side chapel set with benches and an altar for praying. I snuggled my daughter—grateful to be there with her in that magnificent Cathedral on a sunny Fall day in Paris.

<b>Day 14—Back to Notre Dame</b>
The next morning, my parents took an early train to Chartres, eager to join Malcolm Miller's tour after seeing him speak in San Francisco at Grace Cathedral. I would have loved to go, but it didn't seem feasible with the baby and train schedule.

Not to mention, I had those darned in-laws, who woke up and announced that their baby was running a fever. Turns out she had been &quot;a little stuffy&quot; in London. <i>Oh yeah, and her playmate was being treated for strep throat back in London. Didn't think it would be a problem. Oops, we're sorry.</i>

I should have been more sympathetic, but they're not what I'd call the most &quot;responsible&quot; parents. I was furious with their lack of courtesy, exposing the rest of us to some nasty germfest a few days before we had our flight home. I. Was. Not. Happy.

My sister-in-law reluctantly stayed home with her baby, and we returned to Notre Dame with my brother-in-law. Luckily, I never tire of its stony gargoyles, the stained glass, and the peaceful Cloister gardens.

Inside the Cathedral, there were hordes of tourists—including a <i>lovely</i> couple in matching Texas sweatshirts and khaki shorts who asked me if the prayer candles were souvenirs.

I wandered into a tiny side chapel, sat down on a bench to pray, and held my daughter close—grateful to be there with her in that magnificent Cathedral on a sunny Fall day in Paris.

Back outside in the bright blue skies, we walked around to the Cloisters garden for more crepes, then started the long walk home along the Seine, over Pont Neuf, and up through Marche Buci to “our” neighborhood.

When we returned to the house, my niece was worse, my sister-in-law was running on empty, and we decided to cancel our reservations at Bastide D’Odeon.

Freed from babysitting duties, my parents went out to dinner alone, and the boys went foraging at the Bon Marche for something fun for dinner.

They returned with a eclectic but delicious combination of indulgences: a wedge of duck liver mousse, some tortellini, a steak, and these delicious pre-packaged molten chocolate souffl&eacute; cakes you just warm in the oven and serve.

You could say we had our own <i>Moveable Feast.</i> We hovered over the counter, eating as we cooked, whispering in the kitchen so we didn’t wake the children.

<b>Day 15—The Eiffel Tower, House Music, and a Very Long Walk</b>
The next morning, my in-laws kept their plans to meet friends for brunch, so we joined my parents in search of the Saxe-Bretuil market near the Ecole Militaire.

It was another gorgeous day, with the distinctive white clouds against deep blue skies. We emerged from the metro, walked twards the the Parc du Champ de Mars. I had been on top of, and directly under, the Eiffel Tower. But we were stunned when we saw it from this vantage oint, flanked on either side by manicured lawns and Plane trees.

We spent some time at the striking Peace Wall sculpture at the entry of the Champ de Mars, and watched as dozens of Parisian families converged on the lawns for picnics. I was surprised to see that mommy's groups look pretty much the same whether in Paris or Suburbia, USA.

When we finally found the Marche Saxe, it was overrun with the older Parisiennes, antsy to get past me and the stroller. There were few other tourists, and my parents stayed longer to explore this undiscovered neighborhood while we returned to the Champ du Mars to retrieve the in-laws from their brunch.

Our daughter seemed to be coming down with my niece's cold, so we abandoned the in-laws on the way to the Rodin Museum and tried to hail a cab back to the apartment for some rest.

But there was some special parade—complete with house music and floats—going right through the middle of the Saint Germain des Pres that afternoon. We couldn't find a single taxi willing to take us even close to our apartment with all the road closures.

Hoping our daughter would sleep in her stroller, we decided to walk home along the quiet residential streets of the 7th, starting at the Eiffel tower, up and around Invalides, and back toward our apartment.

Along the way we discovered the Rue Cler, the open-air market made popular by Rick Steves. I'll admit it's charming, with its cobblestone streets and famous merchants. But I’m glad we didn’t spend time deliberately seeking it out, since there are so many other open air markets in Paris that offer the same goodies without all the crowds.

As we strolled through the quiet residential streets, we saw children playing in the street, people buying their groceries at little shops, and lots of elderly Parisiens out in their &quot;Sunday best.&quot;