Paris & London Trip Report: Skatterfly's Virgin Voyage with Toddler
May 3rd, 2005, 03:04 PM
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<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 café 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 "popular" 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.
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 café 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 "popular" 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.
May 3rd, 2005, 03:07 PM
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<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>
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>
May 3rd, 2005, 03:55 PM
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<b>Day 10—Eurostar from London to Paris, also known as "How (Not) to Miss Your Train"</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>
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>
May 3rd, 2005, 04:08 PM
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<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 décor 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.
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 décor 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.
May 3rd, 2005, 04:25 PM
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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
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
May 3rd, 2005, 04:28 PM
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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!
May 3rd, 2005, 04:57 PM
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<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 "touristy" 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>
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 "touristy" 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>
May 3rd, 2005, 05:17 PM
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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.
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.
May 3rd, 2005, 05:20 PM
#32
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<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>
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>
May 3rd, 2005, 05:44 PM
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<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.
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.
May 3rd, 2005, 08:05 PM
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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 "gelato moment"—named after his propensity to order practically one of each flavor in the Gelaterie. It has temporarily been renamed renamed a "Berthillon moment."
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 "chock-lit." (Second only to "bus," 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 "get out of jail free card" to enjoy the rest of the evening alone.
My husband had what I <i>used</i> to call a "gelato moment"—named after his propensity to order practically one of each flavor in the Gelaterie. It has temporarily been renamed renamed a "Berthillon moment."
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 "chock-lit." (Second only to "bus," 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 "get out of jail free card" to enjoy the rest of the evening alone.
May 3rd, 2005, 10:33 PM
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<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 "a little stuffy" 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 "responsible" 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.
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 "a little stuffy" 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 "responsible" 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.
May 3rd, 2005, 10:38 PM
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<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 "a little stuffy" 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 "responsible" 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.
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 "a little stuffy" 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 "responsible" 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.
May 3rd, 2005, 10:44 PM
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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 soufflé 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.
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 soufflé 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.
May 3rd, 2005, 11:11 PM
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<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.
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.
May 3rd, 2005, 11:12 PM
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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 "Sunday best."
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 "Sunday best."
