Here is a video of her birthday card being shown on milkshake!, a program on Channel 5. I was ALMOST ready to record it, but was (of course) looking away when Eli said (and then I CLEVERLY repeated) “What THE?” Lana had been watching the interstitial programming with Finley since shortly after 6:30am, with Finley unaware of what might be happening– the scheme has been in process for weeks now, as you are instructed to send in your card a month in advance, with no guarantee that they will show the card… so it has all been a little fraught. And, of course, Lana had been forced to leave for work minutes before the card aired (or, at least, another OPPORTUNITY for the card to air), so the possible-recording was even more important. Anyway, here is such video as we have (please ignore my inane babbling in the background):
And here is a picture of the original card:
Finley's Fourth Birthday Card-- Please Note The Glitter Paper Lettering!
With glitter, less is more. The milkshake! team are a shiny bunch of people but we’d prefer not to be sparkling from head to toe! If you’d like your card to sparkle why not try using glitter paper instead!
So, we used glitter AND glitter paper! The final result displays, I think, a slight twist on the old Hooter’s slogan– “Delightfully tacky, yet SO refined…”
The second part of the EPIC Paris travelogue commences here. (Also, as an added bonus for those who need a review after being away from the story for a day, I went through and added some images to yesterday’s post.) I really am going to try and channel my verbosity into another, more positive vector, because otherwise our five day trip to Paris is going to somehow occupy a month of time in the retelling. Not right. Given that Part One covered Saturday, this post will commence with Sunday morning. Or, perhaps, a bit earlier…
We woke up for breakfast at approximately 2:30am– or, more to the point, Sawyer woke up around 2:30, and decided to entertain the suite with a medley of songs of pain and (teething) suffering for several hours. This was when our love for our Hotel began to bloom, as we were not summarily escorted into the street for an airport-landing-strip-level sound disturbance. Sawyer finally thought her point was made at about 5:30, so we decided to ruminate on her thesis of pain for a few hours before going down to have our petit dejeuner (breakfast) in the hotel breakfast room. We enjoyed this experience enough that we decided to repeat it each morning– there was an additional cost of 12€ per adult’s breakfast, but that seemed competitive, and the food was fresh & good: bread, meat, cheese, cereals, juices, coffee or hot chocolate, and a selection of small sweet breads (pain au chocolate, etc.). We felt more human after an injection of caffeine, and the kids (who SOMEHOW had missed the three hours of baby pain) were happy to get started on the day. We left, and took the Métro to the Luxembourg Gardens.
I should refer, at this point, to my long-winded post concerning Strollers & The Tube; taking the Métro was far easier culturally, but somewhat harder physically. It is far simpler to get a stroller into the Métro cars than into a Tube car, and once you are aboard, the doors open consistently on one side (as opposed to the random platforming on The Tube lines), so riding once aboard is generally easier. (There are several varieties of Métro car in service, BTW, all of which were FASCINATING to Eli– as in, we had to compulsively look them up individually on the computer. THAT kind of fascinating.) However, getting to the platform itself can be somewhat daunting. There are fewer escalators (at least on the lines we took– the 1, 4, 6, 9, and 10) than there are in the Tube system. And there are hella steps, ohmigod. Given all the mileage of the pedestrian tunnels of the Métro, you wonder how there can be room for those famous Paris catacombs, let alone BASEMENTS under buildings. I mentioned, I think, in Strollers & The Tube that there are a surprising number of people in London who anonymously appear with a ready hand when they see you struggling with a baby buggy on the steps, which is awesome, and happens even MORE frequently in Paris– and on this trip, we were traveling as a unit, so Lana and I were able to do our own double-teaming– but no matter how many helpful strangers there are, the number of steps does not diminish. Also, some of the automatic entrance/exit gates tried to munch Lana and I. However, any discomforts were compensated for by the incredible interest the French seem to have in children and babies. The kids had many MANY people willing to pull faces or otherwise interact with them on the trains; we emphasized this positive experience by trying not to travel at commuter-heavy times, so that the expansive mass of our family was not (literally) pressing itself on the French general public. All in all, a significantly more pleasant experience than traveling in The Tube with children.
The children’s play area at the Luxembourg Gardens (which was our first stop within the rather large grounds) is pretty incredible. It was huge, with a variety of equipment for all ages & sizes, and kept the kids running from one thing to the next. It cost 1.50€ for each adult, and 2.50€ for each child; this seemed worthwhile, especially when you factored in access to clean toilets (access to which elsewhere in the Garden cost about 1.50€).
Yes, We Had To Stop Lana From Playing On The Equipment.
After the enclosed children’s area, Finley desperately wanted to go on a nearby carousel. Eli & Finley rode, with Finley on the outside so that she could “joust” for the rings. I include a video of Finley successfully getting a brass ring here:
Then, after all the jousting, folks were hungry. We had crêpes beurre sucre (crêpes with butter and sugar) from the cafe stand next to the Marionette Theatre– delicious. It will be important to future family re-tellings of this story that, at this point, Finley said (rather adamantly, and WAY TOO PIERCINGLY) that she did NOT like crêpes— which (of course) changed in the course of this trip. We walked out of the Garden going south (toward the Paris Observatory), and walked to the Fondation Cartier, a permanent exhibition space founded by… you guessed it, Cartier… currently featuring a retrospective exhibit of one of my favorite graphic artists, Moebius. Sawyer’s reception of the exhibit may have been influenced by her reduced sleep, teething, or (perhaps) by her age. She was unimpressed. Eli was well into it, especially the 3D movie that was part of the exhibition (it was pretty awesome); Finley’s interest waxed & waned; Lana did well as the partner-who-suffers-through-the-other-person’s-slightly-ridiculous-interests… and hey, maybe I will end up returning the favor when we head to Dickens World (although I AM actually looking forward to that– don’t tell her). For the comics-informed readership, I will say that the collection was awesome, and seeing some of the original sketchbooks for Arzach (written, it would seem, in a large Moleskine?), Silver Surfer: Parable, and (my favorite) Major Grubert of The Airtight Garage was really cool. From there, we walked/dragged/carried each other (Finley was tired) back to the hotel. Lana held the kids down and/or together, whilst I headed out to find some bread & cheese for a late lunch.
This was a little more difficult than it initially seemed. I found a wonderful boulangerie right off the bat– which went by the unlikely name of “Passion Forest“– but I was unable to find any cheese for purchase. This is because Paris closes much of itself down on Sunday, which seems like a fine, quirkily “European” idea, until you can’t find any cheese. I WAS able to find something else, though. I bought Lana (and the rest of us, really) some of the most beautiful marzipan fruits I have ever seen.
Yes, She Was Made To Share.
The shop was called Desgranges, and was beautiful (both the contents AND the shop itself– the shop looked like a Tiffany box full of candy jewels). Candies and sweets of every size and description. Chocolates. Tarts. Huge meringues I could have dropped an engine in & driven home. Oh, yes– and macarons, in every color and flavour. I also brought a dozen of THOSE bad boys home. (Sadly, they suffered a little at the hands of our children before being consumed; one was trod upon, and another …ahem… farted upon. Accidentally. I will only tantalize you with that tidbit, and not launch into the whole gnarly story.) So that constituted a late lunch. We tried to cajole/force/demand that the kids nap for a little while, as their various behaviours were becoming… excessive. That sort of worked; after an hour or so we decided they would be able (probably) to keep it together through dinner.
For dinner, we went to Le Brasier. We went entirely on the recommendation of the desk clerk at the hotel; I wish we had gotten his name, as he went out of his way to help us & gave great advice. He had described it as being “very traditional,” which it was. The interior had rustic elements with fun, dated colours and seemed perfect. Each table had a small electric grill set into the surface of the tabletop at either end (necessitating Sawyer’s placement in the middle of the table, for once, and some terribly serious instruction to the children); on these grills were set two of the house specialties– fondue savoyardes (bread dipped in hot cheese) and fondue bourguignonne (meat dipped in hot oil). This was fantastic. Not just super tasty– the fact that we got food at all was fantastic. Lana had taken French in High School & College, and I had taken it in College as well; regardless of our academic achievements, our conversational skills were, how you say, lacking? The incredibly polite and humorous had limited English, and was trying to confirm my badly butchered order for the children (he had gotten the adult orders before, assisted by us pointing directly at the items on the menu)– I was asking for “pain au beurre pour les enfants, s’il vous plait” (my attempt at “bread with butter for the kids, if you please”) and he was looking stupefied. He said with a half-grin, “A bull?” I shook my head no. The grin grew. “A, how you say, umbrella?” Again, I shook my head, smiling myself. Lana was so stunned / entertained by the mistranslation that she couldn’t try and elucidate on my behalf. I took a crayon and scrap of paper from the kids, and wrote my pidgin phrase out. He smiled deeply, and said, “Ah. Your French is very good. But not for speaking.” The meal was delicious, and the kids thoroughly enjoyed their bull and umbrella (by which I mean bread), along with servings of our meat & cheese. (We did not bother dipping Sawyer’s Cheerios or disgustingly-gnawed hunks of bread in anything– she is less “adventurous” than the other two.)
Sawyer Being Told She Cannot Have The Mousse.
And then we retired to the hotel. End of Day Two. Looking at the length here, I believe I will save Day Three for another post. I am not doing well on the “brevity” tip.
First and Foremost, thank you, every citizen of the interwebs who answered the question “What Should We Do In Paris?” We took many of you up on your suggestions, and the trip was incredible.
I have been writing away at this EPIC travelogue for three days now (though the quality of writing obviously does NOT reflect the inordinate amount of time spent); in order to prove that SOMETHING is happening, I have decided to publish bits and pieces episodically. Additionally, doing it this way will have the benefit of (undoubtedly) making everything that much harder to understand.
To begin: we traveled (as has been mentioned before) via Eurostar, through the Chunnel tube. And, as anticipated, the Chunnel turned out to be a tunnel through the earth under the English Channel, and NOT a tube of “plastic, like, laying on the ocean floor,” regardless of Elijah’s heartfelt wishes to the contrary.
Sidenote: though the Eurostar was SO MUCH EASIER (and convenient) than an international flight– I can’t even do it justice here, it was awesome– I was put off, just a bit, by the transit through the tunnel itself, and for a pretty lame reason. I feel like a wimp for saying it, but I found the pressure differential once we hit the tunnel entrance fairly uncomfortable for my sinuses and ears. (I took some pre-emptive decongestant before we left on the return trip, and it really seemed to help– Lana’s suggestions that I “man up” was undoubtedly part of the cure as well). People with complicated sinus passages who are about to try the Eurostar out, take note.
Regardless, we arrived on Saturday afternoon, checked in at our accommodations, The Hôtel Royal Magda Etoile, (in the 17th Arrondissement) and headed back out to buy sandwiches from a nearby Eric Kayser. I would highly recommend both of these institutions. The “junior suite” we occupied at the hotel was perfect for our family of five, with spacious rooms (spacious in the European sense– I do not mean to suggest “spacious” in the suburban midwestern sense), and a wonderful staff; the desk staff in particular were incredibly helpful, and volunteered to help with reservations/phone interactions in general, which was very re-assuring. Eric Kayser is a self-identified “craftsman baker” with several storefronts throughout Paris; AND, regardless of any artisanal claims, the bread was incredible (though slightly more expensive than other neighborhood boulangeries).
We returned to our rooms to eat (necessary, as this Kayser location had no tables), and struck out into the city. A gentle rain had started, but was pleasant enough for walking in– nicer, really, than the English rain we’ve recently had. We walked down the Champs-Élysées from the Arc de Triomphe (just a street away from our hotel). Edit: A Picture!
Eli Forgot We Had Been To The Arc de Triomphe Six Hours Later.
…toward The Louvre (which, we were informed whilst we were there, is now to be referred to as the Grand Louvre. Ooooh Aaaah.). We planned to walk to a restaurant called Le Relais d’Entrecôte just off of Georges V for dinner, but ran into our first meal time hurdle; Le Relais, like many other restaurants in Paris, did not begin to serve until 7:00pm. This policy of late(r) opening for dinner factored into many mealtime equations in the following days; we are already anticipating creative solutions for our visit to Barcelona, where dinner openings begin at 9:30 (at the earliest!). To bide time, we walked back a little ways to another restaurant we had seen which was already open and serving called Hippopotamus; we were a little excited, as Lana thought initially that it was an establishment one of her past students had recommended. We were later to realize that it was “The Zebra” that had been recommended– Un Zèbre à Montmartre— and her confusion was forgivable, right? (She teaches English, not Zoology.) Anyway, we took seats at the bar, and (sadly) shortly decided that we didn’t need another Applebee’s in our lives. In the restaurant’s defense, it should be said that the server who helped us was very nice. (As a matter of fact, we did not meet a single example of the famous “French Waiter” stereotype during our entire stay, and frankly, I feel a bit cheated.)
After drinking some overpriced apéritifs, we headed back over to Le Relais, and joined the line which had appeared whilst we were gone. Our friend Charlie had recommended this place, noting that they “only serve one thing– steak frites– yum!” Which was exactly right, down to the “yum!” You sit, they ask you for your drink order, if you want “the salad,” and how you want your steak. Then, they bring you “the salad,” followed by your steak & frites (meat pre-cut!), followed by a 2nd round of steak & frites, and end with a dessert (if you want one). That is basically it. And it is GOOD. The steak is sauced with their special recipe, and that serves as all the decoration and embellishment you get. For those who know the beauty of a late-night Dick’s burger on Capitol Hill (where the choices are few, but the basic item is delicious), this dinner was much the same. A great way to start dining in Paris.
We finished dinner & dessert (Eli discovering the joys of crepes with caramel & beurre salé, Finley trying profiteroles with dark chocolate), and walked toward the (now beautifully lit) Eiffel Tower. The kids were gobsmacked, and I was as well; Lana was better prepared, having seen it before, but we were ALL well impressed. It looked wonderful against the overcast sky, and was probably worth the cost of the visit just for the kids reactions. Edit: Another Picture!
Finley Thought It Looked Like It Was Made Of Butter.
After staring at the Tower for a while, we queued up for a boat tour of the Seine. The night-tour was lovely, even though my expectations of someone jumping (or driving) off of one of the bridges onto the tour boat à la James Bond were unfulfilled. Once I have done some sorting and uploading of images (I took, like, 700+ frames), I can show you a bit of what we saw here. Suffice it to say, it was ALSO awesome. Edit: I am not going to show the images of what we saw from the boat. Instead, a picture of us ABOARD the boat!
Finley Was Not Able To Make A Call. Perhaps She Forgot The Country Code.
After the tour, we walked back to the hotel via ALL THE STEPS of the Trocadéro. The kids were tired, but managed to avoid total meltdown– I’m still not sure why.
IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE MAGIC OF PARIS
In Part Two, we reveal… The Activities Of SUNDAY! (and maybe a bit more than that, if I can get my act together…)
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