Things I Will Miss, Part One

There have been a few common questions I've gotten when I've told people we're heading back to the US.

The most frequent one is "Aren't you so glad to be going back?"

And I am, mostly.

I want Elliot to grow up close to his cousins and I want him to spend lots of quality time with his NeeNee (BigD)*. My career has been on hold for the past two years and while** Husband and I are excited for me to be fully hands on for the next few years, I'd like to start dabbling in the freelance again when I can.  I miss great museums and we're going to spend lots of time at the High Museum of Art and at the Georgia Aquarium. I love going to matinee movies*** in the middle of the day. The mani/pedis are $20 and Elliot will have a backyard where I'm hoping we can clear out a space for a swing.

But we've had a great two years here.  It has been the best place for Husband and me to start off our adventure.  And other than the initial business about the car, which passed, we've been really happy.

And there are going to be lots of things, I'm really going to miss.  Below aren't all, but just what popped into my head at this minute....

Girlfriends
No matter how much I love Husband,**** I always need at least one good girlfriend.  And in my time here, I've been so so lucky to have had several.  Some who have moved on to their next location and one in particular who is here on a semi-permanent basis. It's going to be no fun to be six time zones away, but there's Skype and also a pile of airline miles, some of which are going to be used to pop over to Atlanta.  So there's that.

The language
I am no good at the speaking, but I've gotten fairly okay about understanding a little bit when I am listening.***** Norwegian is a challenging language, especially for me and especially because it's Germanic-based.  The rules can simple, but the exceptions are tough.  And the cadences are fun to hear, but they are so hard to emulate...But I still love it. My favorite part is that many of the words are just what they are. For instance, hospital is "sykehus" (sick house) and kennel is "hundepensjonat" (dog hotel).  It's straightforward and great, which is akin to how the Norwegian people are in general.

Baby Cakes

Pre-Elliot, Husband and I took a childbirth class with nine other couples.  And those moms, along with one mom we adopted from a pre-natal yoga class, have met every week since with our sweet babies.  Those weekly meet-ups saved me in the beginning when I was so tired and recovering.  And as the months have passed, it's been one of the major highlights of our week. We visit and compare notes on everything.  And Elliot LOVES his friends.

Roundabouts

This is a pretty rotten photo, but you know what roundabout are. Traffic merges, comes together, then splits off into all the different individual ways.  Sometimes there is just one lane, but often there are as many as three or four, but it all works. Navigating them in the beginning was nothing less than a giant, pain-in-the-caboose challenge, but as the months have passed, I kind of love them.  Seriously. It's much like walking on the streets of New York.  No matter how many people there are, if you know what you're doing, people just move and make it work and it does.

The airport

Ahh the airport.  I've always loved the airport.******  And I love this one, too.  Husband (and now Elliot, too) have had so so many great adventures that (for the most part) started right here.  Europeans know how to live.  No joke.  They work to live, not live to work. And while Husband has worked so so hard, we have also been traveling.  And, once we're back in the States, that kind of adventure will be over, at least for a while.  We'll still go places and do things, but it won't be quite the same.

This sandwich

I LOVE this sandwich.  I kid you not.  It's chicken breast, with hummus and lettuce and tomato on sourdough bread.  If you're in Stavanger, go to either of the Ostehuset locations, go immediately and eat it. Look on the menu under "Sanwich på dansk rugbød." And it's called exactly what it is...Hummus, kylling, ruccula og tomater.******* Have them put it on their sandwichbrød ("sandwich bread,") which is this light, fluffy sourdough-ish bread.  Then ask for an extra side of the hummus.  It's an awesome mix of chunky hummus, with just a tad of curry, but they are a little stingy with it. Good stuff. Trust.





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*Hopefully a few of which are overnighters, once the little man can handle it.  I am not worried about NeeNee's skill in this, she's a pro and I have already scheduled a weekend with her in Spring 2010 so Husband and I can have a weekend away.  I love the little man like crazy, but I love his daddy like crazy, too.

**If all things go well...

***This ship may have sailed.

****And it's alot.

*****Which really means that I could have a small little conversation with a toddler and could gather the subject of a conversation being had by grow-up.  It's hard.

******Seriously.  In most of my jobs, I've always had to travel.  And in a few of them, alot.  And, especially in the years before the things happened in New York, I loved going to the airport early just to watch the travelers.  You can see the entire range of human emotions within the walls of any airport.  Everybody is going on some kind of an adventure.  It's amazing.

*******Which shockingly enough is the "Hummus, chicken, lettuce and tomato" sandwich.  It is, what it is.

Buckshot Traveling

Tomorrow we're leaving for the Spanish sunshine and what could possibly be our last European vacation.

While our trip this summer was great fun and so good to see so many of our friends and family, it wasn't calm and it wasn't so relaxing. We criss-crossed the country thinking about maybe coming home and what and where that even means. And between luggage, time zones and sweet baby Elliot, it was a journey. A great journey, but a journey nonetheless.

So when we got back, as we all got sick, we decided that some quiet time in the sunshine would cure it all. And for the first time we're going to leave laptops at home to completely tune out.

The coming months are going to be big ones full of major decisions and this could be the last family vacation for a while.*

So, as we do, on any vacation that requires calm and not much at all**, we employ The Buckshot*** Method of Travel.

First we set out the constants, the factors that will not change. And for this trip they were:

1) A certain budget

2) Sunshine and warmth

3) Within a six-hour window of travel, which is about as long as we want to travel with a six-month old.

4) A direct flight

5) The one-week window Husband has between projects

6) Nothing nearby that we would feel guilty for not going to see.

7) Good food.

So with a few internet searches and a map of Europe, we came up with a flight to the Alicante airport in Spain, which is on the southeastern coast of the country.

Then we did another few searches and came up with a villa in Moraira, Spain, which is a little town about 82km up the highway. Apparently, it is a small fishing village that is not even listed in the Fodor's Spain guide.

We looked at the photographs of the villa and sent an email. We settled on a price with the owner and wired the money to an account in England. And just yesterday the keys came in the mail.****

It's near the beach, a tapas bar and has its own pool.

Best of all, September is the off-season so it's cheap cheap cheap.

We're going to go to the grocery store and sleep late and take Elliot to the beach.

And when he's had enough, we're going to go home and sit by the pool while he naps inside. In the evenings we may go to dinner a few times, but that's pretty much it.*****

Until the past few days, I hadn't done much research on it at all, because really, who cares?

I'll be hanging with my two best people close to good Spanish food and the ocean.

But, while the little man was napping this morning, I started looking at some traveler's notes online...apparently the Costa Blanca (the area of Spain where we are headed) is about a 50/50 split of Spanish and British expats.

And most of the beaches are topless, often populated by portly British grandmother types.

I love it.

Seriously, if this is true, I think it sounds even more awesome. I love grandmothers.****** Grandmotherly types love babies, so they will be friendly Elliot. And the more portly they are, the less portly I will seem.

Perfect.

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*And really, this is our first family vacation of just the three of us--Unless of course you count the places we went before he was an actual person...

**The Buckshot Method got us to Jade Mountain for our honeymoon, Nice for Christmas and Portugal for last summer's holiday. It works. Trust.

***For those not familiar with Southern Culture, meaning the Southern Culture of the United States, hunting is big. And, buckshot is a type of ammunition. When you shoot buckshot, it sprays out and unless you're very unlucky, you'll probably hit something. The Buckshot Method, as I call it, works for lots of things, but you have to be enthusiastic. That helps.

****Yeah, I thought it was a little risky, too, but I did an internet search on the owner and he seemed normal. Plus, he apparently lodged a complaint with his township in England about unpicked-up dog poo on his street. So by logic, if he's particular about his street, he's probably particular about the house. I'm sure it will be fine.

*****We may also play lots of Scrabble. I am also hoping to read a book.

******Well, most of them.

How We Travel AND Husband Knows Stuff #5: Roadtrip

This is what Husband handles.*

This is what I handle.**

Also, it's been a while since an installment of Husband Knows Stuff...***

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*If the whole "job in an office" thing doesn't work out, sweet Husband may have a future as a sherpa.

**To be fair, I have the baby.

***There hasn't been a lot of computer time lately, but rest assured, I am taking photos and notes...

Snapshots

Tomorrow Husband, Elliot and I are flying to Oslo for a long weekend.  The little man needs a passport and the only way to procure one is to show up at the embassy in person.  

I'm excited about the trip---Not only because we haven't been anywhere since Christmas, but because I am excited about checking out the embassy experience (which I will report on post-haste...) and most importantly because it will be dry run for Elliot's Debut World Tour. 

But first, we needed a passport photo.

(Once the top of his hair got cropped out, he looks a little like a mini-samurai warrior. I like it.) 

The requirements for a baby passport photo are the same as they are for an adult or anyone else, including:  full face, looking directly at the camera, must show ears, white border, closed mouth, open eyes...

This can present quite the challenge in the case that you have a ten-week old who not only is not well-versed in the English language,* doesn't have total control of his body and also is keen on studying everything around him.  

Here are a few tips:

1) Spread out a white sheet and deposit him on it. (Sitting up on a stool in front of a white background is not an option.)

2) Start snapping

3) Keep snapping.

4) Then when you realize (58 photos later) that this may be a job best left to the professionals (because who knew that the mohawk** coupled with the precise angles would be a problem), rush to the photo studio for the second time and shell out the 250NOK ($38ish USD) anyway.***

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*In case you are judging, give the little guy a break.  I've lived in Norway for more than a year and I am not totally solid in Norwegian. He's much newer, so let's skate on past that. Also, just between you and me, I am not sure he's one to take orders easily.

**It spikes up of its own accord.  I do not discourage this and occasionally train it in various directions.  I had to comb it down well to get the one that worked. Mohawks are a bad idea for passport photos because you can't get the white space at the top while still keeping the face the right size.  Who knew?

***I was totally against this because there is a photo booth at the police station, right outside of the immigration office where you can take four passport photos of yourself, then choose the best one for 20NOK ($3ish USD).  So considering I own both a camera and am in close proximity to the photo subject, I thought I could handle it. I could not.  And then willingly handed over the kroner to the nice man with the camera.  He cut me a break, too, and only charged me half because I'd already been there once to print out the photo I took.

Elliot's Debut World Tour

While I get homesick for the US fairly often, one of the advantages to living in Europe and specifically Norway, is the vacation allotment. Husband has roughly six weeks, plus sick days and this year, because of Elliot's arrival he also has the "Papa Permission," which is another huge sum of weeks of paternity leave.

I'm leaving that vague, not because I don't know, but because I don't want this to become a discussion of the family system in Scandinavia vs the US. But I do mention it, because, without it, visiting home would immensely hard.

Door to door to either San Francisco or Sacramento, both cities close enough for the Durel family visit, is nine time zones and 22 hours.

Door to door to Atlanta, where we fly into for my family would be six time zones and about 18 hours door to door.

Also, for those unfamiliar with US geography, Georgia and California are on opposite ends of the country---four time zones and a six hour flight.

So as you can imagine, scheduling anything gets complicated.

For most visits, we can only manage one location or the other, but because this is Elliot's big debut, we want to stop on both coasts. His California family has not met him yet. And most of his Georgia family hasn't either.

We also are homesick for some of our best friends, so we are using the cross country travel as an excuse to stop in Colorado for long weekend. Plus, we're building in a few days with Andrea and Deena in San Francisco and may even get a wee visit with Lisa. (And of course we're going to try to see all our Georgia people.)

But back to Husband's liberal vacation time...

In just a few weeks, we will head off for Elliot's world tour and I say world tour because in the course of five weeks, we will leave Stavanger and touch down in (for various amounts of time, of course):

Part One:
Stavanger
Copenhagen
Seattle
Sacramento
San Francisco

Part Two:
Atlanta
Gainesville
St. Simon's Island

Part Three:
Denver

Part Four:
Sacramento
Chicago
Amsterdam
Stavanger

Of course some of those are just buzzing through airports for a plane change, but because we will have a baby and all that entails in tow, I choose to count them.

Since we've made the plans, I've been waking up to scrawl notes on a pad I keep beside my side of the bed...thus far they range from how many diapers we'll need to which bag to carryon to whether or not the floor we'll have enough room to wrap Elliot in a blanket. And whether or not his favorite rattle will drive everyone around us nuts.

Luckily I am breastfeeding and have almost perfected the art of draping the two of us with a shawl, so we won't have to deal with bottles of formula or flashing strangers internationally. He doesn't tend to be a crier, unless something obvious is wrong (hungry, wet or hurt, etc...) so hopefully he won't be the plane pariah. And he's so young that perhaps the time zone changes won't freak him out so much.

But, overall, packing for the planes, not to mention what all three of us with need for five weeks is a little daunting. (I'm thinking we'll just pack for just about a week or so and plan to do laundry...) And the travel and timing are all going to be a little nuts. We’ll all probably need a week-long nap when we get home.

But those are just the details---overall I'm soooooooooooooo excited.

While I love our life and all of our adventures, I get so homesick for my family and our friends. Because of the pregnancy and travel restrictions and all that goes with it, I haven't been in the US since late November and haven't seen my branch of the family tree since early that same month.*

Sure, there's time to plan...we have about six weeks before take-off, but I am already counting the days.



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*Yes, the BigD was here for ten days in April, but that wasn't enough. I miss my mom, so does Elliot (and Husband a little bit, too. Seriously.) We need to see the D, not to mention my dear sister. Also, Elliot has two cousins who are boys and about his same age. They need to get well acquainted so they can start planning who will steal the beer.

Noticed in Nice

For a variety of reasons, we skipped Christmas in the States this year.  But we didn't skip it entirely. Instead, we went to Nice.
And while it wasn't all that Christmas-y in our usual sense...There was no fried turkey, Christmas Eve service (in English) and family revelry...It was good. 

We wandered in the sunshine which was exactly what we needed after days of Norwegian darkness. We ate profiteroles as part of the daily doses of dessert.  Though neither of us are Catholic, we went to a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve---we didn't understand every single part, but could pick out The Lord's Prayer from the cadence, the good parts of Luke because we know the story and some of the carols from the tunes, so it was just enough.

And most importantly, it was what we needed for a mini-break, which will most likely be our last alone for a while. 
Instead of a play-by-play of every moment, here are a few highlights and details of the five days.


1) Nice is lovely.

2) The amount of sunshine available is in indirect proportion* to the amount of clothes worn by the locals within 20 yards of the water.   

Yes, this is how pregnant I am (as of Christmas Eve 2008)....

but look a little closer.....

3) The Niçoise** have a unique relationship with Santa.

All over the town, there are Santas hanging out on terraces and out of windows.  

Husband thought it was an acceptance of the fact that there are very few chimneys and the old elf has to get in somehow....

I was thinking that it was a gentle joke about how Santa is really a kind of benevolent burgler.

Seriously.  

While he's expected and welcomed, the truth is that St. Nicholas comes into locked houses through the chimney no less, eats cookies and drinks milk (or a few beers, when he stops by Big D's in Gainesvegas) and after pawing through the stockings, leaves some goodies.   

4) "In Nice, the fish are born in the ocean, but die in the oil."  

For seafood lovers, this is a good place to be at pretty much any time during the year.  Husband was slightly afraid when this arrived in front of him.  

But don't think we didn't tuck into it like nobody's business...And killed an anchovy pizza, as well.  

And on the last night, we chose Italian, which is a huge influence in the local food because not only was Nice part of Italy on several occasions over the past few thousand years, it's still practically next door.  I chose the lobster pasta, but didn't quite expect it to be so identifiably lobster. 

Husband, while slightly jealous of the whole lobster, kept focused on his beef, but still stabbed into my plate on occasion. 

Also there was no seafood at our last breakfast, but look closely at the photo.  There are two of everything except for one thing.  Can you see what it was?  The additional thing is another of the local specialities and it was GOOOOOD, but we could only eat about half of it...

4) Public art was all around, if you paid attention. 

Holiday lights in Massena Square...The men on top of the towers changed colors every thirty seconds or so...

Up on balconies....

And in open spaces set back on side streets.

On main boulevards, too. 

5) Look out for the good butcher shops.

I love butcher shops, fishmarkets and the like. Whenever we're anywhere, we search them out and Husband waits patiently while I examine the culinary work.  (He may tease, but he enjoys it as well.) 

6) The mani/pedis are different, but just as good. 

Why didn't I just paint my own nails before we got to Nice?

The Short answer:  Because I don't want to. 

The Longer answer: It's not about the color.

I'd never had regular ones until I moved to New York when I was about 22.  In the city, there are nail salons on practically every corner, $17 for a mani/pedi Mon-Wed, $22 for the two Thurs-Sat (closed Sun).  

So, unless it was a particularly tight week, it was a luxury I could always afford, no matter how young and poor I was.  

Every week, I would go all by myself, a few hours of "choose your color!" warm, soapy soaking, foot rubs, flipping through the magazines I longed to (and eventually did) work for, mainly just a few hours of respite and quiet to myself before heading back out into the city I loved. 

And when, almost a decade later, I moved to Atlanta, I kept it up.  And it's always been less about the color or even the cuticles...It's about just a few hours of the experience.  It calms my mood, cheers me up and gives me a minute to think about all sorts of things, because there's not much else you can do when both your hands and your feet are indisposed.

In Norway, mani/pedis are no longer one of the "affordable luxuries." 

They now fall into the category of plain-old-Norwegian priced luxury (AKA more than twice the fancy prices, while less than 1/2 the normal people quality), so I only get them when we are someone else. 

6) Nice may be the most dog-friendly town, ever.** 
There were big dogs, small dogs, furry dogs, bald dogs, dogs in purses, dogs on leash and off, dogs in our hotel, dogs (looking like small black furry Grovers from Sesame Street) sitting between their owners at swanky dinners.  And very little poop.

7) Nice is lovely any time of year, but if it's about 40 degrees (F) on December 28th, then it must be BRUTALLY hot in the summer.  

8) The end...

*Is the use of "indirect" correct?  I mean "loads of sunshine = little clothes." 

**No, I don't know if this is the correct term, but if it's the name for a salad that originated in the town, why not for a person?

***If I were more clever right now, the following would be to the rhythm of "Green Eggs and Ham."

Coffee and Ice Cream?

In a previous (and perhaps future) life, I was a celebrity reporter.*

And, in these pages, I have written about some of the fairly clear delineations between the different levels of celebrity. 

But here's another tip, one that is really not a new story, but one I started thinking about as we were wandering through Nice this week....

Many celebrities do some kind of advertising in other parts of the world, often in markets and in mediums that would be considered career suicide,** if they took part in them in the United States.  

And up until recently, most included a clause in the contract forbidding the ads from running in the US. 

But who could blame them for signing up for the ads?  It's piles of dough for relatively little work.  

For instance, just for a few tiny examples...Michael J. Fox shills for a Japanese energy drink whose slogan is "Good Afternoon!" Jennifer Aniston starred in Heineken beer commercials around the world and credit cards in the UK. And Japan is a huge market for the ads, many of which can be seen on Japander (which doesn't seen to be running well right now...)  

But it's widely accepted and usually really funny, too and often a slight indication of the level of celebrity enjoyed by the star....

So here's your quiz question...

Which celebrity is on the fairly untouchable REALLY BIG LIST, which is even higher than A level? Which celebrity is firmly settled (for now at least) on one of the slightly less prestigious letters of the alphabet?

Example A)

An advertising campaign for a coffee-like beverage---seen on giant groupings of poster panels in French airports, hilarious prime time commercials and back covers of major magazines.

Example B)

An advertising campaign for ice cream---seen on a stand-alone poster outside of a cafe on the top of Nice's Castle Hill, which is a hill, but is no longer home to a castle.

  

*To be clear:

Celebrity reporter does not equal paparazzi. 

To be more clear:

Paparazzi jump out of bushes armed with cameras, I used to knock on doors (among other adventures, which included but were not limited to red carpets, nightclubs, fried chicken in kitchens, backstages, etc....) armed with a tape recorder and a pad of paper.

**Or perhaps merely a fairly serious form of cutting.

REVISED --- Husband Knows Stuff #4: Wontons

We've been busy for the past few days....

We've been to a Holiday Cocktails/Cut-Throat Book Swap Party. 

We've cooked Chinese Food.

...including wontons. 

 

It was worth the wait.  

So well that the next night, we tried it again.  I made Spring Rolls.

What did Husband make, you wonder? 

....which is much more complicated than you would think, and it was yummy.

So whether you'll be spending Christmas Day eating Chinese food, lucky enough to gnaw on some fried turkey or even picking through some duck like we will be....

Happy happy holidays!

We'll see you in a few days!

Paris in Pictures (and a few words)

In June, Andrea called and said she and Deena were going to be in Paris in the fall. And she invited us to head down to meet them for a long weekend.

At that time, Husband and I hadn't even left for our big trip to Portugal, so I thought I would sit tight on that invite for a while...

But, of course, sweet Husband thought it was a great idea as well. So we worked it out.

I couldn't have been more thrilled. And by the time the dates rolled around, I was so homesick for a visit with a longtime girl, I could barely contain myself until the moment we arrived.

What made it even better was that both of our partners, who had never met, got on so well with each other.

The four of us spent a great long weekend wandering lively neighborhoods, eating decadent desserts, shopping in glamorous stores and drinking (well, I didn't drink, but I spent much time sniffing. It was pretty close to second best…) the best wines. 

And visiting.

It couldn't have been much better....

THURSDAY

We took off from Stavanger to Copenhagen.

(Husband is not afraid, I promise.)

When we got to Copenhagen, we had several hours to kill while we waited for our connection to Paris. And while you think that sounds like a horrible waste of time, especially when we are heading to Paris. It wasn't. Not a bit.

Mainly because Husband knew that there was a good steak restaurant in the airport.

I thought I was just going to get to have a Starbucks drink---which would have been thrilling on its own because that is nowhere to be found in Stavanger either---but he surprised me.

I couldn't have been more excited and even squealed "Steak??? Seriously???" causing several Europeans, who are much, much cooler than Americans (natch), to roll their eyes.

Note: This may not seem like a big deal or even a little bit yuck ---- "A steak restaurant in an airport???" --- Trust me on this---It was a big deal and wasn't one bit yuck. The steak was GOOD, plus, it was semi-swanky, for reals...the waiters came by with white cloths draped over their arms...

Why did I squeal, then jump up and down with happiness you wonder? 

The answer: Partially just because I tend to do those things, but if you really want to understand, think on this for a moment:  

Imagine, you are a pregnant American living in a smallish town in Norway. Imagine you cannot get your hormonally driven hands on the vast majority of any of the things you crave.  Also imagine you are a long time carnivore who craves steak constantly and even more so now that you are Pickle farming. And not surprisingly, a skillfully cooked slab of cow meat is just another line on that list of things you can't have whenever you want/NEED it...

Think on that a minute....Then perhaps you can understand why I got slightly teary-eyed with happiness.

(Yes, it's barely dead and just cooked enough. That's how I like it: five minutes past its last moo...Thanks cow, you tasted goooooooood. And later on, I had a Starbucks frappuccino for dessert. The most excellent way to start a great trip, ever. Seriously.)

Then we got to Paris and met up with Andrea and Deena for dinner.

(Andrea, Husband, Deena...I was too excited to take my usual artful shots...)

FRIDAY

We wandered a bit before meeting up with the girls for lunch.

We saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time this trip.

(Click on the photo for a closer look. This is Husband when I say, "Look French!" ---And no offense, franchophiles, we're just having a little fun. We're loving you while cheerfully contributing to the local economy. We're all friends, here. Plus, I'm totally open to you teasing me, too.)

The Pope was coming to town and the Pope's peeps were nice enough to set out some Pope Potties. Every single one was locked---except for this one....Thanks, Pope.
(No, Husband does not wear red leather bucket bags on regular occasions. He does when I am in the one unlocked Pope Potty.)

This is where the Pope's going to sit in a few hours.

Then we all met up for the best lunch ever at a place called Violon d'Ingres. 

We lingered three hours, consumed five courses of fantastic food and drank (smelled) glasses and glasses of lovely wine.

It really was one of those rare meals that became an experience. 

Great company, great atmosphere, great food.

(It is also the most expensive lunch I have ever eaten. That should not dissuade you from going. If you're in Paris, you will probably splurge at least once. Let it be here.)

While everyone at the table is versed in wine (except for me, I just know what I like...) Deena just passed her sommelier exam, so she officially knows all the good stuff. I also think that we're supposed to call her Master, now.
(Husband and Deena...Yay Deena!)

Andrea knows about wine, too. (She'd want me to add that in...)

Then fortified by good food, we decided to be tourists for the rest of the afternoon.

And to head to the top.
(Husband is not afraid, here either, I just snapped in the middle of a sentence.)

(I thought Deena must have amazingly, and perhaps freakishly, long arms to snap this photo. But really, she's just tall with good aim.)

It's 1346 km (836 miles) that way to Oslo.

It was a great afternoon.

Then Andrea and Deena took the elevator back down, while Husband and I walked down the stairs. It was windy and lovely, but many many steps. So, before we took a boat ride on the Seine, we decided to stop for a few refreshments.

It was BYOB.

(The second "B" stands for Beer, Bag and wine poured from a Bottle.)

Andrea took the tour very seriously and listened intently. I didn't want to put my ear in the same place that thousands of tourists had before me. Andrea's standards were not so high. She was a little stingy with the information after I explained my anti-germ stance.

She also took lots of photos. I took photos of the taking of photos.

Deena took photos, too. But if I didn't know her, I would think she was an East German assassin on a recon mission. Seriously. Scary stuff.

See what I mean...

As we got on the boat, a photographer snapped away. This is the photo he got of Andrea and Husband strolling up the gangplank like celebrities in stride past the paparazzi. It was awesome. Sadly, he did not get a photo of the East German assassin helping the pregnant lady onboard. That was the one we really wanted. We would have even paid for it.

SATURDAY

Husband and I did a little shopping. When were done were with that, we stopped for lunch. I started with yummy snails.

Husband stayed a bit more on the traditional side, which of course included wine and a cheese covered substance.

For dinner, we met up at a place called Le Relais de l’Entrecôte. 

(Seriously, Andrea did her homework on where to get the good eats.)

At this place, you wait outside in a long line (which moves surprisingly fast) until a table come open. 

Then you have one main choice. 

Steak. That's it. You can choose how you'd like it cooked---Rare, Medium, Well... (Don't try to get fancy with Medium Well or even Charred Beyond All Recognition---I'm talking to you, Big D...)

It comes with frites as well. 

There are about six wines on the menu and a handful of desserts. 

And if you are terribly nice, the slightly sullen wait staff will bring water.

Again, if you are in Paris, go there immediately.

Andrea: You want me to stop eating this good stuff so you can take a photo?

Deena: Mmmmmmmm...Andrea, put your fork up close to your mouth so you get back to eating as quickly as possible when you hear the 'snap.'

Me: Just one smell, please.

Husband: You about done? I'm feeling thirssssssssssssss-ty.

Then we went to another cafe for dessert. Husband is eating creme brulee, while getting slightly tired of my incessant photo taking, but is as always, a good sport.

(I ordered what I thought was lemon ice cream and was thrilled to realize that it was lime sorbet....Mmmmmm my favorite. I love Paris.)

SUNDAY

Andrea and Deena headed for the airport for their flight home to San Francisco. 

Husband and I wandered the city on our way to the Musee D'Orsay.

As a general rule, we are bad tourists.  We take cabs to natural wonders.  Instead of locating and finding the names of famous sites, we go shopping. 

The one firm and fast rule we have: Wherever we are, we always spend one afternoon in a great museum. 

On this trip, we chose the Musee d'Orsay.  I'd been before and love its collection of (mainly) French impressionists. And the setting, a renovated train station, is gorgeous and striking, but it's not my favorite.  The layout is twisty and turny, with lots of back and forths.  Plus, the escalators only go up in one corner and it's really hard to find the bathrooms. 

But Andrea had spoken so highly of it that Husband wanted to go, plus it has one of the few Gustav Klimts, one of my favorite artists...So those are plenty of reasons to get me back in the doors.  

On the way, we stopped in the Luxembourg Gardens, a public park.

The grounds are beautiful enough on their own, but on this day, was in the middle of an exhibition of public art.
(Hint: The giant gold head is not normally there.)

But it's also full of art that is normally there.

Then we stopped for lunch. French love their cheese so much, they even put in on the outside of grilled cheese sandwiches.
(Husband is almost done with the snapping of the photos. Eat Husband, you'll feel better soon!)

So finally we made it to the museum. We started on the top floor, missing the escalator per usual, and saw great pieces.  Finally we made our way side room on the second floor to see the Klimt. 

(Oh well, it will be back in January.)

Because it was our last evening in Paris, we thought it was would be nice to watch the sunset from the steps in front of the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, which is the highest point in Paris. 
(So did about 200 other people, but it was lovely, nonetheless.)

But we had a few more stops on our list...

So we headed to the Arc de Triomphe and then wandered down the Champs-Élysées.

(Yep, Husband is standing in the middle of the avenue, but don't worry, he's safe on a median.)

Then after a few more desserts and one more night, it was time to head back. 
(We took the subway back to the airport. I love subways.) 

And then we're home.