Want to know what I did for 10 days? Here's my Trip Report

Europe Trip 2005
London, September 16-18, Paris September 18-25.

Time for a trip report.

DH and I to went to London for a couple of days before meeting our parents in Paris for a week. In London, we stayed at the Cherry Court Hotel near Victoria Station, a Rick Steves recommendation we used back in 2003, and even though the accommodations are rudimentary (decent, but small) we decided to go back. I was especially sold on going back after the July subway attacks in London, when Mrs. Patel (owner of the Cherry Court) posted a message on the Rick Steves traveler’s helpline board that she would be of assistance to anyone who needed her if they were in London, whether they were a guest or not.

London -- we arrived an hour late on Friday morning, but arrived otherwise intact. The flight to Newark and transfer to Virgin Atlantic was uneventful. I must say that Virgin wasn’t better than BA from our trip a couple of years ago. The food was much worse, the TV/movie selection was slim, but not as bad as Continental coming home.

We arrived in London at Heathrow at 10 a.m., had no trouble getting through Immigration (I love it that they still stamp our passports), and thankfully had the experience to know that we needed to hustle off the plane to get in line to reduce the waiting time. We headed onto the Tube to Victoria Station, and on to our hotel, which this time took no wandering behind the station to find. I had made a lunch date with an online friend at 1 p.m. in Lincolns Inn Fields area of London, so we checked into our room at the Cherry Court hotel by noon and quickly freshened up to go for our lunch appointment.

The fun began when we walked in the door. My friend, who I'd never met in person, told the waitstaff that "a couple of Americans" were coming to meet them for lunch. Of course they saw us in the door, and we barely had to say "We're here to..." and they were motioning us downstairs to meet our friends. We are a dead giveaway, and any mention that DH is Canadian is of no discernable difference.

I didn't know this small fact, but my friend (who I've known through an online group for several years) is a barrister, as is her husband, both Oxford-educated lawyers, who work in the area. She did a walk-about with us, showing us where she worked, then took us on about through the neighborhood. It was fantastic to get to meet a local Londoner who had such great knowledge, and a willingness to show us everything from The Old Curiosity Shop nearby to a personal tour of the National Royal Court building, which looks a lot like a cathedral.

Afterwards, we headed towards Covent Garden Market -- it was much smaller than I imagined, but much nicer. I was picturing an older feel to it, but found neat outdoor market stuff as well as upscale shops, classical music playing, and a lovely cafe downstairs. The street performance was hilarious -- a couple of gay guys (their words), riding unicycles, juggling and other antics using a little girl from the audience who was absolutely thrilled to be part of the show.

On we walked toward Trafalgar Square for my husband's London visit with "his" lions at the foot of Lord Nelson. I love the view from there, as you can see such beautiful London sights from the National Gallery, St. Martins in the Fields, Trafalgar Square, and Big Ben beyond.

We walked down Whitehall this time -- having missed it last time, towards Westminster. It was neat to walk past #10 Downing, and see some of the larger government buildings, even if it was just for the stroll through it. We went to the Eye for our flight -- having been on it a couple of years ago and knowing it was a favorite with my husband, I went ahead a booked reservations again, but I don't think I need to repeat that ride again now that I know the lay of the land. I do enjoy the view of the city though, and as always enjoy the descent as we viewed Big Ben/Parliament. That evening we stopped at a brew pub near our hotel, where we drank a couple of beers, had some sausage & mash, and headed for bed.

The next morning (Saturday, Nov. 17), we arose at a reasonable hour, headed for the Starbucks (sorry, it's my vice in London due to the portability of the coffee, but one that I avoid once I'm in Paris), and walked toward Buck Palace with our lattes in hand. We continued on to the Cabinet War Rooms, arriving just in advance of a tour group. We decided to let them go ahead so we wouldn't have to ride the wave of tourists, and the plot worked. We were virtually alone, and the Cabinet War Rooms were fascinating -- and the audio tour is well worth the 3 BP I think it cost to buy. I'm a big WWII fan/student and thoroughly enjoyed this visit. The new Winston Churchill museum has a stunningly modern photo file with giant touch screens that allow you to follow English history for as long as pictures have been taken.

Afterwards, we headed up to the British Museum, where we saw the Rosetta Stone and a number of other pieces of art. I should say that by then I had bought about 10 postcards, and by the time I'd seen the Rosetta Stone and admired its size (one of those things you thought would be smaller), I sat down to write out some postcards while DH continued to wander the rooms. I like paintings, he likes Old Archeological Stuff, so there are times we part company instead of one of us yawning our way through an exhibit pretending to be interested. After a couple of hours we started walking towards a Tube stop and found a Thai restaurant very near the British Library that had some of the BEST Thai food I've ever eaten. I'm from Seattle and know a few good places to eat there, but this was lovely.

That afternoon we went to Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, where we missed the afternoon performance, but the Bank was having a big "Children's Society" walk, so we got caught up in the crowds, ice cream and other delights offered near the Globe. There is something neat about stumbling onto a local fair, exhibit or other freebie that makes one feel like they get to be a local for a short time. We then took the boat ride back to Westminster, headed to the hotel where we got ready to go out for a night on the town -- and off to our date to see the production of Les Miserables at the Queens Theatre.

The Theatre itself was a bit older and smaller than I anticipated, certainly not as posh as even the Paramount in Seattle. But still, a very nice place, and an outstanding show. My husband, a highly discerning and extensively-trained musician, pronounced the show a great piece of music writing and overall production. While I appreciate music enough to know the Britney Spears can't sing and Christina Aguilera has "one hell of a set of pipes", the only persons in the show who really grabbed my attention with their singing ability were the star and his girl from the 'hood who loves him and dies trying to save him. Overall, Les Miserables aren't as MISERABLE as you'd think, everyone doesn't die as I expected, so it wasn't as difficult to see it as I thought it would be.

This time around on our trip, I was surprised that this time we didn’t run into any Brits willing to chat as they did before…perhaps we were just lucky with the pubs we went to before, but I regret that this time we didn‘t run into anybody as chatty as last time. But there wasn’t much time in London this time around, so all too soon, we were headed back to our hotel for the last time, packed our stuff, and the next morning were off to Waterloo station to go to Paris to Meet The Parents.

Unlike last time, when we showed up at the station with 2 hours to departure, only a 10 minute wait to only leave us 1 hour 50 minutes to kill, this time we were wiser and took a cab to Waterloo with only an hour to spare (we always take at least one cab in London just for the experience of riding on the "wrong side" of the road, which for some reason always feels normal once you're in the car). With coffee in hand, we waited a few minutes for the train to board, and were quickly seated in our car. For some reason, they felt bigger and more comfortable. We’d bought our $98 RT tickets way in advance through an agent here in the States, and that actually worked to our advantage, as there was a special line for “paper tickets” that empty while all the electronic ticket-holders waited to check in.

The seats in front of us were taken by a family of three, clearly an American elder father, about 60, his 40-year-old son, and his young son of about 20. The eldest kept commenting about all the foreign things about England, the one that got my attention was "Why is everything here electric, don't they have oil?" I felt the urge to answer the question that pollution is lessened when the trains run on electricity, which I'm sure is a priority in a sprawling city like London, but I held my tongue. The USS Enterprise hat the eldest was wearing told me that his generation just perhaps looked at things differently, and I wasn't going to educate him on the finer points of European approaches to technology and environmentalism in one 2.5 hour train ride.

I bought one of the worst breakfasts since I ate at McDonalds on a road trip in 1998. But I enjoyed the walk to the dining car to get it. There is something inherently romantic about train travel, I guess the fact that I can walk through cars, go to the bathroom, and still be moving 200 miles an hour with the landscape out the window is just plain neat.

Upon arrival in Paris, DH and I split up -- DH to meet his parents at the hotel in the 7th Arrondisement, me to the airport to find my Aunt and Mom, who had just landed at CDG. Despite getting off at the wrong terminal and having to walk underground from 2A to 2B to find them, I was able to find them in the waiting area rather easily, and we grabbed a cab and for $45E, we were quickly within the city. The cab ride took us on the freeways of Paris, we got off near the Arc de Triomphe, and I kept my map with me as I watched the taxi driver make the wrong turn away from Rue Cler, and was able to correct it fairly quickly. By about 2 p.m., our party of 6 was checked into our rooms, and shortly thereafter drinking wine at the Cafe du Marche. The meal was unremarkable, except everyone but me and my father-in-law (henceforth FIL in this post) ordered some meat dish "tartare", which means it was RAW. Directly proportional to how much they ate, they were all sick the next day with a tummy ailment that didn't allow them to go far beyond the bathroom, but within 24 hours all were ok. I can only imagine what kind of shock that was to their systems.

We walked over to the Eiffel Tower, about 10 minutes from our hotel, and I so enjoyed my Aunt and Mom (who've never been to Europe before) see the Tour Eiffel for the first time in person. Pictures snapped, ooh's and ah's, and "I can't believe it's that big" statements later, we walked under the tower and sat in the park to enjoy our first "pinch us we're in Paris" moments. Soon Mom and Aunt Kathy slowed down and wanted to go back to the hotel, so DH and his folks walked to the river for an evening cruise down the Seine, and I walked Mom and Aunt back to the hotel. Later that evening, we joined up for a late dinner, then all went to bed except DH and me, who went to the cafe' around the corner for a late drink and to talk about our adventures so far. This became a regular thing for us, which was great because we'd often separate during the day to go with different people, and it gave us a chance to be together, compare notes, and talk with some of the French people who soon befriended us at the bar.

Monday morning, we met in the lobby at 8 a.m., and walked to a favorite cafe' of mine for breakfast. It'd been 2 years since our last visit, and I was pleased that the waitress/owner of the cafe' was still there, and still teasing me about my attempts at French. Some cafe au laits and omelettes later, all six of us were caffeinated and fed enough to venture out. Thanks to the ratp.fr website (thanks, Ira and Rex), I had done some homework on how to get some places on the bus, and we hopped the #69 bus to Pont Neuf, and we headed to our first adventure -- Ile de la Cite'. It was lovely weather that day, and all week for the most part, so we enjoyed our visit to Ste. Chappele first (where we bought a Museum Pass for the whole week), then on to Notre Dame.

After lunch, we then headed to the Deportation Museum -- which was something of a letdown in that I expected a bigger spectacle, but as I realized the limits of space and the full meaning of the exhibit, I was touched by it. Again, as a student of WWII, I found this to be another place where I could take in the full impact of this great war that I had studied for so long in college.

We went on to the Conciergerie, which we hadn't seen before. I've been reading "A Tale of Two Cities" before my trip, and was pleased to visit the site of the Queen's and others' incarceration during the French Revolution and Terror that followed. By the time that was over, my mother-in-law, Mom and Kathy were tired and not feeling particularly well following the “tartare incident” the night before and were done touring, The three hopped in a cab, and DH, father-in-law and I climbed the Notre Dame bell tower (which was closed the last time we were there), and thoroughly enjoyed getting up to the gargoyles, taking pictures and taking in the view. After that, the three of us walked up to the Hotel de Ville, and on to the Pompidou, where we saw some art (I enjoyed the random bell that rang, and the stuff that made me ask "This is ART? I could have made that at home! LOL). Afterwards we walked the backstreets, stopping at shops to buy music, cookies, and whatever else caught us, and finally heading back to the hotel for dinner with the crew. Another late night drink at the cafe' around the corner with DH helped finish off the day, as a couple of French guys befriended us, and we talked about our day.

Tuesday dawned with just a few of us waking to make it to the first trip up the Eiffel Tower. My mom, exhausted from her trip and feeling a bit overwhelmed, slept through the morning. My Aunt and I, DH and FIL (MIL hates heights) all went up the Eiffel Tower in the morning, and later met Mom and MIL for lunch.

It took me forever to remember what the heck I did on Tuesday afternoon -- I finally realized I didn’t have pictures because I did laundry, bought stamps for postcards and got them in the mail at long last. DH took off with his parents to do some museum stuff at the Rodin. Later that evening we were all supposed to meet at the Arc de Triomphe -- DH and his folks split up to go via subway, and Kathy, Mom and I went to catch a cab, but none came. With the use of the handy bus map I picked up in the hotel lobby, I quickly I realized we could catch the 92, which dropped us at the Arc within 10 minutes. (Later, I read Rick Steves comment that the “Paris bus system can be tricky but is worth figuring out” -- AMEN to that!)

There was a band playing (it was about 6:30 p.m.) and a full military honor guard, and found out EVERY DAY they lay a new pile of flowers at the Tomb of The Unknown Soldier from WWI under the Arch and play music. Talk about "NEVER FORGET!"

By 7 p.m., DH and his folks hadn't shown up, and I was worried. Turned out they snuck into the Arc with a wave from the very same police who told me I couldn’t proceed, and they climbed it without us. My mom wanted to climb it, but was unsure of taking the steps…she finally resolved to try it, and that's when we found out that the French will offer ANYONE a ride on their "lift" if they have a cane! So we ended up getting an elevator ride up the Arc de Triomphe and Aunt went with us too.

Wednesday we all went to Sacre Coeur Basilica. It's at the highest point in Paris, and was very beautiful in its Byzantine style (even though it's newer than that). DH, FIL and I climbed the dome and got some beautiful views of Paris, despite the haze of the midday sun.
In a rather wierd mix-up, Brian ended up taking off with his parents, and Mom and Kathy and I headed off in some direction towards home, and we missed the area I THOUGHT we were going to be walking through. I asked Brian to meet me at the Orsay at 3 p.m. so we could spend some time together.

After me lunching with Mom & Aunt and dropping them near the hotel, I met DH at the Orsay. We went up to the 5th floor (the stair/elevators in the Orsay are quite confusing) and saw what I really was dying to see -- the Monets, Van Goghs and Cezanne Impressionist paintings.

By 4:30 or 5, I had to go home to change. I went to meet Kate, from the Fodors board. She was real nice, and we met up with Gina and her husband Frank, also from Fodors. Frank was exceptional -- very funny. Gina was hilarious, gave me more than one good laugh. We walked around several restaurants (found the one we were looking for but oddly enough it was closed on a Wednesday, which never happens in Paris). Finally at Chez Rene, just across the river from Ile St. Louis, we settled in for dinner.

It was a decent meal, the service was good, but then I got the chocolate mousse at the end so I‘m easy to please. And hey, by now I've learned to end every meal with "un cafe" (a small shot of espresso) and all is well. We finished with dinner by about 11, and I was in the 6th Arrondisement on Blvd. St. Germain, and I “lived” in the 7th. Not knowing how far it is but having a map and a will to walk, I start walking towards the metro, then follow the metro line all the way back. It took me an hour, but it was delicious to walk through the streets of Paris alone -- without being bothered with any conversation from family or anyone else, and just taking in all that was around me. How lovely that city is after dark -- and to be walking towards the towering Eiffel the whole time -- it was lovely.

Thursday came and Mom, Aunt, DH and I went to Versailles. The train ride out was uneventful, even though Mom hates subways (roughly 1/4 of it is underground, the rest is above), and they obviously enjoyed seeing the palace and the gardens. We arrived right at 9 before the tour groups hit, and it felt like we rode a wave of tour groups that were right behind us. I read the Rick Steves guide to each room, we looked a bit and moved on. It only took about 1.5-2 hours, then we went to the gardens.

The Gardens were awesome -- this time we walked down into them quite a ways, and the weather was so perfect we had a great time. One really nice thing DH did was buying a 6-pack of water bottles every morning after breakfast, so we always had water with us, which was great since my Mom tends to get heat stroke easily, and the temperatures headed towards 80 that day. I still can't believe how Louis XIV built a palace away from his palace on the grounds, built a mini-canal ala' Venice (with gondolas and everything) and the thousands of fountains.

By 1:00 everyone was done, so we headed back to Paris. We got back around 2, had a quick lunch, left Mom and Aunt back at the hotel to rest, and DH and I went off on our own to walk around the Jewish Quarter. We stopped at a Spanish restaurant first to eat, then we went to the Picasso museum, walked around a bit, then headed towards the Hotel de Ville to catch the subway back before dinner.

We ate at Phillippe's "La Varange" for dinner 4 times that week. Phillippe is so fabulous, his escargot is to die for, and we all enjoyed his fabulous hospitality. By the time we left he asked us to take his picture with DH in the kitchen, and asked us to mail him a copy. What a treasure he is. He even remembered us from 2 years earlier when he joked that he “overcharged us” but in reality, we had just mis-read the bill. The “1” in Europe looked like a 5, so we ended up leaving a $20 Euro tip. J

Friday morning was The Louvre -- we all met up and MIL & FIL took off their own way pretty quickly. We found the Mona Lisa, the Winged Victory, the Venus de Milo and Michelangelo's Dying Slave, just to name a few.

We walked along a bunch, and quickly discovered Aunt and Mom enjoyed more of the sculpture than anything, so we tried to add some of that. Afterwards, we walked up to the Colonade at the Palais Royale, where the Audrey Hepburn movie “Charade” was shot. Charade was an Alfred Hitchcock movie with Walter Mathau and Cary Grant.

We had lunch together, then made our way to the bus to go to Ile St. Louis for Mom and Kath to stop off and do a little shopping. Ile St. Louis is the small island next to Ile de la Cite (where Notre Dame and Ste. Chappelle are), and I found some lovely earrings, a bracelet and a new sweater that I just adore. One of the sales clerks, who sold me my sweater, didn’t speak a lick of English, but was very accommodating. DH had studied in advance to speak French, and was quickly put into use. He said “Merci, Madame” as we left the store, and since I thought her age/marital status was in question -- I said “Merci, Madamoiselle?” And she smiled and said “Oui, madamoisselle” pointing to herself. I tried hard to learn the words of items in the store, and she was so helpful. I just loved that experience and again vowed to learn more French the next time I go.

After leaving Mom & Aunt, DH and I continued on to the Latin Quarter. It's a bit of a sleeper at first. We walked a lot, stopped off at a restaurant, had a couple of drinks while we watched the police block off a street and the TV trucks move in. I had to go to the ladies room and when I came back out I was standing on the street where a police officer approached me in French -- and my response was simply (in French) "I don't understand French, do you speak English?" He said no, but then he said in English that I shouldn't stand there for long. I said I was waiting for my husband, and he said ok. I asked what was going on, and he said the Minister of Defense was visiting "My Boss" he said -- I'm sure a few miles up the food chain. He was very nice and told me to have a nice time in Paris. I said we loved the city, and he smiled. I do love how the French appreciate the fact that we appreciate their beloved city. I’m sure it’s the same everywhere in some respects, but there is something special to French pride I think.

We headed to the Pantheon, which was MUCH more impressive than Rick Steves gave credit for. The outside of the building is rather majestic, and the inside is nice too. We walked on to the Luxumbourg Gardens, where we had a lovely gelato, then head on to St. Sulpice, which was less than enamoring. It was covered in scaffolding on the outside, and the inside was dark. I did light a candle there (perhaps in a subliminal acknowledgement of wanting to bring some light to the place), and we found the brass line that goes through the side wings across the nave (a point that the Da Vinci Code book makes to mark a clue in the search for the "Holy Grail's" supposed location). Very soon we were off and trying to decide if we should head back to the hotel.

Here it is Friday and we realized our time was limited for sight seeing, so we better get busy and do some more. So DH and I walked up to the St. Sulpice metro stop and took the subway out to Montparnasse, and paid the $7.50 Euro each to take the elevator ride up to the top floor. At first I was sort of sorry to have spent the money (hazy days tend to do that to me, since I'm always in search of the perfect photo, and mid-day sun does nothing to help my cause).

But the 360* view from the VERY top of Montparnasse, including the Eiffel Tower and all points Paris, was in the end worth it. We could see where we had been that day -- looking at the Seine river, the Louvre, the path to the Pantheon and Luxumbourg Gardens, as well as a very interesting cemetery that I haven't yet looked at on the map.
Exhausted, it was nearing sundown and we took the elevator back down, stopped at the Galeries Lafayette looking for some CDs for Brian, and then on home to dinner with the Gang.

Saturday morning, we got to take care of unfinished business. Mom, who had been too sick Tuesday to go up the Eiffel Tower, was ready to go. This was the first day it was cloudy and a bit rainy, so we opted to only go up to the 2nd level since the top was largely obscured by clouds. We got over there around 9 a.m., and discovered that busload after busload of tourists were coming, and making a rather large crowd of people waiting at two of the 4 feet. Note to Self: Move heaven and earth to avoid the Eiffel Tower elevators on a Saturday.

What's odd about the crowds waiting for the place to open (I thought it opened at 9, but on Saturdays it opens at 9:30), is that they move like schools of fish. At first there was one crowd over on the northwest corner, then they moved almost simultaneously to the 2nd entrance. The signage said the exact same thing, but I couldn't figure out what they were doing. Finally, they moved away, and I directed my Mom and Aunt to get in the line at the Northeast Tower and to hold still. We were 2nd in line in the "non-tour" area, and we beat every one of them onto the elevators. My mom is somewhat claustrophobic, so we were lucky to have only bought the 2nd level. She was able to walk around, see the view, then when she was ready to come down, there was no changing of elevators and getting crammed in twice.

The previous couple of days, we heard news that Hurricane Rita was about to slam into Houston, where we were all supposed to land the next day. Not knowing if we'd be stuck in Houston or rerouted and rescheduled from somewhere else, DH wisely decided to do some laundry and make sure we were safely in possession of clean underwear. This turned out to be a wise decision for reasons other than Hurricane Rita.

Later that afternoon, we all had lunch together and agreed upon a time to meet back at the hotel. Brian and I took off to check on the Hurrican Rita status, try to reach the airline, which said we had to check in the morning since they had closed the airport on Saturday and would be able to tell us if it opened on Sunday or not.

Then, DH and I went off to Napoleon's Tomb at Les Invalides -- it was far more impressive than I expected in terms of all the people buried there, but the tomb itself seemed rather plain, considering the importance of the Little General to French history. I did enjoy the cathedral, and it had a very nice free audio tour.

From there we walked to the War Museum, where we quickly dashed through a few things. I know I could have spent a lot more time there, and we did take a few pictures. I enjoy studying history, and I especially enjoy going to museums specifically about WWI and WWII in Europe because of the different national perspectives on the experiences of the people and how they turn them into the exhibits themselves. In England, there is a very strong sense of unity and NEED for the U.S. to get involved. Because they weren't taken over (but rather brutally bombed) by the Nazis, there isn't the same horror as compared to the French, who endured occupation and deportation of its Jews. The hatred, therefore, of the Nazi occupation and what it did to its French citizens is very clear, and the French also refer to much of the action as being "Allied Action" -- not claiming sole movement, but at the same time not giving the same credit to Britain and the US and other countries. It's a fine point, but one I guess I couldn't really miss.

After that, we agreed to walk to the Grand Palais -- but we headed out the door and it turned out they were having quite a military demonstration. The entire Ministry of Defense from the Army, Navy, Air Force and other special forces were out to show their might, complete with parachuting Army guys, various fighter jets, tanks, and people movers. I got to see the TRAGIC Navy uniforms, and would make my first plea to the French Navy to change those horrific outfits (traditional but FLUFFY Navy Whites with square necklines and blue piping, and the hats are awful, replete with a red pom-pom on the top). I did a lot of people watching here, as it appeared to me to attract a number of different types of folks, from families and others who stumbled on it, to those who had actually meant to attend.

We walked on to the Grand Palais in hopes of getting in, but here it was Saturday afternoon and every French person and their dog found out they were having a special exhibition or something -- and the lines were not just long, they were DISNEY LONG. I honestly have never seen a bigger and well organized line in my life. We decided to bag the 60-minute wait and head for Place de la Concorde.

We walked over there just to get a last view of our favorite spots in Paris. I still like to go there and picture the guillotine taking off the head of Marie Antoinette where the obelisk now stands. Having recently read "A Tale of Two Cities" I was especially attuned to how the streets of Paris must have looked in the day. I still find the cobblestones fascinating when you consider how long they've been there, and the changes the rest of the city has been through as the cobblestones stand their ground.

It was our last evening in Paris. We didn't have reservations, but all 6 of us wanted to eat together at a nice place. I finally figured something out -- it took me the week, but I did it -- that the general cafes and brasseries on the street corners and main streets are generally your eat-and-go kinda places. Not usually full of the best foods, etc. the best little places are tucked into the side streets.

Well, we walked a ways -- maybe 10 minutes, before I found a side street with about 5 restaurants on the street, all very close together. I asked MIL to help me interpret the menus that were posted, and we finally settled on a small restaurant that appeared to have a wonderful menu and ambiance, and the least amount of people inside to offend with our spirited and loud conversation. We aren‘t obnoxious, at least by American standards, and might be considered quiet in New York, but we certainly are lively in a Parisian restaurant, that‘s for sure.

The place we founded ended up being superb. I had a lovely lamb dish with some rice, along with a great dessert (creme broulee) and a Cafe Ledoux. LOVELY.

As we walked home, we took some pictures of the Eiffel Tower, then we dropped the folks at the hotel and DH and I walked over to Champ du Mars park for the last time. We sat in front of the Tower for about 15 minutes before a soaking rain came, which drove us under a tree with some other French kids.

This was a very relaxing vacation -- one that we felt went extremely well, especially considering both my husband and me had our in-laws around all week. Sitting below the Eiffel Tower and walking the streets home, we pronounced the entire trip a success.

The peace of that night was soon to be interrupted by what I now jokingly refer to “The International Incident”.

We called Continental on Sunday morning, and our flight to Houston was set to go. My in-laws left on an earlier American Airlines flight to Dallas, so it was just four of us left, and we were due to fly together to Houston before splitting up to go our individual ways. Houston had been closed the day before because of Hurricane Rita, but we were given the green light that Houston International was open. We cabbed it to the airport -- we lucked out that a station wagon taxi stopped and picked all four of us up, and charged us $45 Euro for a ride from the 7th to CDG.

Upon arrival, a Continental agent was checking passports, and pulled mine, my aunt’s and mom’s (all American), then asked my husband for his. His Canadian passport produced, the woman asked him where he lived, and he said “The U.S.” and she said “so, you have a Green Card?” Why yes, of course he does. “Can I see it?” With a Homer Simpson slap to the forehead, my husband realized he had left his Green Card at home, in his wallet, in DENVER. I reminded him we had a color copy in our documents, so we produced that. There was a moment when another agent interceded and we thought they’d let us go, then they decided no, DH can’t get on the flight.

The immediacy with which she assumed all three of us would just leave my husband behind slapped me in the face…just like that, I had to make a decision to stay with him while we fixed the paperwork on Monday, or just leave him with a “see ya when I see ya“ mentality that I haven‘t treated him with in my lifetime. But, after a few minutes, we realized the expense would be greater if I stayed, our house sitter would be further inconvenienced, and my Mom and Aunt would be flying alone into unknown conditions in Houston, we decided I should go.

Just then there was a security breach, and the entire terminal had to be emptied. Urged on by police armed with machine guns (that is still something I find interesting, since it’s not scary anymore) we scrambled to get our bags, head out of the way, and still collect our thoughts and items. Fortunately we didn’t “co-pack”. My husband had my two bottles of wine I bought, but other than that we didn’t mix our stuff too much.

I had $80 Euro left over in cash, and I handed that over, along with the Rick Steves Paris book, and a few other items. Up til then, our rented Planetfone cell phone had been of no use to us except for a couple of calls for dinner reservations, but it earned its keep for the last couple of days following my departure. I forgot to get the key to the house, but that worked itself out with a $8.99 Airfone call to the house sitter, and another one to Planetfone extended the phone service so DH could use it in Paris.

Before we knew it, I was off to go through check our bags, get through security and leave my husband behind. I felt instant remorse for leaving him and worried about his getting home, but like he said as we parted, “There are much worse places to be stuck than Paris.”

So off we went. Our flight out of Paris was on time, and our flight into Houston was late, so we were pushing it to make our three connecting flights -- me to Denver, Mom and Aunt to different cities on the West Coast, but we all made it. Half of the flights out of Houston were cancelled that day, so we were grateful to all get out of there on time. Plus, my plane wasn‘t full, and I asked for an aisle seat at the last minute, and ended up with an empty row of seats -- the only one on the plane that I could see. I finally slept for the last 3 hours into Denver, and for about 2 hours that night as I waited up until 12:30 p.m. for my husband to call me and tell me where he was staying, and how he was doing.

As Monday morning came , I knew it was getting to be the afternoon in Paris, so I called my husband on his cell phone and found out he had just left the US Consulate office after a 6-hour ordeal to get traveling papers to leave France and re-enter the US. Fortunately he had the copy of his Green Card with him, so it at least eased the process of them finding him in the system. He sat listening to story after story of people with missing passports who’d left them in purses or in luggage at the hotel and had them stolen. He vowed to use a money belt forever after that.

His flight home from Paris to Houston went ok -- he had to wait until the 1 p.m. flight Tuesday, so he had a little extra time in Paris, met a few extra people, and hunted down Jim Morrison’s grave for me at Pere LaChaise cemetery. Upon arrival in Houston, he was questioned for more than 2 hours by the Department of Homeland Security, charged a $250 fine for leaving the US without his Green Card (in addition to the $165 USD charge at the Consulate office to get his travel documents), and finally allowed in. Since he missed his connecting flight, he had to wait until another one left several hours later, but otherwise made it home intact. Continental was very kind not to charge us anything for all the changed flights.

OK, NOW it’s funny…but it wasn’t funny at the time. I call my husband “Green Card” now and then, but other than that all we know is that he IS going to get his citizenship taken care of before we go again, or he’s at least going to make the heck sure he has his card with him the next time we go…and at this rate, it’s going to be soon.

A few parting thoughts -- We decided that since we only had 10 days, and London was so expensive, we’d spend a couple of days in London again, and go on to Paris for a week. The last time we went in 2003, we went on a death-defying trip of 23 days, including London, Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, Athens, Izmir and Istanbul, Turkey. We padded the big cities with 4 days for the most part, but really, we moved quite a bit. This time it was so nice to put our suitcases down, unpack, and really spend some time in the city we love so much. We’re of course, trying to decide where to go next, and it’s edging towards Eastern Europe, but we’re not sure…

And finally: On Paris Fashion: It’s fall, so black everywhere is fine. I found that when I wore black from head to toe with a splash of color and put my hair up in a nice, messy way that I was approached in French all the time. So if that’s your goal, that’s the way to do it. Paris is a big city like New York in that fashion does have a few standards (like lots of black and super-pointy shoes) but what people wear individually is ALL over the map. Next time I will still wear lots of black but be much less conscientious about the rest, as that’s apparently what they consider “personal style”. J

Happy Travels

Jules

Did You Know???

The Eiffel Tower at Night 

I have a cousin who is insisting that my Mom and Aunt join him on a vacation to Maui.

While they're paying for their flight and most of the hotel bill, he is insisting they upgrade their hotel so they stay on the beach.

When my Mom told me how much they were spending to get to Maui and for their hotel, I said "Isn't it amazing? People will spend $2000 per person to go to Hawaii, but they don't realize for the same or even LESS money, they could be in PARIS?"

Mom said "yes, I can't believe it either. We spent less money in Paris than we did in New York, including hotel and food."

The only difference was a few hundred dollars more for the airfare.

Dontcha know? You don't need $5,000 to go to Europe?

Most people don't know. So I'm here to tell ya. ;)

The Arc De Triomphe Stairs

The Stairs Down the Arc De Triomphe 

All I can say is -- Don't wait til you're too old to climb this one.

Of course, there are 4 legs to the Arc de Triomphe -- built by Napoleon. One of them has a secret lift (elevator) and I only found out about it after my Mom walked up to the stairs with her cane in hand and the French lady admitting us said "Lift?" Heck yes, we'll take the lift.

So, I rode up with my Mom (you can't leave Mom alone in an elevator, she's clastrophobic and needs something to focus on like ME) and then came down these stairs alone while my husband rode down with her.

They're old, but beautiful.

I just liked this picture.

My Favorite Renaissance Man, Michelangelo

At The Louvre: Michelangelo's "Dying Slave" 

Michelangelo has quickly become my favorite among the Renaissance artists. Yes, Leonard da Vinci was spectacular, but he was more of an Idea Man who invented a lot of things in addition to his paintings and sculpture, so he wasn't quite the devoted painter and sculptor Michelangelo was.

I don't think it was any cosmic accident that Michelangelo and da Vinci went to the same high school in Florence, Italy, the birthplace of The Renaissance.

For those of you lean on Art History lessons (I never took the class in college and now regret it deeply every time I darken the doorstep of The Louvre or any other art museum), The Renaissance was the rebirth of art and man away from The Church following the Dark Ages, which lasted from when The Roman Empire fell until about 1500, when artists like Michelangelo came to this earth and graced us with their presence.

This picture I took is of Michelangelo's Dying Slave. There's two of them together, the other called The Rebellious Slave, another sculpture of a similar man who is struggling against the bonds that tie him.

I've seen Michelangelo's David in Florence when we were there two years ago. It was my first Michelangelo sculpture, and once I saw David, I realized why Michelangelo was the sculptor of his time, and why everyone clamored to see him make more of his work.

David, like The Dying Slave and other works, are one of those things where you look at it, and it is so perfect, it becomes the standard by which all other sculptors are measured. His attention to anatomy and other details, not just in the medical sense but in the overall appearance of his work, makes his work especially stunning. When you look at David, his hands and feet are oversized, and it's very obvious when you stand in front of him. However, Michelangelo was commissioned to make David under the understanding that David would grace the top of the Duomo, the church at the center of Florence. When the people saw how beautiful David was, no one wanted to put him way up there on the Duomo, they wanted him down where they could admire him. And rightly so.

David, who is the David of "David and Goliath" Biblical fame, holds a slingshot in one hand and cradles rocks in the other, looking over his shoulder almost as he looks towards Goliath with a look that says "Yeah, I can bring him down."

Michelangelo also carved The Pieta (pronounced pee-ay-TAH), the image of Mary holding a dying Jesus which graces St. Peter's Basilica in The Vatican. In that sculpture, if you measured Mary, she would actually be 13 feet tall, but when you look at her she doesn't seem out of proportion at all, Michelangelo only made her that big so she could support the Jesus in her arms without appearing overwhelmed.

Coincidentally, The Pieta is the only signed Michelangelo work. The story goes that Michelangelo, who was only 25 when he made The Pieta, overheard two young women of Florence as they admired the work shortly after it was unveiled. One of them said that a rival artist had made it, and Michelangelo, whose ego was bruised, went to the back of it and carved his name into the stone afterwards.

I love little facts like that.

Quote of the Day

"Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared."

- Edward Vernon Rickenbacker. American Pilot, Businessman and Aviator. 1890-1973

In the Steps of Quasimodo

The Bored Gargoyle on Paris' Notre Dame Cathedral 

I had the opportunity to climb to the top of Notre Dame Cathedral while I was in Paris a few weeks ago. This picture was taken as we headed towards the final steps of the bell tower, and the view included not only the famous "Bored Gargoyle" shown here, but a sweeping view of Paris.

In the center of Paris, in the church's square, is a small bronze circle noting the center of the city. This Ground Zero in France notes the beginning point from which all distances in the city are measured.

Notre Dame sits on a large island in the middle of the Seine River, called "Ile de la Cite" (Isle of the City), which affords a fantastic view from its belfry. Ile de la Cite also holds Ste. Chappelle, a Gothic cathedral where the entire Bible story is told in stained glass, the Justice Center for the French Police/Courts, and La Conciergerie, the notorious prison where Marie Antoinette spent her final months before being beheaded during The Terror -- the bloodbath that followed the French Revolution.

On the right, you see Sacre Coeur (Sacred Heart) Cathedral on the city's highest point, and closer to your right you see the Louvre, with the grand Tuileries Gardens giving way to Place de la Concorde (where Marie Antoinette and her husband, along with thousands of other Frenchmen lost their heads to the guillotine during the French Revolution in the late 1780s and '90s). From there, you can see the Champs Elysees, the grand boulevard of ultra-chic shopping and Lance Armstrong's famous 7-time ride to victory in the Tour de France. It ends at the Arc de Triomphe, built by Napoleon and resting place for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier where to this day, a nightly military band and Honor Guard play the French National Anthem and lays great floral wreaths to honor the war dead from World War I (The War To End All Wars).

In front of you as you look West from the cathedral is the Eiffel Tower, to the left is Les Invalides (where Louis XIV built a grand military hospital and cathedral for his soldiers to recouperate after fighting his wars, and is still the "Veterans Hospital" to this day, and where Napoleon is buried.

Yes, the view from Notre Dame is spectacular. I hope everyone gets to see it in their lifetime. I'll post more pictures later.

People I Admire

Winston Churchill's Statue in London's Westminster Square 

I don't know a lot about Winston Churchill, but after my recent trip to London, I know more.

We went to the Cabinet War Rooms, where Winston Churchill, who was then Prime Minister, hunkered down and planned and coordinated resistence to Nazi attacks during World War II.

The War Rooms are in the basement of a large government complex not far from Buckingham Palace and Westminster, and the audio tour was outstanding -- giving one the feel of what it must have been like to live there, from the secretary/typists to his closest advisors.

The reason I posted this picture is that Sir Winston Churchill said he did NOT want a statue of himself put up in the square, because pigeons would just poop on him.

So, the English came up with a compromise, and that was to wire the statue with a small electrical current -- one that would shun birds from landing on him, and would be harmless to people.

Notice how clean he is?

I thought that was hilarious.

Why People Don't Think Like Me...

I had an interesting post on the Fodor's travel website today. I answered a woman's question about how they were weighing what countries her daughter should go to as an exchange student, and whether she should go somewhere that would require a second language.

Some people on the board were saying for her to go somewhere in the U.K. (England, Scotland, one of the Irelands), or Australia or New Zealand, encouraging her not to put her under the strain of having to be immersed in a language she doesn't know.

One teacher referenced her experience working with foreign students on a regular basis, citing their intense homesickness and apparent inability to adapt to the U.S. English language and our customs.

I was an exchange student to Brazil in the 1980s, which feels like eons ago...but nonetheless the experience has stayed with me, and has formed a large part of who I am today. I told the mother that the only kids I knew who truly struggled and perhaps regretted going were those who were sent to Japan and other places where the language and culture were such a shock that it took months to learn enough of the language and customs to function properly and enjoy anything about where they were.

My point isn't that kids shouldn't go to Japan or India or other places like that, only that the intense changes of those cultures could make it harder...and that other countries (like Brazil) had many challenges to overcome including the language, customs and climate, and that facing those challenges -- even at the tender age of 16 -- could be a good one.

It amazes me that someone would be interested in shipping their kids off -- but if they're not going to a more known place like Europe -- they falter in their decision-making. It's the decision of "I want her to have an experience, but not that big of an experience."

My main beef with that kind of argument is that you are no more safe in India with a good family than you are in Berlin. The fact remains, your experience overseas -- if you're over there for a year -- is going to vary by the families you're placed with, but mostly your attitude and willingness to adapt.

I went to Brazil in August 1983, at 16 myself, and had basically no knowledge of the language. I wrote my parents letters weekly from the time I arrived, but hadn't talked to them on the phone until Dec. 12, my Mom's birthday. I called and the first I heard of my Dad and Mom's voices reduced me to tears. I was so homesick. After about 20 minutes, we hung up, and I went for a walk. I'll never forget standing on the hill overlooking a large sugar cane field at the edge of town, as a large thunderstorm passed over, and crying at my homesickness.

But I didn't cry for long. I realized I was just a few months into a year-long commitment, and that I'd better make the best of it while I was there. Mom wasn't there to tell me that -- I just grew up that day and realized I had to "buck up" as my Dad used to call it, and get over it.

After that, I took the time to learn Portuguese -- I immersed myself in my new family's traditions, learned a lot of the language in just a few more months' time, and soon was able to feel less lonely by the fact that I could now actively participate in everything from classroom lessons at school to dinner table discussions. By the end of my year there, I was picking up vocabulary words almost intuitively, and was able to speak fluently enough that I could convince people I was either a native or had lived there for most of my life.

Learning the language was part of learning the culture. Today as I read the post from someone pushing this mother to send her daughter to an English-speaking country made me wonder: Why is learning another language so scary, and why is it such a negative thing in this country? Why don't people think like me and see what a huge advantage it is to take the time to learn something new -- particularly when you're so young and have the time and energy?

I just finished reading "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte, and recently started Jane Austen's masterpiece, "Emma". In Emma, there's a statement about her father where he secretly believes that's what's good for him must be good for everybody.

I don't really believe that -- I don't think everyone should think like me, in fact it would be a bit of a boring world if we were all the same.

But in matters of education, travel and learning new experiences, I sure wish to heck that people were more adventurous than they are. Kinda like me.

Welcome to Colorado

Snowstorm's A Comin' 

Yesterday, it was 80 degrees. I went to a friend's outdoor wedding reception near Castle Rock, nestled west of there in the hills, and wore open-toed shoes, and found myself wishing I'd at least worn a skirt, if not shorts, instead of my black pants, that Absorb The Sun.

Today it's cooler. I think we might have hit 50 degrees today. By midnight it will snow. They're expecting 4-11 inches of snow in the next 24 hours.

It's one of those weather places that makes you pay attention. If the temperature drops 30 degrees in 30 minutes and the mountains disappear, you'd better have a parka with you, 'cause a storms a-comin'.

I don't tire of watching the weather here, and believe me, it's like the ocean -- you don't turn your back on it. I've been on a mountain top in August when it was 94 down in Denver, only to see snow flurries fly. I've seen it sunshine and snow at the same time, creating a rainbow augmented by crystals falling out of the sky as the sun refracts light through the snow flakes. I've heard thunder and seen lightning at the same time it's snowed, and impressive "thundersnow" storm I didn't even know was possible.

Ah, Colorado. I do love it here.

Photo Night at Our House

Paris 2005 

I've spent a good deal of time tonight going through our photos from our recent trip to London and Paris. As I work back in time, I see the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Arc de Triomphe, my beloved Eiffel Tower. And the beauty of it is, there are lots of pictures of my Mom and Aunt in them.

This time in Paris was less rushed. Instead of having three nights there with me suffering from bronchitis the whole time, we were all well, with the exception of some suffering from tiredness and others ordering some meat tartare (uncooked, blech), and suffering from a 24-hour Montezuma's Revenge.

Paris in September is a wonderful place. Like London, the leaves were just beginning to turn, but the weather was for the most part fabulous, the people friendly, and returning there for me felt like I was coming back to see a friend I did not know well but wanted to.

Instead of just seeing the Big Stuff, we also worked in walks through the Marais, the Jewish Quarter, the Latin Quarter, and climbs up dombs from Sacre Couer to Notre Dame with it's massive gargoyles. We ate gelato as we strolled through Luxomburg Gardens, and saw Napoleans Tomb.

Nearly every night, after our parents were in bed, my husband and I would go out for a glass of wine at the cafe' around the corner and talk about our day. We met a number of French people there who quickly took to us as we were among the few foreign tourists willing to be out late at night, so they weren't so overwhelmed by the number of us, and a few drinks helped loosen up their desire and ability to speak English with us, as did our French.

Overall, it was a lovely trip. I will post a few other pictures as time allows, but have to say that going to London for a few days (which was rushed, but I'm glad we worked it in) and on to Paris to put our suitcases down and drink in the city did us both a great deal of good.

We're already talking about where to go next. Budapest, Prague and Moscow? Perhaps a tour of the French countryside, or a return to Rome. We're still talking about Asia, and whether to go to Tokyo first or save it for later and go to Bangkok, Thailand and VietNam.

Who knows where the next trip will lead us. I just know that every time I travel I come home to see my city through renewed eyes. One of appreciation for where I live, but I also bring back a few new habits, a few new ways of looking at things, and that changes me. And hopefully it's all for the better.

Happy Travels.

In The Zone

Paris, September 22, 2005 

I'm too tired to sleep. But I nap. When I awaken, I feel like I am "coming to". But mostly I'm awake.

I just got back from Paris, France. So neat to see the city and spend some good time there. We had a week, and saw so much.

It's hard to finish anything today. I did some laundry but haven't put it away, started cleaning the bathroom, so the sink and toilet are clean, but not the tub or floor, and I did vacuum, but the vacuum cleaner is still sitting out, plugged into the wall.

I'm even having trouble finishing this post, but I'm going to do it, dammit, just so I can say I finished SOMETHING today. But this is all I have to offer today. Tomorrow, I'll write about how my darling husband forgot his greencard and wasn't allowed to leave France until he went to the US Consulate office to get permission to land in the States. But that's a story that needs to be told in its entirety, and I just don't have it in me until I get a nice 8-hour Ambien night's sleep.

Ah, jetlag.

This is why I live in Denver.

I got on the bus Monday and these two guys get on the bus after me somewhere down near 38th & Pecos. One is older and the other guy is younger, but speaks so unintelligibly I thought he was drunk or impaired. My inner voice says "Man, drunk at 8:30 a.m.???"

Turned out that's a New Orleans accent.

They got on the bus, and were talking to a woman next to them about how they just got here after being at the Superdome and then bussed to San Antonio. They're staying with one of the guy's brothers here in Denver.

They were headed to Social Security so the older guy could get registered. I was reading a book and sitting back a ways so I couldn't talk to them without yelling, but I could hear quite a bit. Anyway, this lady starts telling them about how they need to get to the American Red Cross, and it's down on Speer Blvd., and they don't know where that is.

She said she was getting off at Champa where the Social Security office is, so she'd walk them there to make sure they were taken care of.

They thanked her up and down, and then I heard her say "Well, my appointment isn't til later. I'll make sure you get down to the Red Cross too."

I was just sitting there amazed and delighted...THAT is the difference between Denver and Seattle. Seattleites would tell you where to go and wish you well, but they'd never drop what they were doing and just say "Hey, I'll take you there and make sure you're ok."

I watched them get off the bus and the lady had a daughter with her...they were quite a motley crew, as the guy with the thick New Orleans accent had pants on that were obviously donated...they fit up top, but were many inches too short.

I love taking the bus. You meet and see the most amazing people. I reached for the $10 I had in my wallet before they got off the bus, but they moved too fast. I would have gladly given it to them just so they could get a bite to eat or something.

I've made more friends casually here in Denver in 4 years than I did in all my 15 years in Seattle. Good friends too. Ah, Denver hospitality. Thank you, my adopted city. You are wonderful in more ways than one, but this is a big one.

9/11

Four years.

In the past year I've had the honor of going to New York City and standing at the eerie spot that once held the towering World Trade Center.

Despite the fact that it's now a construction zone, there's no doubt that you sense a lot of death happened there. It makes me believe that the disturbance in the cosmos that occurs when great tragedies happen are real and not to be forgotten.

I do believe that those who died in the Towers and on Flight 93 were innocent in the technical sense, but I also understand that because of our wealth we are a target, and any participant in the creation and maintenance of that wealth is perceived as an enemy. My question is, by whom? Is it just Islamic extremists? I don't think so.

That 9/11 morning in 2001, I woke at 6:50 a.m., just as news came out that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I said something to my husband about it, and we both thought it was just a small plane, and surely it was an accident.

In the 10 minutes it took me to start coffee and turn on CNN, I watched as the second plane hit. "Holy Shit," I thought. "This is no accident. I called a friend on the West Coast who's a newspaper reporter, who I knew wouldn't be awake, much less at work yet. I told him to get to the newsroom because the Towers had been hit, and we were apparently under some sort of attack.

As I drove to work I listened to the radio as the DJ's said for people not to panic. "Panic?" I thought, "All I want to know is "who's ass are we going to kick for this?"

Four years later, we've managed to attack two countries (let's not forget Afghanistan), we've alienated many of our allies in Western Europe, and despite all our 21st Century Technology, we can't find Osama bin Laden in his mud hut somewhere.

There's no easy answer. There may not be one at all. But I can tell you this: I don't believe what we're doing is destroying more terrorists than it's creating.

And I consider myself a patriot for standing up and saying so.

My Twice in a Lifetime Trip...

The last time my husband and I went to Europe in 2003, we took 23 days to go from London to Paris, on to Venice, Florence, Rome, and Athens. We kept going to Samos Island, to Izmir, Turkey, and finally Istanbul.

At the time I remember a lot of people being surprised at how far we were going, how many cities we were seeing, and kept referring to our adventure as a "once in a lifetime trip."

Next Thursday, we're on another adventure, this time to London for a few days, then a week in Paris.

I don't believe in once-in-a-lifetime travel. I may never go back to some of the places I've seen, but I'd like to think I will. Given the fact that we probably won't have kids, and my willingness to live with furniture and carpet I'd rather replace, we have the means to do it.

I do believe it's all about priorities. My husband and I bought an older house that needed fixing, and we've done most of what needed to be done. After that, we decided that instead of a Pottery Barn interior decorating job, we'd rather travel.

For those of our friends with kids -- I am always amazed at the sarcasm with which I hear "must be nice" when I say I'm going somewhere overseas. I don't say that to them when I hear they're pregnant with child #3. Although don't think for a minute that it doesn't pass through my head. At least the filter in my brain works.

As much as we'd like a family, we apparently can't have one. We decided instead of sitting around moping around about what we don't have, and instead concentrate on what we do have, and in our case it's freedom and a little extra play money.

So off we go to see some more of the world. We chose London because the last time we were there we only had a couple of days, and it was WAY cooler than I expected, and there was much more to see than the usual stuff. Heck, even the usual stuff is in plenty of supply. We also chose Paris because the last time we went we spent 3 nights and 4 days there, most of which was taken up with me getting bronchitis and feeling too ill to do more than walk directly to the Mona Lisa at the Louvre and back out again, taking a double decker bus tour to drive past a lot of major sites, and a trip up the Eiffel Tower. Paris deserves more than that. It deserves a minimum of a week sitting in cafe's, sipping cafe au laits (pronounced "caffay o'lay") and climbing the hills of Montmartre.

So many people think they can't afford it, but spend $200/night at a hotel in Aspen. For $800 you can fly to Europe, and if you're judicious about it, you can find a very nice hotel in the heart of Paris for less than $100 a night! Wine is cheaper than soda, a museum pass gets you into all sites (and their bathrooms!) for less than $50 for the whole week. Yes, it's money out the door, but it's less expensive than that car payment.

That last trip was like a sampler...I got to see plenty, but now I want to go back to old cities and new ones and really soak it in. For the REST of my life.

Happy Travels,

Jules

If It Looks Like a Duck and Quacks Like a Duck...

I won't go into much detail about why this title strikes me as funny...perhaps because it's been an theme in my life more than once.

I've never been one to stand by and let someone I know and admire get hurt, and recently such an event happened. It didn't matter that I'd never met her in person, because the fact remains, I know the details of her life better than I know some of my own best friends in real life.

But nothing -- nothing -- pisses me off more than watching a friend get hurt over the gossip of another. The fact that the perpetrator of this crime actually puts herself in a position of true insincerity and duplicitousness and calls it "wit" and "harmless" makes it even more appalling, especially when considering the vulnerability of the victim.

I'm in the middle of reading Charles Dickens' classic A Tale of Two Cities, and in it he talks about a Monsier who willingly lets his nephew face a trial with the possible outcome being "drawing and quartering" (an all too recent method of execution), and who himself believes he has a right to the privilige of class and distinction, purely because he was born to it. Little does he know that the French Revolution is about to occur, and the lovely chateau he calls home is on the verge of being sacked and burned to the ground as the angry "little people" get their vengeance.

People are only leaders if you let them be. It's really a matter of silence and complicity that allows most people to hold any power at all.

When you step up -- speak your mind -- and not allow the tyrants of the world remain tyrants, it does amaze me that they often are surprised to learn that they are viewed in such a light.

But the quacking and noise I heard from this woman was as simple as the sheep who followed her.

I simply pronounce her a duck.

Quack.

Parking Tickets

I recently got a ticket on my street -- they have street cleaning here in Denver, where they choose to give you some "3rd Thursday" or "4th Tuesday" to move your car off the street, so they can allegedly clean it -- if you don't you get a parking ticket. Well, I've been taking the bus to work, and as usual not paying attention to whether it was the 4th Tuesday Of The Month, so I didn't notice the ticket on my car. But of course I got the envelope, so now I have to pay it. I figured a letter to the City with a little humor would help, so here's what I wrote:

August 29, 2005

City & County of Denver
PO Box 46502
Denver, CO 80201-6502

Dear Sir/Madam:

I recently found this enclosed envelope in the door of my car. There is no citation inside, but given the fact that I was parked in front of my house at 123 Main Street on street cleaning day August 23, I probably deserved one, but it was lost on the street in the monsoon and wind storm that followed.

My car is a ‘97 Subaru Legacy Outback, Colorado license plate #555-XXX.

Enclosed is a check for $20. I don’t know the amount of the ticket, but I’m guessing it‘s the same as when I did a similarly stupid thing back in May. If the rate has gone up since then, please would you please call me at one of the numbers below?

Thank you for your attention to this matter. As always, your service is appreciated, as I never feel like I’m giving the city and county enough money until I’ve got a parking ticket to pay.

Sincerely,




Julie M.
123 Main Street
Denver, CO 80202
555-2933
555-1426

Uncle Tom's Cabin

In the past two weeks while I've been riding the bus to work, I've managed to finish one book and start another. My first book, Fried Green Tomatoes at The Whistle Stop Cafe was an outstanding book, easy reading, and a fun look at an aging woman who makes friend with a character from Whistle Stop, Alabama who tells her stories that change her outlook on life.

After I finished that book, I didn't intend to pick up another book about The South, but I have had a copy of the Civil War classic Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, a book on a long list of classics that I've been meaning to read for years.

At first the book was a bit slow going. The way Mrs. Stowe wrote about the slaves' version of English made it difficult to figure out where they were saying, so it took some concentration.

But as I read along, like learning a new language, I got the inflections and spellings of the slave talk ("gwine" means "going"). I was soon enveloped in a great, dare I say genius piece of storytelling.

I'm halfway through the book, and I'm already worried about reading it too fast so it's over too soon, but am so compelled by the story that I want to read to find out what happens to the characters, including George & Eliza, and of course, Uncle Tom.

Never have I read a book that so richly interweaves characters from such diverse backgrounds, from the pitiable but heroic Eliza, running from slavery with her only surviving child the night before the child is to be sold "downriver" -- a fate for slaves that ranks right up there with being sent to hard labor in Siberia.

Mrs. Stowe writes about the different Southern slave owners, how some of them struggle with the question of slavery, and how many manage to legitimize their owning of slaves by using biblical references. Still others don't hide behind the Bible, but choose to be kind to their slaves, with a more humanitarian view of their Black servants.

"The Great Emancipator" -- President Abraham Lincoln -- once met Mrs. Stowe (whose book was originally published as a a serial in a magazine in 1851-1852, galvinizing sentiment among Northerners against slavery), and he said to her "So you're the little lady who started this big war."

Her rich storytelling paints such a portrait of slavery, I can certainly understand why such sentiments gelled over her book.

It also makes me reflect on why I do certain things, and whether or not I do them "because everybody else does" as the Southerners did, or if I take a moral high road over something, looking down on others who choose to do things differently, much like the Northerners did at the time in their attitudes towards slavery.

Much to think about, but I am so thankful to have this book in my hands. What a gem of American Literature, to be sure, and I'm only halfway through the book!

Work Week #1 Is Over, The Cats Wonder...

Where Have You Been? 

This is Jack, my 11-month-old kitten. He's a bit put off now that I've gone to work every day this week. He's also quite the talker. Meow, Meow, meeeeow. Following me around the house as I get ready as if to say "you're going out AGAIN?" and then again when I return.

I enjoyed my first week of work. Even if the cats missed me. I had a dream last night that my cat Jack looked at me as I talked to him the way I do, and he said in a human voice, "You don't have to talk to me like I don't know. I understand every word you say."

Freaky.

Ode to The End of Unemployment

Well, that was fun. Sort of. For the past 5 1/2 months, I've been without a job. I got laid off from my job in February, and at long last, I've been hired to work at a newspaper here in Denver.

Let's take stock of what I accomplished (in addition to looking for and finding work).

1) I made three baby quilts and one queen size one, all given away to friends and family.

2) I cleaned. Boy did I. I've never been much of a housekeeper, but having time on my hands allowed me to have the time to tackle those hard-to-reach areas like the back bedroom. I also cleaned out my kitchen cupboards, the fridge, and some but not all areas of the basement.

3) I painted and rehab'd my front porch. I hated the way my front entrance looked. With a tired old couch, it was time to do something. I pulled a "Trading Spaces" job on it, bought a slipcover and re-covered the cushions. I bought a couple of end tables and cleaned up the area so it looked less like a white trash front porch, and more like a place to hang out.

4) I lost my last grandmother. This wasn't necessarily a good or a bad thing. Gram was 93 and ready to go, but it was sad to lose her just weeks after my unemployment started. I was able to fly out for the funeral, help plan it, and take care of her estate.

5) I later drove to Oregon -- and picked up my grandmother's things that I wanted. I now have my grandfather's desk, Gram's dining set, and a few of her sewing things. It feels good to have those things in my house, and after re-covering the dining chair seats, it looks good too.

6) I lost 20+ pounds. I started Weight Watchers in January, and had already lost about 10 lbs. when I got laid off...I continued my diet and exercise plan, and lost an additional 20 lbs. during my unemployment. I feel lighter, and happy to be able to wear some of my "thin clothes". While I'd still like to lose a few more pounds, I'm glad to be feeling healthier.

7) I volunteered at a local homeless shelter. Just a couple of months ago, I decided that with all this free time, I could easily spend a few hours a week at a local shelter. I've learned a lot in a short period of time, and met some amazing people. I feel like I've gotten more out of it than I gave, that's for sure. I hope to continue after my job starts.

8) A little introspection. After 3 miscarriages in the past 3 years, I needed time off from all the stress and strain of trying to make a family. As much as I would like to have a child, I am coming to the point of being at peace with not having children, or possibly adopting. This is the part of my journey that is yet clear to me, but having this time to think about things and realize that my life will be complete even if we don't have kids has been invaluable.

9) Planning our trip to Europe. I've bought a few books on Paris and London, and spent a good deal of time poring over them and deciding what to see. When I was down about being unemployed, it was wonderful to have something to look forward to. Nothing eases ones heart than to know that in a matter of weeks or months, one will be in Paris.

10) Taking care of my husband. Brian works so hard, it has been fun to be able to have dinner ready for him when he got home, take care of all the housework, and allow him to relax when he got home from work. Within a few weeks of my lay-off, he said "Man, I'm getting spoiled. Can we afford this?" Of course we could for a while, but ultimately no, I'm not built to be a housewife, and we don't make enough money on a single income for us to afford it, even if I was. But it's been nice to have the time to try it out.

The only downside to being unemployed for a long time is that unemployment payments aren't enough to do all the things you want to when you have all that time on your hands. But it looks like we made it through, and next Monday will be so nice.

Back to work I go.

The Few, The Loud, The Talkative

I went to a bridal shower last night for a friend, who's from England, who is marrying an American friend of ours. After a rough day yesterday, I thought about not going to a party, but decided to buck up and go anyway.

This English friend had a few friends and her sister in town from London for the wedding, and since I'm going to London in a couple of months, I thought it would be nice to talk with them a bit about their home country.

Well, it was not to be. The sister-in-law-to-be was invited as well, and the moment she walked in the door, she did nothing but yak on and on about herself. She was so loud, she drowned out any hope of other conversations, and when her husband called her on her cell phone, she proceeded to stay in the room and loudly talk to him and report on everything he said. Ugh.

There was some eye contact between the other 10 of us in the room that said I was not alone in my disgust. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt and thought "maybe she just stays home with the kids all day and doesn't have anyone to talk to." But no, apparently she's like that all the time, so said one of my friends later.

By the end of the evening, I knew about her relationship with her husband, mother, and that she had two kids, and what they were like. I scarcely can remember a detail about anyone else in the room, because we barely had a chance to say anything.
When I left with a friend, we walked out into the driveway, and I told Wendi "I know I can talk a lot, but wow!" And she said "No, you're not like that! But she's ALWAYS been that way."

I wonder if she went home and told her husband what a great time she had, and if it even crossed her mind that she talked so much she had NO chance of learning anything about anyone else at the party.

I often wonder if there is anything one can do in those situations. I tried to have side conversations as was possible, but our British guests began to tune out, one checking her pictures on her camera, and another just gave up and went to bed.

What a lost opportunity. After the day I had yesterday (I was told I wasn't the candidate for a job I really wanted, and I was deeply disappointed) I was hoping for a chance to look forward to my European vacation by talking with some Europeans. Instead, I got to listen to a loud-mouthed conservative Air Force wife from Colorado Springs tell me about every detail of her childbirth experiences to what her husband likes her to do in bed. TMI, thank you very much.

At one point, she was prattling on about her childbirth experiences, and I quipped "This isn't a baby shower, I think we should talk about weddings, don't you think?" then asked everyone in the room about what their weddings were like. Miss Loudmouth cut right in and started telling us about her wedding, and how her husband and her were SO happy after 14 years. I wonder if he'd have the chance to even tell her he's not happy as he probably doesn't get a chance to get a word edge-wise.

How do you handle those situations? Do you just bear it and pray to God she doesn't show up at too many other parties? I can't imagine anything I could have said to get her to shut her trap long enough to let others talk that wouldn't have been rude itself.

I'm so glad yesterday is over!

Terrorists and Their Copycats

London's Trafalgar Square, with Big Ben in the background. 

I was saddened to hear of an additional terror attack on London this morning. Just two weeks ago, 50+ people were killed as an orchestrated attack to the city's transportation attack occurred within minutes of each other.

Today, I woke up to similar news, only to find that as I watched the developments, it's believed that the "bombers" were actually copycats, and that fortunately, there was no loss of life.

As most humans on the planet with access to the news wonder, "what are they thinking?"

I spend some time on a couple of websites that have discussion boards concerning travel to Europe. While some people are stupid enough to think that terrorists=Islamic people, and others think that all Muslims are terrorists, most of us know that is not the case.

Others discuss whether they should travel to London now that the bombinbs have occurred -- yet again.

I guess if I was going in two weeks, I'd wonder too. Instead, my husband and I are flying to London in September, and still plan on going. There is no reason in my mind to alter my plans for some terrorist or their even more pathetic versions, the copycats who do something like this just to gain attention.

I was in London in 2003 -- it was my first trip to Europe, and my husband and I took a long trip across Europe, starting in the U.K., and heading to Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, Athens, Izmir and Istanbul.

When I stepped out of the Westminster Tube station, I saw Big Ben, looming large in front of me, and I cried actual tears. What a lovely city, what a wonderful people, and what a fabulous time we had hanging out in Trafalgar Square, seeing Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London and its Crown Jewels. The historical records room at the British Library wow'd me with original documents of everything from The Magna Carta, Shakespeare's original works, and the napkin John Lennon wrote "Yesterday" on.

No, I will not be swayed. I figure I still have a better chance of getting killed driving my car in Colorado or crossing the street.

Just in London, I have to look to the right instead of the left.

Time, Boy Do I have a Lot of THAT!

I've been unemployed since February, when I was laid off from my job. My job moved to Boise, Idaho, and for obvious reasons to everyone except the actual residents of Boise, I did not go with it.

In the past 5 months, I've had the time to do a real job search. I recently applied for and interviewed with The Denver Post for a position I really want. I'm waiting to hear about that, hopefully this week.

As the weeks tick by, I've found myself doing a few projects here and there. I finished a queen-size quilt and three baby quilts. I've cleaned out a few places that needed doing, and I've done plenty of research on our trip to Paris, France for September.

But in between all those hours of work and play, I find myself stumped about a few things.

One -- and probably Number One -- is about our family and how to build it. I've suffered three miscarriages in three years, and we both feel the need to take a break from trying to make a family, either biological or adopted. My last miscarriage was in January, and while that feels very immediate in some respects, it feels like it was eons ago. I have a friend who I recently learned is pregnant. It's still hard to hear that other people have such an easy time of getting and staying pregnant. Like my husband Brian said the other day as he told me the news -- it's hard to realize what different routes some other people's lives take.

Of course we hope her pregnancy is perfect and that everything turns out fine. But whenever we hear about people having babies it just reminds us of what we've gone through and that for all intents and purposes, we just can't. The innocence of thinking we'd just make a family when we wanted to is gone forever.

I guess I'm at a loss about how to really grieve that. I feel like it's just a fact of my life in many respects. I feel like while it is sad, there's nothing I can really do about it, so then what?

There are days I cry a tear or two, but it's not the empty hole it once was in my heart. I feel my heart feel heavy with the burden sometimes, but it's not a constant feeling, more situational as I hear of other people moving on and having their families.

I keep thinking there must be something I can do to work through this more. Maybe this time I have on my hands is just what I need -- time to think about it a little, but also to heal as I move on with my life and put some distance between me and my losses. Is that all there is to it? Perhaps yes.

Number 2 -- The other things I think about are "what do I want to be in life?" As I got laid off, I knew I'd have the time and the unemployment check to at least make do while I looked for work. But I still wonder if I'll ever find a job that I really love. The job I applied for at The Post is the closest thing I can think of to a perfect job for me -- one of researching and finding information for reporters. When I was a reporter, my favorite part of the job was doing the research end of things. On one hand, I think I should go back to being a reporter, but I didn't like the stress of the conflicts that arise from being a reporter. Knocking on people's doors for comment when they just want to be left alone, that sort of thing.

I find myself wanting to do a more supportive job for the news business. I find that I want a job where I can go home at night and not have to still be stressed from a day's work. I find peace at being at home, and don't feel like I need to have a high-powered career. That's so different from where I was several years ago. What changed?

I guess as I get older, I realize that my family -- husband, brothers, sister, Mom -- are the most important people in my life. I want to spend time with them and know them well, as they are the best friends in my life and by far my greatest supporters. Doing a job that would require long hours and an inability to nurture those relationships is just not something I want to do.

Why do I feel weird about that. I don't know. I guess there's a part of me that thinks I'm supposed to be more of my aggressive self. My mind and heart are at war over this sometimes.

That's all for now.

I Cried When She Left

Dhan and Julie 

It amazes me sometimes, how friendships work. My friend Dhan and I went to school in the 4th and 5th grades together way back in the late 1970s, when both our families lived in the same town in Eastern Oregon.

I haven't seen Dhan since we were here in Colorado 13 years ago for my Dad's funeral. At the time she was living here, and my parents had recently moved to Colorado.

In the past couple of years we've talked more and more, and renewed our friendship as our lives have moved us around -- her to Tennessee and me to Denver.

I was so excited when she and her husband and son came to visit us this past weekend. We renewed our friendship, and talked a lot about our years together in Oregon, reminiscing about our years together and how we've all grown and changed.

As she said, it's amazing what an impact a friendship from our 4th-5th grade experience can have on our adult lives, as we have been able to remain friends and grow in the same directions as time passes.

I've never cried when a friend has left my house, but today I did. It was such a lovely visit, and her leaving left a quiet spot in my house. She will be missed.

What a lovely person.

They're Not The "Big Breasts" in French

The Grand Tetons 

Even my Dad said to me one time as we drove through the Grand Tetons the last summer he was alive, that he thought "The Grand Tetons" meant "The Big Breasts" in French.

I'm not sure where that came from...and maybe it's true, but after going through my big French dictionary, I couldn't find anything to support that American myth.

On Wednesday morning this past week, I drove from Mammoth Hot Springs in North Yellowstone, stopping at the Fountain Paint Pots and Old Faithful, before heading south through The Grand Teton National Park before coming home to Denver. This picture was taken at about 9 a.m., and despite my antsiness to get home, and the fact that I had just passed the slowest, worst driver ever, I was willing to pull over for a moment at the edge of the lake to snap this photo.

I'm finding as I age, and live in the Mile High City longer and longer, that I am fascinated by mountains. Their majesty of soaring to great heights in short distances, their foreboding presence when you contemplate what it would take to climb them, all make me love to look at them and wonder at the great creation that is Earth.

I've driven and traveled the United States fairly often in my 38 years. I've been to Miami Beach, New York City, Southern California and Seattle, Washington, so I've seen the four corners essentially, of our continental USA.

But in the heart of it, right up the middle, are Rocky Mountains, with alpine lakes, rivers and streams and majestic mountains that put me in awe. The Grand Tetons is one of those places as well. To quote Yakov Shmirnoff, the Russian comedian "What a beautiful country."

Dashboard Photography

Yellowstone North Entrance, 6/21/05 

This past week, I took a roadtrip back to my stomping grounds in the Northwest. Mostly to pick up some of my grandmother's things that she left me, and to help my brothers and sister go through the last of her storage items. On the way back, I drove through Yellowstone National Park.

This photo was taken as I approached the North Entrance to the park...the sunset was stunning and I couldn't help but snap this and many other photos along the way.

There is something great about taking a road trip, but I particularly enjoyed this one. As I drove on this 3,000 mile journey alone, I had a great time just cruising along, seeing a lot of my favorite places in the West and Northwest, especially the incredibly precious Yellowstone.

A road trip lets you think, but when you're alone -- you often find yourself wanting to press on -- especially when you've been on the road for 15 hours, and are about to collapse. As I drove along, I found a new hobby -- one I've named "Dashboard Photography". No worries about taking good pictures...some of them will turn out ok, others will focus on the bugs on the windshield, only to be deleted later.

But this precious photo is one I will remember and enjoy -- because it's entering into what I consider to be one of the most special places in the U.S. One of geysers, bison, paintpots, and elk. One of mountains, rivers and a part of us that seems lost and forgotten, but here it remains.

More later.

E is for Effort

Last night my husband and I were joking around...like we do sometimes. OK, a lot.
He said "I love you," and I responded "But I'm SO high maintenance!"

He laughed and said no, you're not. In fact, he said, I don't have any of the problems some of my friends complain about with their wives.

Which of course, begged the question "What kinds of problems?"

"Effort," he said.

Sometimes he said, he hears from his friends that their marriages have problems because someone just stops trying.

"I think it's easier because we're friends too," he said.

So true.

I always feel bad for people who are in unhappy marriages. Sometimes they just married so young that they didn't really choose the right person, or sometimes they are the right person, but they've been together so long and take each other for granted that they stop working at making the marriage a happy one.

I have more than one female friend who feels their husband has stopped trying too. I've seen it with my own two eyes. In some cases, it's so bad that you just want to sit the guy down and SAY something, but of course it's not my business to do so.

The one thing I don't get is how people can stop trying in a relationship, and yet just stay in it, miserable. And often, the person who stops trying first blames the other for not being there.

But it is ALWAYS time to break the impasse. Saying "let's fix this" are probably the greatest words besides "I love you" that you can say to your spouse. But so few people do. Some people will step up to the plate and change, others will throw in the towel.

I've been married before. I've said "Let's fix this" only to find out he didn't want to fix anything. Towel thrower.

But I've also been married to a man for the past five years who takes the smaller problems in life and says "How do we fix this together?" He's my Brian.

There are times when things get tough for us, but we're in it together, and that makes it amazingly easy to get through. Ultimately, the only person in the world I want to go through life with is my Brian, and he feels the same way about me.

A little Effort, that's all I'm saying. Try it today.

Kitten Hopper Finds a Fort

Kitten Hopper Finds a Home 

I recently finished a quilt -- and decided who it's going to (that's a secret to those in my family who might read this as it's going to be a surprise). I have it boxed up for a trip, and recently took it out to show someone who had come over to visit.

Well, after showing the friend I didn't wrap it back up and put it in the sealed box, and recently I walked into the back room to see this photo op -- my cat had found a way UNDER the paper and ONTO the blanket.

I find my cats like to lay on things -- sure, we all like comfortable spots, but they also like to be covered up with a view from their fortress. It reminds me of when I was a kid and we'd hide under the kitchen table after throwing a sheet over the top to make a "fort" or play "house".

There's something about finding your comfortable place. For me, I like my front porch during a lightning storm. Enclosed with windows, I feel safe from the storm while being able to watch the light show and hear the big thunder roll across the skies.

I'm getting ready to go on a long road trip alone -- to Oregon. I'm going out to get some of my Grandma's things from her estate, including her dining room set and my Grandpa's old secretary desk.

I find the prospect of a road trip exciting, especially because I find the road to be a good place to process things...but it's also a feeling of being "out there" on my own -- out of my comfort zone that is at some level exciting, but also a little scary.

While most of my brothers and sisters don't really care about having any of her stuff around them, I find the prospect of having some of Gram's things in my home comforting. Partly, because Gram's house was always a place of stability -- she never moved in my whole life while my family moved around a lot. I remember many summers eating at that table, and playing "office" at Grandpa's desk, making prank phone calls with the phone that sat on it, and playing "school" where I was the teacher to my little brother.

To have those things in my house will feel like a few things that belonged to her went on to be in another home to build new memories and celebrate old ones.

Someday I hope I'll have kids who can do the same thing I did, hopefully minus the prank phone calls.

"Is your refrigerator running? Better go and catch it!"