to Brittany!

The toughest travel days are the ones where you move from one place to the next. Pack up, being mindful of the clock, tidy up, because AirBnB protocol demands it, then of course there are the regular tasks of getting a family of five up, fed and ready to go.

Our train departs the Montparnasse Station at 11:52. It's supposed to be a 20 minute walk, but I think that's for a sprightly person who doesn't mind the "uphill all the way" course and who hasn't a backpack and two suitcases to tow. I tell the crew we have to allow extra time for pauses. I suggest we leave at 10:15.

We've grown very efficient in packing, bathing, getting ourselves ready. Sparrow had a rough night and of course, that means that at least some of us are a little sleepy, but having a purpose and a time goal pushes us forward.

At 9, I step out for my breakfast bread run. I'm to pick up sandwiches for lunch on the train too. But when I get to the food halls, I see that they are closed. Opening hour on Sunday: 10. Well now, how could have I forgotten that we leave on a Sunday?

I go back to the bakery of our first day -- that one is closed all day. I'm not in despair. This is France. There will be a place open somewhere, vacances, and fermetures annuelles (annual closings) not withstanding.

Relieved, I do indeed come across this place:







Croissants, baguettes, sandwiches. Life threw me a good one.

We eat a breakfast where everyone comes to the table, then jumps up with a last minute packing  need or remembering something they still had to do. I offer you some photos of our morning, somewhat  chaotic meal.






In helping me do a final apartment check, Snowdrop makes a discovery: a bathroom window, typically shaded, actually offers the best view!





And here's a testament to our efficiency: by 10:15, we have completed our inspection, taken four trips in the mini elevator taking bags down and now are standing outside, ready for the uphill walk.

(At this point, had some stranger stopped and offered a ride, I would have said "oui!")






At the station at last. With time to spare. We pause for a refreshing drink/snack...






And then we walk over to our TGV ("train at great speed") wagon and settle in for the four hour ride.






Wait, you mean I didn't tell you where we're heading? In a sense these next days will be our true "vacation." We'll be in Plougenvelin -- a small village on the far western tip of Brittany. It's a region that I absolutely love, for its unique geography and in appreciation of its somewhat unusual, Celtic history and traditions. Ed and I hiked the coast pretty extensively some years back and we even made it to Le Conquet, a town just 6 kilometers from where we will be staying. It's thrilling to be returning to the area!

And we have the weather for it! Brittany's climate is moderate, which means it can get cool even in the summer. But the intense heat taking over Europe once again and causing such problems for vegetation and for those living in cities, brings just about perfect seaside temperatures. We are lucky.

The train ride is rather long. For Sparrow at least. He is at a wiggly age and the demands of travel are sometimes uncompromising.  Still, on balance, he is superb at adjusting to the new normal. If we are all to be sitting in this weirdly moving space for a while, so be it!





He should have napped. He does not nap. Three of us worked hard to make it happen, but the little guy would not give in.

In the late afternoon we arrive in Brest -- a port city that provides services for this very western department of France. From here, we take taxis to Plougenvelin.

We are staying at an AirBnB once again -- this one is in a low apartment building right on a little blip of a cove on Brittany's southern ocean shore. The unit is on the top floor (French 5th) and thus has a commanding view -- from the living area..






The woman who owns it is in her mid eighties. A Parisian, she moved to the Normandy coast in her retirement, but found it too drab and wet there and so when her husband died, she rearranged her life and came here. (She lives just below.)

I admire people who can reinvent themselves after a traumatic event. She is a sweet, friendly person who speaks almost no English, but tries hard to make something of her little holiday rental. (Not so little! It has three bedrooms and it being the far end of Brittany, despite the high season, it's  steal!)


Sparrow is in a tumble of good and not so good moods. His routines are upended and he is definitely sleep deprived. He has been a steady guy all day long, but as the evening approaches, he unravels.

Time for me to take the little girl out for an exploratory stroll.





The beach is just across the quiet little street. She is so drawn to it. She wants to sit down and play. I tell her it's nearly seven, we're due for dinner soon, now is not the time.

How about dip a toe in the water?

That works!

The water is lovely!...

It becomes more than just a toe dip.

I tie up her skirts, I take off her sweater, I try to reign her in...






She's pretty wet when I finally insist that we head back. But, she's rinsed by the sea waters and there's hope that she'll dry off soon enough. We walk over to  the local eaterie, La Marina, for dinner (I had asked our host about it -- she said it's simple, but proper!).

And then, in her last steps on the beach, Snowdrop sits down in the sand. She can't resist it. It's like walking a child through a chocolate shop and telling her all that richness is for someone else.





And now she is covered from head to toe with sand and there's nothing to be done but walk her upstairs, dump her in the kitchen sink and wash those fine granules off.



Dinner: I have moules frites. Are they in season? I ask. For one more month, the waiter tell me.

We've come to Brittany at a good time.





I am in my corner room now. It's after 9, but the sun hasn't quite set. The windows are cracked open, but not too much, because the breeze out there is cool right now. I am thinking about one of my first trips to Brittany. It was with Ed and I loved it so much that I thought we should aim toward someday having a little cottage on the coast here. We'd come to it for the summer (longer?) and if there were to be grandkids, they'd come and stay with us all summer long and learn French by being the free agents that French children so often are in these smaller towns and villages.

They weren't silly dreams, but nor way they serious dreams. Life took us elsewhere.

Still, it is remarkable that a twist and a turn brought me back to Brittany. And with these little ones no less.

My eyes are heavy, but I am full of the calm serenity that this place brings me. Good night, from Plougenvelin.

a gentle Paris

An Ocean commenter said it well -- "we are so lucky." I don't ever forget that. Perhaps this is why I pushed us (me included!) so hard yesterday: this is not time to go easy on yourself. There will not be many times where we all can be in Paris together. I do not underestimate the magnificence of this journey.

But we do slow down today. We are again a group of five and we have to pay attention to all of our whims and inclinations. Of course, the first part of the day is easy:a morning visitor!






Then my walk to the food halls to pick up breakfast foods.

(Parisian cafe, of which there are maybe a million.)






(Bon Marche, the department store which houses the food halls often has clever window setups.)


 


(Home at last...)






Travel demands of us greater flexibility and inevitably -- adaptation. There are no bathtubs in the apartment. No problem! Today, I take both kids into the shower with me. Breakfast is wonderful, but is there a high chair? No! Again, no problem!






(Morning play...)






(Snowdrop helps me take out the trash. It's a complicated business: we have to go downstairs, leave the house, then make our way back again. The girl knows all the tricks of entrance by now...)






And after? There are many things on the table, but we are mindful of the heat and of the fact that the adults went to sleep too late and for idiosyncratic reasons, both kids woke up too early today. There will be tiredness as the day progresses.

So we opt for a gentle day. Not unimportant, not unimaginative -- just gentle.

For this, we walk over to the Luxembourg Gardens. We haven't a plan, but we know we'll always find something sensual and lovely there.






And indeed, we see that they are just saddling up the ponies!

Sparrow is too young for his first pony ride, but Snowdrop is the perfect age for it. We wait patiently 'til they saddle the horses...






(It's surprising how much Sparrow enjoys just watching Snowdrop get close to the horses...)






And then she's off!






The parents are happy to have gogs lead her around. And I'm tickled to do it.






I remember how two years ago, on her first pony ride, she was so apprehensive! This time, she is completely comfortable. So in love with the experience, that she cannot believe it when it ends. Tears of genuine sorrow follow. "I loved it so much! I'm going to miss Dewdrop!" (The ponies are obliging: they don't mind it when a rider imagines their new name.)






But the Gardens do not let you stay disappointed for long. So many distractions!  The girl takes her daddy to the mega playground to show him everything that she has accomplished this year (and to get a little help with the zip ride).





It's lunch time. We're not too far from a very good pizzeria ("Arrivederci") and we are in luck: it's not closed for August!

Snowdrop keeps us going with a never ending game of I Spy, and Sparrow, as always, flirts with the waiters. And say what you will about Paris eateries -- the waiters have never failed to respond enthusiastically to her attempts at French and his big (and repetitive) "hi!" and wide grin.














The afternoon is even more leisurely. I offer a walk to the little park, but one kid is napping and the other is absorbed in a story on the couch. In the end I go off by myself, stopping in a store or two and finally ending my afternoon at Poilâne. Ed had forwarded me a recent article on their sablé -- a cookie inspired by American cornbread. I buy a tiny packet, though I am certain they'll be all crumbs by the time we make our way home.


In the evening, we split up: the dad takes the kids to dinner at Leon (a place of a previous father - daughter dinner) and my older girl and I go to Semilla. It's been a while since I dined there with someone sitting across from me!






We walk home late, but it's not dark yet. Every country is unique in how much daylight and night time it gives us. You adjust.





See the Montparnasse tower? There's a train station within it, with service to the north western districts of France. We'll be leaving from there tomorrow.

Paris album

What would you do in Paris, if you had a day there with young ones in tow? It's easy to take it easy here with them: go to the park, shop together for yummy foods, perhaps take a boat ride.

I didn't go that route. You could say I did a Paris marathon, in the heat of the warm sun, ambitiously wanting to get to things I think at least one and possibly two might enjoy.

In the end, we did not fall apart! And there were plenty of smiles throughout. Still, I am quite sure I underfed them (in terms of nutrition), overtired them, taxing their stamina and their ability to take it all in, to say nothing of overheating them on what happens to be another warm and very sunny day here.

I put aside thoughts of feeling old-ish. I was on a Paris roll!

The day begins with my usual walk to get breakfast treats and also lunch foods. Street scenes of Paris in the morning:






(the cafes are starting to fill with locals, returning from their vacations. I see plenty of tanned faces and rested, relaxed demeanors...)






I pop into a scent and cream store. Just because, it's on my way home. Ed doesn't like perfume on women, so I never use it. Still, here, I am drawn to it. A spray on a wrist... mmm!

At home now. Breakfast...






We abandon the parents then and go off, both kids strapped into the mega stroller. You can tell I am aiming to cover a lot of ground!






Our first destination is the garden of the Rodin Museum. Snowdrop is fascinated by the sculptures. We have our own titles for all of them! Naked dancer! Woman with a load of cheese on her shoulder! Grumpy artist!






(I'd say Sparrow is a fan of the garden too, though perhaps for different reasons...)






(Snowdrop concludes that The Thinker is the best of the best... many would agree.)





So long as we are here, we do a walk through the museum itself. But I quickly retreat. For little ones, it's a Rodin overkill.


Next goal: make sure Sparrow knows about the Eiffel Tower. He never sees it on our walks and so he hasn't a clue how important a marker it is for this city. So, let's get close to it!

(is he pointing to it? or does he think the cannonball is the Eiffel Tower?)






We're there! It's getting really warm. We look for a shady spot. A photo please!






I take out the foods I had packed for a picnic.





It's too hot and too out of the ordinary for anyone to really dig in with gusto (well, I do! I'm hungry! That stroller pushing? It's something else! I'd never noticed how tilted the sidewalks here are. They lean to the curb and so you are fighting the inclination of your big-time stroller to roll right into the gutter.) But a baguette never fails. Everyone loves a good chunk of bread!





I ask someone to take a photo of the three of us. It's a classic! Eiffel Tower, growing right out of your heads!






We walk along the river's edge. Snowdrop is impressed by the number of (tourist) boats...






Sparrow should be home napping. But we have too much to do! He cannot keep his eyes open. A blissful few minutes of respite for him...






We cross the river...





I have a destination in mind: the Tuileries Gardens merry-go-round. I think it's the best one in Paris. It's never crowded, the location is serenely beautiful and many of the perches go up and down.

I am surprised to see the ticket seller. I know him from when we were here before! I ask -- could it be that you were here two years ago? And the year before that? He laughs: I've been here for eight years and the other guy who does this job-- twenty years.






I ask for three rides, he gives us four. Snowdrop wants the airplane. She remembered it and she does not want to change. All those animals and she chooses this!






And Sparrow? I try him on my lap, in the "car." He seems fine with it...






So I aim higher. I sit him down on a horse. Right next to Snowdrop's airplane.






That's asking too much. I settle for riding the horse myself, and keeping him on my lap. Everyone is happy.











Just a few steps away, there are the trampolines. Gym class has really boosted Snowdrop's confidence here!






Sparrow adores sitting at the edge and watching all the jumpers...






Just one more set of minutes, Snowdrop! We'll wait for you in the shade.






Perhaps I should have gone home after this. I tell Snowdrop -- we can go home and play, or read while Sparrow naps. Or we can go to the Musee d'Orsay.

She chooses the latter. I get why. I'd gotten a child's book about it last time I was here and she has been reading it with us on this trip.

I thought it would be an easy visit. I have a year's pass, so that I do not have to wait in lines.

Still, inside -- it's crowded. There are two elevators to my knowledge and I am not the only one in need of the lift. By the time we reach the Impressionists, Sparrow is beginning to protest, even as Snowdrop really loves finding the paintings from her book and studying them intently.






There is a solution, but it's a tough one: I take the guy out of the stroller (he loves being held) and push the girl with my free hand. In a sense, it makes for a memorable visit for her. She always gets tired in museums. Not this time. She could go on like this for a long long while.










Grandma, on the other hand, needs a week or two on a couch, with eyes closed and a lot of ice cold lemonades at the side.

(one of the big clocks at this former Paris train station...)





Okay, I think we all need a pick-me-up. I ask Snowdrop -- home, or a return to our favorite ice cream shop? She chooses the latter and it turns out to be a good choice for us all.

(my pick: raspberry rose ice cream on a cone...)




For Sparrow, milk chocolate. I figure it's got some nutritional value and he absolutely loves it.






Snowdrop chooses chocolate and lemon.





By the time we get home, it's after 5. We have a dinner reservation for 6 and it's a bit of a walk. Sparrow gets a very late and very short nap!

I thought hard about where to take them for our evening meal. In the end, I chose Les Editeurs. If you read Ocean, you may remember it, because I often (almost always!) eat breakfast there. I'd also eaten lunch and occasionally a familial dinner. It's lively. It's comfortable. They have pasta. And they have a high chair. And you can eat earlier, before Paris turns into a frenzy of serious, adult eating.

The kids are heroic. Sparrow enjoys the comfort of his own roost...





Snowdrop is thrilled to have pasta with great big slivers of Parmesan cheese and her beloved french green beans.




And both have learned what works in this city. Sparrow dishes out the smiles, Snowdrop is full of bonjours and mercis. And in the end, she brings out the burst of laughter with her request for l'addition.






We walk back by the St. Sulpice church. This, like everything else we pass, brings out the questions from Snowdrop. Sparrow listens, though I doubt he takes it all in at this point. Or maybe he does. The evening light, the fountain with the sound of rushing water -- it's all part of the magic, no?





To say that the kids are overtired tonight is an understatement. Still, what a day they gave me! What a totally Parisian full and beautiful day...