Paris

You've heard me say that in Paris, weather is irrelevant? Or at least unimportant? Well, today it set out to prove me wrong! If last week it was sunny and in the 70sF (low 20sC) here, today it's just a couple of degrees over freezing. Add the wind and you are way below cold.  Open the window and you get wet snowflakes in your face.

Happy April!

And yes, we are happy. Snowdrop, because she slept solidly and woke up refreshed. Gogs -- well, because it really doesn't matter what the weather's like. 

We will manage!

Breakfast, downstairs and as is typically the case -- full of the good baked goods I so crave when back home. (Snowdrop is intent on finishing her scratch drawings of Paris that the hotel gave her.)

Progress! Time for bacon. (I push protein.)

And then we spend a little time in the room. She watches French cartoons and continues with her drawing, I try to fix her iPad which unfortunately continues to break down (hence the French cartoons). 

And when the snow/rain pauses, we set out. Which of course gets the snow/rain going again!

Should I hold back? We start slowly. To a local clothes store to pick up something for sibs and cousins. Snowdrop doesn't like most things for herself that are outside her normal repertoire, but she loves picking out things she thinks the other kids will like. (For herself? A stuffed koala, which she then carries all day long, prompting waiters to treat it with respect, as they believe this must be her Doudou. French children carry their love object (Doudou) into a ripe older age!) 

We fill a shopping bag and I wonder at the sense of this, given that the weather is terrible and we have a day ahead that may have us out and about a great many hours. Well, no matter. We will manage!

(In the store, by the checkout counter.)

I hesitate on what to do next. It's not Jardin Luxembourg weather. (Note the apparel on people out and about...)

I have museum passes for the afternoon, but how do we fill the morning? Maybe find another enclosure? You want to go to the department store?

(passing the "hidden" Eiffel Tower, I ask her: can you find it? It's hard!)

We pause at a bookstore to warm up. Out again, I see that she is a little dragging. It's just barely after noon, but I can tell she is hungry so I scrap the department store and steer her instead a little further, to Cafe Varenne for lunch.

This place is always supremely busy and I never make a lunch reservation and yet they always squeeze me in. I love it for its atmosphere, for its traditional home cooking, and perhaps equally importantly, for its best wait staff on the planet. (The owner is caught in this pic. His wife is always keeping things in order behind the counter.)

They aren't just friendly, they look you in the eye and intuit what you need. She has a Doudou? Here's a stool to keep the animal happy. There's no pasta on the menu, but they'll always fix it for your kid and put great slabs of parmesan on top, in addition to grated stuff on the side, which pleases Snowdrop no end. 

Me, I order their special for the day -- white asparagus (with thin prosciutto and parmesan). It's on a menu only for a very short while (in early spring) and it is outstanding. 

I remind Snowdrop that she actually likes asparagus and indeed, she eats my tips and proclaims them to be great.

As we eat, the table squeezed just behind ours gets a customer. He hears our English and decides to engage us. He's my age and speaks English perfectly. As well he might -- he went to the university in the US. At our university in Madison no less. At around the same time Ed studied there. His work now takes him to the west coast, but he mostly lives in Paris. And no, no grandchildren. No children either. I dont like to give the impression that having children is some kind of a life obligation, so I mutter some words of understanding about all courses of life, but he interrupts me: it's not like that. I like children. I'd like very much to spoil my granddaughter and take her on a trip to Venice and Paris. It just wasn't meant to be.

And as I leave, I think about this for a while. I always said that I wasn't the older person who desperately needed grandkids. Creating families, I felt, was my kids' decision and I would be happy for them however they took this. Nonetheless, the grandkids came and they have written my retirement playbook for me and now, as I travel with Snowdrop, I recognize how nearly everything about my years is shaped in some fashion by the little ones. It could have been otherwise, but it wasn't. And now I can't imagine it being otherwise.

Short-lived musings. I return to the business at hand which means I have to push us against the wind as we make our way in dismal weather across the river and to the Tuilerie Gardens, nearly empty on this windy and wet day. 

Chestnuts. So many green chestnuts, nearly ready to bloom! I ask Snowdrop -- what do you think of this statue? She answers -- to me, it looks very much like (fill in name here of one of her teachers). I let it go at that.

My goal is to get us to the Musee d'Orangerie. I love this place quite a bit and slowly, I am pushing onto Snowdrop (and any grandchild who will listen!) a familiarity with its themes, so that she can begin to recognize the points in art that can bring happiness to the soul, even on a cold day in April! Not only has she heard of Monet at home, but they actually studied (and replicated!) his waterlilies in art class in 1st grade. Seeing these canvases comes at a good time for her.

I'd promised a coffee shop moment with a pastry before we dig into the world of lilies, but you're not going to get that at l'Orangerie. She settles for a bag of potato chips. You make do and indeed, Snowdrop is proving to be quite the strong kid on the block, withstanding the knocks of weather, and grandma's program, and the setbacks as if she were in thick clad armor. Nothing phases her today. 

So, onto the art of all art:

We all have favorites: canvases, corners of canvases... and so does she.

And of course, after the lilies, you don't want to go back to the other canvases in the museum. We looked at a handful before, but none after. You want to let the beauty of these unusual lily paintings sink in.

We leave the museum and heroically brave the elements as we cross the river back... 

... to the Musee d'Orsay for our encounter with the Impressionists there. I am so glad I have my pass and that I revalidated it. (You can skip all lines with it.) And I am so glad I have my N95 mask. It is crowded! Still, we manage to take in the faves! Names that she will for sure remember -- Monet, Renoir, Degas.

Though again, the cafe experience is not to be. Neither she nor I want to stand and wait in the long line. 

On the way out -- the second Statue of Liberty of the day!

From here, it's a very long walk back to the hotel. Snowdrop proposes a taxi, but this is not an easy thing to accomplish in Paris and I refuse to give in to Uber either. We zip ourselves up to the max and slog back. Hey, on the upside, the wet snowflakes mean that we really do not have to open the umbrella. They land, they melt. Big deal!

Close to our hotel we finally pop into a pastry shop and I let her choose anything she wants to take back to our room. 

Like her mommy, who was often offered the most exquisite looking baked treats in the city, she too passes them by and opts for the simple chocolate eclair.

Snowdrop is a total chocolate girl.

(This is the weather we're fighting all day long!)

Thank goodness for suckers! They pump a little energy into the last handful of steps!

Late in the afternoon, with frozen cheeks and happy thoughts (that always swell when you finally find shelter from cold weather), we settle into our coziest room  at the Baume Hotel... 

... and I can honestly say now that the weather was no big deal! Awful, and strange, and still, totally amazing.

Dinner? I quickly cancel a reservation that required another trudge and book a table at the newly opened Gemini Odeon. Right around the corner, with foods the little girl loves. I admit to messing up and forgetting her tiny characters that she likes to bring with her for the often long waits, so she loses herself in the offered alternative.

This is a pasta/pizza place and you can be relaxed about your kid's habits. As I point out to her, the place is packed, but the age is 100% between 20 and 35. With the occasional child.

Bedtime? Better than yesterday! I dont doubt that we'll sleep well. I feel we hiked mountains today. I suppose you could say that in some ways, we did.

With love...

from Venice to Paris

Wow, what good fortune. Or rather, what an absence of real bad luck. Or is it that I do not take for granted all the ways in which we averted travel headaches? I appreciate every wrinkle-free detail of our days. I know snafus make for good stories later, but right now, I like the slow coast through adventures without too much trouble. And today was one of those days without too much trouble. From the beginning.

First thing to note: we could have had a rough day of it. Snowdrop went to bed too late last night. That was my fault: I was hurrying to work through photos and I said ten more minutes, then I forgot myself and it was nearly ten when I realized she was still up.

Too, she still does the new time zone wake-up and separately, so do I. She is extremely easy to put to bed and to transition to sleep, but still, it does mean that I need to build in a cushion into the night for wakeful moments. I did not build in that cushion last night.

Finally, we have a flight to catch at noon. So we can't just sleep in. Now, how early to get to the airport? The million dollar question! Early, if there will be lines and chaos. Later, if it's Madison, or an equally smooth pass through the various checkpoints. Basically, it's a great unknown.

I do choose to book a taxi over to the port of the airport. From there, it's about a ten-fifteen minute walk. Can we manage with three bags and two backpacks? Will she be up for the challenge, given the short night? 

And finally, there is the weather. It started to rain today. The Venetians I'm sure are deliriously happy. The tourists -- less so. I know Venice is atmospheric when it's damp and you need an umbrella, but for us, it would have been less fun to navigate it in the rain, especially since almost all our activities were outdoors. But it held off until this morning - how good is that!

So, how did we cope? I woke up Snowdrop and without complaint, the girl hopped in and out of the shower in minutes. We were down for breakfast in plenty of time, though both of us ate very modest breakfasts. It felt early, even though it was getting late.

I did have to go an ATM -- all these taxi people like cash (as does the hotel maid), and thankfully the hotel offered us their umbrella so I did not have to get ours wet. A fun little outing for one last look at Venice, a city of umbrellas today.

Good bye you fascinating and beautiful place!

We were early for our taxi and from the port, Snowdrop maneuvered her own suitcase and carried her own heavy pack...

... and there was no chaos at the gate or at security and so we had time to sit down for a coffee (for me) and an S cookie (for her).

And then we were off, which itself was no small accomplishment as the earlier Air France flight today was cancelled. Maybe the strike is still on at the airport? Who knows...

I did watch Snowdrop's face crumble when she finally settled with relief into her seat on board, and her tablet malfunctioned. Blasted technology! You take a book, you open it, it's always there, unless you spill coffee all over it and the pages stick together. But a tablet depends on... who knows what. So yes, a disappointed girl. But, on the upside, she is mature enough to recover quickly. And to compensate, I offered  to read to her from her Dogman Book. Typically these are hers to read and reread and reread, but I'm told it's fun when I take on the characters and do it for her. I'm not sure the whole Air France cabin appreciated my character interpretations, but there you have it. [I was reminded that we are changing cultures. French people tend to be quiet in public spaces. Yesterday, when Martina wanted to get her cab guy's attention, she shouted out to him across the lagoon. Then she caught herself and smiled apologetically. We Italians, we're so loud! Yes you are. One more reason why it's so cool to bring children along to your country!]

(Tablet working!)

Because of Covid, I now skip the crowded train to central Paris and I dish out the cash for a taxi. And now we are here, in my beloved room of my beloved Paris Hotel Baume. Only this time, the bed is made up for two: grandma and granddaughter, traveling together.

(The hotel outdid itself in its welcome: we are without much food today and our fruit consumption this week has plummeted and so I was touched to the core by the plate of deliciousness and the books for Snowdrop... she devoured all the oranges and berries within seconds, and I gobbled all the red currants.)

So happy to be here! I dont know a place that treats its guests better.

Honestly, it's tough to step out. The luxury of not being in a hurry hits hard in the belly. Snowdrop is delighted to be given tablet time and me, I could just take my sneak peak out the window and embrace the grandness of being in Paris, and at the Baume again.

But we do need to eat dinner and in this last day of March, the Luxembourg Gardens (just two blocks up from my hotel) are open until 7:30, so she and I take a detoured walk through them. This, to me, is always the most beautiful beginning to any Paris visit and right now, the tulips and primroses and forget-me-nots are at in top form. Heaven...

By the way, one gust of a chilly wind and Snowdrop asks for her jacket. It is much cooler here than it was in Venice.

(A quick stop at the local bakery: at last I can stock up on some macarons for the long evenings spent on Ocean posts!)

We eat dinner at a place that is actually just a breath away from our hotel: Les Editeurs. Anyone who reads Ocean and who keeps track of eateries will recognize the name. I've eaten breakfasts, lunches and dinners there numerous times, including with the kids and grandkids. It's just convenient and spacious and there's something on the menu reliably okay for them and it requires no effort. 

I already told Snowdrop to switch her cultural mindset: from pasta and pizza we move to pommes frites and roasted meats. Today, she opted for steak frites.

And profiterolles for dessert.

Shared.

And around us, the French were fully engaged in life as they knew it. I may have seen a half dozen masks on people since we landed here in the afternoon. What a difference a border makes!

I would share in their desire to move on and at least for now, forget that there is a Covid virus on the loose, but unfortunately, the US still requires a negative Covid test before reentering the country. And so I loosen Snowdrop's precautions (it's nearly impossible for her to get an Omicron variant), but I keep my own mask handy.

(looking out at the world)

That's okay: at the moment, her happiness is my happiness.

And now is the time for all little children to be in bed! Between the macarons and profiteroles, we're having a much much longer bedtime routine. Truly the city where no one ever sleeps. Still, I am determined to keep us to better habits. Goodnight to you as well.

With a happy smile and love, from Paris.

Venice

A cloudy day, verging on rain. We knew it would be thus and honestly, I would have had a feeling of displacement had we been here without at least a shower or two. Venice, rain and March seem to me to be a solid partnership.

We are up for breakfast (where we try to make up limericks and realize our rhyming talents are limited)..

... and then I hesitate. How ambitious should our last day be? I vote for ambitious, but at a reasonable pace.

We set out on foot, across the Rialto Bridge and straight into the extremely expensive department store, Fondaco dei Tedeschi. The building itself is gorgeous: dating to the 13th century, it used to be the private quarters of German merchants. (Martina later tells me that the displays are now for Chinese and Russian tourists who come with tour groups just to spend big money there.)

Now, it has something that's very desirable: a rooftop open to those wanting a free, spectacular view over Venice. What I did not know is that tickets are required. Is it a Covid thing? Maybe. Though I think it's perhaps a general crowd monitoring strategy. You dont want more than a handful of people at any given moment in this most exclusive shopping venue.

We don't have tickets and none are available for this day.

Are there moments when you say to yourself -- I can't believe my luck? Well now, as we learn at the front door that we are not to go any further, an English speaking man with a group of three kids and a mom comes up and says to the door guard: let them through -- they are with me. He tells me he has an extra ticket, as a person from this family didn't show. He says they'll let "my kid" in on "my" ticket.

Who is this angelic guy who saves the moment for us? He claims he is the only American guide living in Venice. Calls himself "Mark the American" and I'm certain you can find him online, but in any case, he surely was sent as proof that small miracles happen all the time.

The view? Oh, tremendous! Just tremendous.

A million thanks, Mark the American. 

And since we seem to be predisposed toward magnificent views, let me take Snowdrop now straight down crooked narrow alleyways to San Marco once more. 

This Square is so grand, so illustrious, and yet it's hard to hit it in exactly the right moment. The cafes that spill out onto  the square are great fun -- in the summer. The kids chasing pigeons -- funny, until a bird swoops down on you and leaves behind a souvenir. Pigeon feeding is now disallowed, for obvious reasons. 

The crowds here are constant. In older days, I'd come here at dawn and especially at dawn in March. The vast open space is yours then, with the occasional hurrying Venetian, crossing the Square hurriedly on the way to work. But as you get old and more rigid in your habits and demands, coming here at dawn seems just plain crazy and youthful and not worth it. So you come when you can. Like just before noon.

And it's still beautiful.

I did not buy tickets to the Basilica. I hesitated and then it was too late. But I think it was wise to skip it this time around. There's such a thing as activity overload. If I want Snowdrop to experience Venice with time to digest what she sees, then being selective in what you pile into a day is important.

I did want a moment over coffee/ice cream on the Square. It's too cold to sit outside, but being indoors at Florian Cafe has its rewards.

What? Ice cream before lunch? Well why not! It's as good a snack as any!

One last glance at San Marco (we're leaving Venice tomorrow morning, so this is really a last peak at its magnificence...),  and we walk to the vaporetto stop, to take this "bus" back to our neighborhood.

It's raining now, but our walk isn't too long. I realize that it was silly to pack two umbrellas. The streets are too narrow. She cant work the thing up and down to avoid knocking it into others. And in any case, we manage just fine under one.

Except when she runs forward or back in the more open spaces.

(Perhaps you've noticed that everyone, everyone is wearing a warm jacket or coat. She is not. She claims she is not cold. I don't argue. I have the jacket, she likes the jacket, if she's cold, she'll ask for it.)

Lunch? Well, on the late side. But where?? Try Al Campanile! Third time, because Snowdrop loves it so much. As do I. Today, as we listen and try to decipher the gossip of  locals...

... Snowdrop gobbles her pizza (and I'm freed to order a salad with shrimp that melt in your mouth.)

Our afternoon is reserved for a final outing. Martina (who runs the Macaco program here) is showing us Murano and then the island of Sant'Erasmo.

We leave Venice, by boat of course.

(my, oh my, does the girl love these boat rides by water taxi!)

Murano's vibe is completely different from that of Venice... Maybe you can tell just from this one photo...

I had the idea that the glass making in Murano might be interesting for Snowdrop. These master craftsmen really do amazing things with glass and learning about it really does help you better understand the historic significance of some of these islands. I figured Martina would pick a factory she knows and trusts and she did just that.

We watched one specialist work on a glass horse and another work on making those beautiful glasses that have specs of color in them.

Stunning work.

Then came the shop that gathered together much of what the artisans produced. Expensive stuff. Big stuff. Small stuff too, but small does not mean cheap. Yes, I asked for a stop at a shop and yes, this did give modest opportunities for gift buying, and it was good to know that nothing there was actually made in China or Vietnam, but still, there was so much glass and Snowdrop was so full of energy and enthusiasm! (Can we please buy that Pegasus? No, Snowdrop -- too big, too expensive, too fragile. Same words over and over.) I had visions of shattered glass and depleted savings paying off accidental destruction. 

Still, I had to admire Snowdrop's ability to make something of a boring set up. I mean, a glass store. Yawn. But she never once let up her enthusiasm for the project of finding something for those back home. (Even as I kept saying no, not that either, way too many times to keep most any child happy.)

From there, Martina took us to the island (a large one -- San'Erasmo) where many of Venice's veggies are grown.

It's a stark contrast to the city and she thought I would enjoy seeing something that really isn't on any tourist path. She was right, of course, even though I suppose Snowdrop can't get too excited about a green space. She sees plenty of that in and around the farmette. Yet, how different this feels!!

And again, despite the huge amount of walking and sightseeing, she maintains her good cheer. Martina and I discussed Venetian artichokes and world politics, Snowdrop picked dandelions and threw pebbles in the nearly dry muddy waters in and around the island.

To me, it all looked green, but Martina said this was not a normal spring. Look at all the browns, the dried plantlife! We have had no rain for four months and this is supposed to be the wet season. (The rain today is pesky but only sporadic and not very plentiful.)

Still, it's a fascinating part of the greater Venice area. Martina notes that on sunny warm days Ventians come to picnic in the meadows and perhaps even swim in the muddy waters of the lagoon. She showed me wild herbs that they love to pick and take home and yes, the artichoke fields that produce this most beautiful Venetian vegetable (well, what we eat is actually the bud of the flower from this plant, but still, it's a veggie of sorts).

And then a boat (arranged by Martina) takes us home.

It was a very, very full day. I am intensely happy that I chose a dinner place that is extremely close to us -- Al Gobbo di Rialto. (Martina had an interesting observation on Rialto. Perhaps because of the market here, she sees it as touristy, yes, but also very Venetian with much of daily life playing out there as well. San Marco, on the other hand, is all handed over to tourism.)

The Restaurant is the best kind of ending you could have here. It's all  about being in Italy with kids. The expectations are that kids are a different species and you should treat them accordingly. Plain spaghetti with parmiggiano? Of course. You want to play with your toy? Well, can I play too? No dessert tonight? Then how about a cookie or two, on the house? And on and on and on. And I know it's not thought of as cool (back home) to keep calling your grandchild principessa, but still, it happens often here and it is so filled with affection for the demographic rather than anything else, that here at least, it is forgivable in the extreme.

[As a funny side story, when we were in the glass factory, I asked the guy who was explaining the master craftsmen's work to us if there were any women who did the Murano glass works. He made some joke about women being 100% kept out of that skill set because glass blowing requires blowing and you can't both talk as women do, and blow glass. I was instantly in the Academy Awards moment: do I laugh? Do I slap his face? Okay, I did not punch him out. I frowned. Martina took note. She threw him a glance. He recoiled and said something that was even worse -- we know that life is all about women and god. They rule... there's nothing else. At this point, an eye roll was the best strategy. He came up later, gifted me a necklace piece and apologized. He said he caught himself right away and thought -- oh shit, I said the wrong thing. I said -- listen, I have two women as kids and three grand girls. I care about how they view their future. He apologized again. Later, Martina said -- well, you got a slice of Italian life. The thing is, he is a really good guy. I know him well. Those were just your typical Italian jokes. And I know she is right. The line drawing here is different than it is back home. I don't live here so I can't really tell how women fare in the world of men in daily life. It's too easy to draw conclusions from quick visits, but I wont do it. All I can say is that he did apologize and admitted to not even being Italian from birth, but rather -- Armenian and well, you know about the genocide there! See what I mean? You rarely know the full story in a brief exchange.]

(dinner, with principessa herself)

Let me finish with a brief description of dinner foods. I ordered the sea food platter as an appetizer. I wanted the Venetian sardines, the fish tartare, the clams in sauce, all of it. Then -- spaghetti in cuttle fish black ink.

I challenged Snowdrop to close her eyes and eat a spaghetti and guess if it was inky dark, or her regular old spaghetti. She would not do it. The mental anguish of eating something sprayed with fish ink was too much for her.

I told her: I will bet you anything that within ten years, you will be eating and liking spaghetti with squid ink.

(looking out, back at the hotel: night on the Grand Canal...)

We will have a morning in Venice tomorrow, but it will be filled with the essentials of packing and moving out and catching our outbound flight.

My next post will be from Paris.

With so much love...