11.18.17

I mean, it’s a really nice place, so there probably aren’t any germs.  

You can’t beat the earnestness of children.  No need to wash your hands after walking around a city all day and then having your way with a public toilet if the toilet is in a fancy cafe.  It’s like one of those fancy UV lights that burns the germs off in building shape.  

But before we get there, we’ve got walk our way back through the city, way back to 7am when my alarm goes off - not complaining - maybe a little (I’m still jet lagged, poor me).  I managed to semi-wake up over the next half hour, took a shower in the tub with the super high rise to the side but the super low shower head.  As I lost my balance briefly, I imagined myself tumbling out over the high side and braining myself on the sink or floor or tile ledge running around the base and being left for hours until someone woke from their jet lag stupor.  

But I managed to survive my super dangerous shower and emerged ready to shake awake my family.  H1 roused herself at the promise of French cartoons and this seemed to help H2 slide out of her cocoon as well.  

We needed to hit a 10am meet up with a tour guide for a neighborhood walk, and before that, we needed a drug store run and mass quantities of coffee and pastries.  

Everyone bundled up as heavily as they could - it is low 40s here, which doesn’t sound so bad, but with wind coming off the Seine, and being outside for most of the day, it is unrelenting and even I’m thinking about buying a sweater to wear under my jacket.  The Hs are rocking base layers (thanks Gma and P), shirts, fleeces, H1 has a knit poncho over the top, H2 has a cardigan under, and H1 has agreed to wear a muffler.  H2 is the hardest of us all, refusing gloves, hat, and muffler, constantly saying I’m not cold, I’m hot blooded!  No one is tougher than H2.  

Sitting at a table upstairs at Paul, a French boulangerie chain, S asked the girls what they saw as they peered out the windows, H2 said boring stuff.  I said I always imagine where people are going, and especially, why weren’t more people going to work?  S turned to me and said it’s Saturday.  Whoops.  

Thanks, H2.

I tried to encourage gorging at breakfast in an effort to stave off hunger devils later, but the girls weren’t too interested in much more than half a pretzel and half a pain au chocolat.  I felt the cold grip of fear.  

About 30 minutes out from our tour and about 1mi from our destination, we decided to hoof it.  

Walking across the Ile de la Cite, we passed Notre Dame, the Palais du Justice, Tour Saint Jacques, and I quickly realized I had overestimated speed and underestimated distance.  The streets were relatively empty and free from obvious tourists, and it was clear and beautiful, but the girls’ legs were still short and like I mentioned before, saying hurry seems to mean walk as slow as possible.  

Turning down a small side street, we saw an arch way and the park beyond, the meeting point statue just in the middle.  We met our guide, and she said, normally, she has to wait WAY LONGER!  Score one for TEAM G.  

It was interesting to watch the girls at one year older listen to and interact with their guide.  The tour we booked was specifically for kids, and the guide wonderful, talking directly to them and approaching things from a kid’s point of view.  The history and culture of the locations was fascinating, and the girls got to play word games and other puzzles as they explored a small section of the Marais.  

The tour took them from Louis XIII all the way through the French Revolution and beyond.  The girls were attentive and super excited anytime a gross detail like chamber pots and street dumping of sewage came up, as well as loving the word games and solving puzzles in each of the locations.  

KEY MOMENT: the guide learned we love cats and took us to an antiques store to see the cat that lived there, when we were told he is out like a regular old flaneur exploring the city and looking for adventure.  Just up the street, I turned back and saw our fluffy friend meowing to get inside at a door far from his home.  Typical cat, home is where the kibble is tastiest.  

After saying goodbye to the guide, H2 had spotted a ride on one of the sidewalks, cars in a carousel set up, so of course, we had to go try it out.  The girls hopped on a couple of Harleys and rode around, sending their bikes skyward and down round and around.  

My hunger and the cold combined to make a warm cafe a necessity.  We went to the guide’s recommendation, Le Favorite, and as soon as we had to order, I watched the shroud of darkness come over H1.  She sunk to the corner of the booth, dropped her head into her left hand, and looked like she had just lost her puppy.  

So prepare yourself.

We asked her to eat….

A CHEESEBURGER.  

Or…

CHEESE PIZZA.

ODIN, WE ARE MONSTERS FROM NIEFELHEIM!

She of course, refused to eat and then let her eyes fill with tears at the suggestion of eating.  Then she had to be hand fed, but not before the rest of us were fighting back tears and her need to turn lunch into the next French Revolution.  

S did get her onion soup, and I did eat steak tartare, which was really hard to wrap my American sensibilities around with our concerns about raw meat - but it’s 8pm and I’m not annihilating the hotel with fluids, so I think we are good.  I’ll just bring my hip, chic Parisian parasite home with me.  

Bundled back up, we headed to find some ice cream at Berthillon, supposedly the best in Paris.  It was 40 degrees but somehow ice cream is always appropriate.  Hence,

ICE CREAM #1.  

I’d say the raspberry and mango definitely outclassed the pine nut praline and sea salt caramel I got down on, but it was a solid couple of scoops nonetheless.  

On the way towards home, we found the restaurant we have reservations at tomorrow night and their attached bakery - so of course, it was time to eat pastries.  The girls got...mini baguettes.  S and I, pain au chocolat and this amazing apple pastry.  I don’t know how to eat these things without creating a crumbsplosian because I looked like I had the worst case of dandruff ever about two bites in.  

Rejuvenated, we decided to check out Sainte Chapelle since the sun was peaking through the clouds.  We walked back past Notre Dame and then towards the Palais du Justice, saw the Sainte Chapelle line and turned left into a cafe.  

At this point, the girls were very focused on good manners and began correcting each other’s behavior WITHOUT getting mad about it!  It was incredible.  Our waiter was super nice and kept saying Oh la la to the girls and even took our

family picture when we were trying to get an awkward selfie.  H1 was determined to get a coffee, so she ordered one herself and the waiter looked to S and she imparted the mostly creme message and because we were in Paris, I ordered more desserts.  

 

We all had our drinks, a slice of raspberry torte, and a slice of blueberry torte, and then the girls went to the bathroom like 5 times because it was available, down stairs, and they could escape from us.  

So now, we are caught back up to the intro.  Full circle and all that.  Like a toilet bowl or toilette as they say here in France.  Coming back from the bathroom, alone, after abandoning her sister, who is turns out, she opened the door on while she was trying to have a wee, H1 is called out for not washing her hands by said abandoned sister, but H1 thinks if a place is nice you can’t get typhoid, Hep C, rabies, bubonic plague, etc.  Fecal bacteria just doesn’t stink in nice places.  Come on folks, it’s fancy!

TIGHT SQUEEZE in the men's room.

Side note:  the men’s had two urinals, but they were tucked into a hallway so narrow that to get to the 2nd one, you’d have to push the guy in the first into the urinal to squeeze by like some horrible high school prank.  

The girls were riding a high now, jabbering in their own language and holding each other close along the Seine, forming a human chain to block passage to all who attempted the narrow sidewalk.  

We cruised through some of the Latin Quarters medieval streets, exiting through part of a covered arcade filled with happening restaurants.  

I have a head!

After stopping because they have bunnies (stuffed animals) and H2 promising that she would buy one for H1 because H1 has no money (how could we resist that act?), we made it back to to our dinner reservations...at McDonald's.  

Notice she isn't shrouded in gloom here.

The girls scarfed their food and I tried their curry sauce and tried to get it all over myself.  Back down the street and up the stairs into the apartment for a bath, French cartoons, and one last grievance to end the day.  

I’ve heard that everyday is training, and with kids, I think that is the truth.  Both for us and for them.  S is a great coach and she is always encouraging, cajoling, prodding, and teaching in a way that they can understand, even if sometimes it’s hard for them to follow.  I include myself in this vague them.   Training doesn’t always go well, but it’s a long play we are aiming for, not an immediate gratification (although we’d take that too).  So we will take the rough moments along with the laughter and smiles and silliness and learning we do together because ultimately, those hard moments are building the future just as much or more so than the good.  They are definitely tough, but you don’t get stronger if the training is always easy.  

Here is to getting really SWOLE (in character) on these trips.  

French cat cartoons and cat PJs with a towel turban - HIGH LIFE.