Being in Paris makes you do funny things. Like wear horizontal stripes and consume Camembert for breakfast. Like sip wine at noon and fall in love with your apartment's Twinkie-sized kitchen. It may make you recite "Madeline" books verbatim while strolling over the Pont du' Art. It might inspire you to put on a pink trench coat, sit on a bench, and pretend you belong in this mad but glam mix of Lilliputian balconies, punctiliously groomed Parisians (canines and human), hawkers, and boulangeries.
It can also make you a bit nervous. Like lunching in a bistro full of Parisians, unsure of what the menu says because you really thought it was a better idea to take German rather than French in high school, and feeling a bit tuckered out after a day's touring. All I really wanted to do was go to the loo and wash up. I didn't mean to turn off all the lights in the upstairs dining area. Gasp. Silly tourist. Tres embarrassing.
I had been feeling homesick before our trip. Exhausted from the long haul between Christmas and Easter, tired of seeing the ubiquitous peachy-brown hue that is Qatar, weary of the increasingly warm weather that would no doubt soon sequester us indoors. I thought that Paris might cure all that, but instead it made me miss home more.
While settling into our apartment the first night, Nolan declared that he heard the call to prayer outside. My ears perked up and then realized it was the whiny siren of an ambulance. You know the wee-eww, wee-eww song of a French ambulance? Should I get his ears checked?
All I wanted to do in Paris was walk. And walk we did.
Everyday, all day, we walked. It was the most exercise I'd had since our nanny left, leaving me with the mildly calorie burning tasks of laundry and cooking rather than a proper butt and thigh workout in the gym. I actually lost weight while in Paris. Don't worry, though, it's all reappeared. Sigh.
Again, like with Vietnam,it's the small slices of the holiday that I will treasure. Watching Greta absorbed in Van Gogh and Monet. I watched her watch the paintings spring to life before her eyes, the swirls of color and playful paint strokes unlocking a world of art in a nine-year-old's mind. I was 23 before I saw any major pieces of art in person. Two brought me close to tears: Goya's The Third of May in Madrid's Prado and Boticelli's Primavera at the Uffizi in Florence. But the image of my lovely Gbug standing serenely in front of her beloved Van Gogh provoked some teary eyes as well. This was, of course, before a museum docent scolded us for giggling as we perfected our hand clap lyrics (shown above in the video).
We surprised Nolan with a two day trip to Disney Paris. My favorite moment with him was zipping up and down, sideways and screaming, snuggled in the roller coaster cart of Big Thunder Mountain. Scared and brave and screeching with joy. That's my boy.
It can also make you a bit nervous. Like lunching in a bistro full of Parisians, unsure of what the menu says because you really thought it was a better idea to take German rather than French in high school, and feeling a bit tuckered out after a day's touring. All I really wanted to do was go to the loo and wash up. I didn't mean to turn off all the lights in the upstairs dining area. Gasp. Silly tourist. Tres embarrassing.
I had been feeling homesick before our trip. Exhausted from the long haul between Christmas and Easter, tired of seeing the ubiquitous peachy-brown hue that is Qatar, weary of the increasingly warm weather that would no doubt soon sequester us indoors. I thought that Paris might cure all that, but instead it made me miss home more.
While settling into our apartment the first night, Nolan declared that he heard the call to prayer outside. My ears perked up and then realized it was the whiny siren of an ambulance. You know the wee-eww, wee-eww song of a French ambulance? Should I get his ears checked?
All I wanted to do in Paris was walk. And walk we did.
Everyday, all day, we walked. It was the most exercise I'd had since our nanny left, leaving me with the mildly calorie burning tasks of laundry and cooking rather than a proper butt and thigh workout in the gym. I actually lost weight while in Paris. Don't worry, though, it's all reappeared. Sigh.
We surprised Nolan with a two day trip to Disney Paris. My favorite moment with him was zipping up and down, sideways and screaming, snuggled in the roller coaster cart of Big Thunder Mountain. Scared and brave and screeching with joy. That's my boy.
