The Champs, a portrait and a lovely meal

Another lovely day in Paris: Emma and I stopped in at Paul, the boulangerie a block away from our apartment on the Rue de Rivoli, for our usual baguette, croissant and pain au chocolat order. We had breakfast with the boys in the apartment and tidied things up a bit, then got on the Métro to the Champs-Elysées. We started at the Arc de Triomphe end, and took the stairs to the top. Then we walked down the avenue a bit, and stopped at Ladurée for the multi-colored collection of macarons that I have been promising Emma. Macarons, for the uninitiated souls, are small cookies of egg white and almond, sandwiched together with buttercream or fruit filling. They are sold all over Paris, and are simply delicious! Emma, John and I picked out eight flavors, which was not easy to do, while David sat outside on a bench, watching the world go by. After we paid for our purchases and were given an elegant little box in an elegant little bag, we joined him to sample some of our treats. Then we walked a bit further down the street, which is lovely, but full of people shopping at Nike and Virgin Megastore. Without the Arc de Triomphe in the backdrop, one could easily be in New York City.

We took another Métro to the northeast corner of Paris in the 19e arrondisement for the Parc de la Villette, which is a large modern development that replaced decaying slaughterhouses in the 1980s. The park was designed by a well-known French architect (with a little bit of help from Jacques Derrida, apparently!) as a post-modern architectural experiment—he wanted to create space for interaction and activity, rather than for relaxation and self-indulgence, to create a design that would act as a means of deconstructing the traditional views of how a park is meant to exist, and used space and form and their relationship to a person’s ability to recognize and interact. Or so says my guide book!

The result is a trendy collection of green spaces along a canal, dotted with large red linear buildings and topped by a wavy metal awning. The complex includes a science and industry museum, a music venue and a large geode-like IMAX theater, but since all of these are closed on Mondays, the park was rather quiet when we arrived. We were overdue for lunch, and intended to eat at a bistro overlooking a canal, but when we arrived we found that was closed as well. In the end, the only place that was open was a large, slightly run down restaurant next to the museum that served le fast-food…I think the name of it was something like Quick Hamburger. We shrugged, and went it. The menu looked like something out of an urban Burger King, with no vegetarian options in sight. I ordered a greek salad for me and Emma, a chicken salad for David and le hamburger for John. Our bill was only €20, which is almost nothing in Paris, and we took our food upstairs to a balcony with umbrella-ed picnic tables to eat. In the end, the food was actually delicious…our salads had huge olives, hunks of feta cheese, and a red pepper tapenade on them, and David’s had small rounds of goat’s cheese, slivers of pears, and a mélange of beets, all topped with a peppery crispy chicken—likely the best “fast food” we have ever eaten! We finished our meal with a few more of the Ladurée macarons, and headed out to the playgrounds. There are several in the park with names that translate into the Garden of Shadows, the Garden of the Dragon, and the Garden of Things that Scare Children (the latter is full of nothing more sinister than some spooky noises coming out of speakers hidden in patches of bamboo…). We started at the Garden of Dunes, which has huge humps, ziplines, air cushions and big steel hamster-wheels for kids to use in the expense of energy. Ours did just that, while David and I sat in some chairs that were so deconstructed that it took us a few minutes to figure out how to actually use them. Emma and John spent a bit on the zipline, then, after a near-trip-ending accident that involved John and the steel hamster-wheel, met two kids that spoke French and English, and were from Tanzania. The four of them played for quite a while, running around on the humps and jumping on the air cushions, finally returning to us a sweaty, dirty mess. We finally left the playground at 4pm, and waved goodbye to the kids’ new friends.

Next, we took the Métro to Montmartre, a hilly neighborhood in the northern part of Paris known for the Sacré-Cœur Basilica and the former home of painters like Van Gogh, Monet and Picasso. It’s now quite touristy in parts, and there are also parts near the Pigalle Métro stop and the Moulin Rouge cabaret that are certainly not for children (I noticed that David almost crashed right into a Frenchman at one point on our walk as he took a long sideways glance at a newsstand!). We stuck to the parts at the top, near Sacré-Cœur, and took a ride on the little funicular railroad that takes you from the Anvers Métro stop to the top of the hill (though the train car is so tiny and packed with people that you work up just as much of a sweat inside as you would by climbing the hill anyway…). We paused at the top for a view of Sacré-Cœur, then walked to the Place du Tertre, where we splurged and had a portrait made of each of the kids. They were both quite excited to sit for one, even though each portrait took about 30 minutes, and a small crowd gathered around both of them as they sat side by side with two artists working on their likeness. It was quite impressive to see Emma’s eyes come through on the paper like that, and fun to eavesdrop on the conversations about the works, and about the kids, going on around us. One Spanish woman engaged David in a lengthy conversation, in English, about the differences between the two artists, and we talked with two young guys from California about which artist was better (David preferred the portrait of John, but I thought the one of Emma was better…). I had to leave at one point to look for an ATM (I said it was a splurge, didn’t I?), and asked for directions, in French, at a small chocolatier. The woman there gave me a set of lengthy instructions, in French, and spoke rather quickly, but I followed it, then followed her directions and found it with no problem. Thank goodness for those podcasts!

When the portraits were done, we walked a bit in search of a spot for dinner, and ended up at a lovely little spot, recommended by my guidebook, on a terrace just below Sacré-Cœur. The name of the place was L’Été en pente douce, which seems to me to translate into “summer softly sloping” or something like that (anyone?). We sat outside on a lovely little patio under an awning, and engaged in the wonderful Parisian tradition of people watching. David and I shared a decanter of rosé wine and the kids had water with syrup. For their meal, they both had homemade tagliatelli, and I ordered a salmon and spinach quiche. David ended up with un plat du jour, and though it was delicious, we’re still not quite sure what it was. It was billed as a supreme, and when I asked, qu'est que c'est? she said, “uh, like a chicken, but not…” We ordered it anyway, and it was great…some manner of small bird roasted in a saffron sauce and served with roasted potatoes. Yum! We had a great dinner, despite the typically French-service (read sloooooow), but of course how can one complain about sitting around for a long time with a decanter of Touraine on a lovely shaded square at the foot of Sacré-Cœur? I’ll take very slow service in a spot like that anyday!

Photos of Day 4

Le Marché, Guignol et Manet

Today, we took a more relaxed approach to our sightseeing and tried to spend a Sunday as the French might. We started our day at the Bastille Market, just a few blocks away from our apartment. The market was filled with its fair share of tourists (I overheard a woman taking a photo of her husband in front of a fruit stand, and prodding him to really get his hand in there. “Pretend like you’re buying something, Michael! It makes it look sooo much more authentic!), but was also full of Parisian residents doing their daily shopping. We started at a fruit stand, where I asked for cherries—mostly because I had purchased some the day before for lunch and the dialogue had gone well, so I felt confident making the request. As I paid, David motioned that I should also buy some fresh figs, which caught me off guard because I had no idea about the word “fig” in French (turns out, it’s “fig” by the way…) so I had to point with a “je voudrais deux, s’il vous plait.” The guy at the stand was quite nice, though, and put on a bit of a show at completing our order, and singing some kind of “we-we-we” song to the kids. We also bought some incredibly sweet cantaloupe at a second stand, and then I braved a very crowded cheese and sausage spot. I began by asking if Emma could have a taste of one of the cheeses (and I might add that cheese shops in France are by far the most confusing because there are SO many choices and I understand so few of the words used there…), but of course she didn’t like the petite tranche de fromage he cut off for her, so I had to give up my space in line and ask for a few more minutes to decide. Finally, I pointed at a huge wheel of goats’ cheese and asked for a small slice, but the cheese guy suggested instead that I might like one that is less dry…un peu moins sec, peut-être, pour la fille. So I went with his suggestion, thankful that I could pick out enough of his words to understand. Then I asked for a certain sausage just because the sign on the front of the basket of sausage was facing me and I could pronounce all the words, but then he suggested a different kind of sausage that came in big powdery-white papered curls, because it was dry and peppery and easy to eat with bread (or at least that’s what I think he said…) so I went with it. We also got yet another crepe for the kids, and a buckwheat galette with chorizo, tomato and goat cheese for me and David to share.

At the end of the market, a guy was selling some bottles of wine at a pretty good price. I asked for a bottle of red wine, and he was quite nice to me as we completed the transaction. Then he asked me something that sounded like “What region are you from?” so I explained that we were American but were living in Scotland for a while. He accepted my response, and began to talk about how lovely northern Scotland was. Then he added that he had also been to the coast, and that it was lovely as well. I was following him for the most part through it, and nodding at the right points and making small interjections in French. Then he seemed to say that in Scotland people like white wine, and wondered then why I was buying red wine. I became a little less confident at this point, and he might have registered my confusion, because then he changed the subject and began to ask why we were in Scotland…did I work there, or perhaps my husband? I explained the whole thing, though I was a little concerned that the word “philosophe” might have some strange connotation in France. But he seemed happy with my response, and then I tried to end the conversation by thanking him and backing away a bit. Honestly, I felt good at having engaged in my first full conversation, but the whole three minutes was absolutely exhausting, and when it was over, I wanted to go right back to the apartment and watch some English-language tv! The feeling didn’t last, though, and after I stopped sweating, we moved through the rest of the market. Part of the market was also a bit like a flea-market, so we bought a few scarves and some candy as well. We all felt like we had a successful outing, though I think at one point David bumped into someone and said “Excuse you!” instead of “excuse me.” Also, I think I have been so worried about greeting people the right way that I greeted one woman at a booth with a “Bonjour Monsieur!” accidentally. Oh well---c’est la vie! In the end, we took all of our purchases back to our apartment, spread it all out on the table, and had a heck of a delicious lunch!

After a bit of a rest--where David showed the kids the Flight of the Conchords video to “Foo Doo Fa Fa” (highly recommended, by the way…) a few times—we hopped on the Metro to the Jardin de Luxembourg. The garden was built in the early 1600s by Marie de Medicis, wife of Henry IV, and modeled after a garden in Florence. It’s lovely and elegant: palm trees, marble steps, statues, stone urns full of flowers, and a large Grand Bassin and fountain in the middle where kids push boats around on sticks. Emma asked me how it worked a few times, since it seemed that the kids launched the boat with a long pole, and then the boat would sail into the middle of the fountain and stay there. “I get how it works,” she said, after I explained it again, “but I don’t understand the FUN part of it!” I loved the garden, though I have to admit that I find it a bit puzzling that all the parks in Paris feature dusty white central paths where everyone walks. In a city known for fashionable clothing and footwear, I can’t understand how people find it acceptable to walk around coated with a fine white powder everywhere below the knee. On the subway, I have seen many, many women wearing incredibly expensive shoes that look as if a large bottle of baby powder has just been dropped on them! It’s yet another Parisian enigma that I don’t understand (right after this: in a city chock-full of croissants, how come so many of these people are so darn thin? I know it must be all the walking and the cigarettes, but still, do you know how much walking it takes to burn off an 800 calorie croissant?!).

At the park, the kids entered a large fenced-off playground while David and I sat outside, reading Foucault and studying maps of the St. Germain area (am assuming it’s unnecessary to explain which of us was reading what…). At 3:30, I took the kids to see the Guignol puppet show in the park. Guignol marionettes are another Parisian institution: they feature the classic French puppet hero Guignol, who is a bit like Goofy from Mickey Mouse, except with a long black ponytail and a Chinese-style coat. He means well, but he’s a bit of a bumbler, and so as he goes about his adventures, all the kids in the audience are shouting directions to him. The name of the play we saw translates into something like the Metamorphosis of Prince Charming, and it did have a bit of a “Snow White meets Cinderella meets Franz Kafka” story line: a princess is about to be married to Prince Charming, and for some reason that I couldn’t follow, her evil brother kidnaps her and hides her away in his chateau. Guignol offers to help Prince Charming find her (after a bit of back and forth that involved a bit of slapping in the face, which I also couldn’t follow, but which everyone else in the theater, including Emma and John, quite enjoyed…) and return her in time for her wedding. Guignol and Prince Charming go off to the chateau, but when they try to enter, the evil brother threatens to turn them into some kind of animal. Prince Charming risks it, and is turned into a squirrel. Guignol stores his new furry friend in a hidey-hole, rescues the princess, and reunites them. When the princess learns that her betrothed has been transformed into a squirrel, she is rather distressed (she doesn’t throw any apples, though!) and seems to waver a bit on the idea of marriage. Guignol finds the evil brother’s wand (he somehow became a sorcerer half-way through the show, but I’m not quite sure how or why…) and offers to turn the princess into a squirrel as well. She doesn’t like this idea too much, so the characters ask the kids in the audience for advice. That part was quite fun for us—well worth the price of admission alone to hear 100 little French kids scream “le renvoyer à un prince!” or something like that.

After the show, we walked through St. Germain and stopped at Amorino for some gelato. The line was out the door, but for good reason: the ice cream here is fabulous, and gorgeous. Each cone comes with a small ball of one flavor in the center, and another flavor around the sides shaped like the petals of a rose. David, who had been just a wee bit disappointed in the ice cream from Berthillon a few days before (he keeps asking me, “So, let’s go over this again: I know the word for ice cream in French is glace, but that must mean something more like frozen-fruit concoction than frozen cream, right? Is that why it tastes so much like sorbet?”) ordered a fabulous coconut/chocolate concoction that took the award for best combination, though Emma’s passion fruit/vanilla selection came in second. And in John’s defense, I may have mistranslated his order to the girl making his flower, so he wins the “bad-mom-ice-cream-order” award for the day. As they ate their ice cream, we walked back to the Métro to the Musee d’Orsay. The museum has a show on Manet right now that David wanted to see, and we made it through the doors just as they stopped admitting people for the afternoon. I took Emma to see the few Degas works that I remembered from my last visit, and went off in search of the Gauguin that I thought John might like. Halfway through, we came upon an exhibit about the Opéra Garnier, which included a huge model of the building (a palace to house opera, built by Napoleon III during the Haussmann reconstruction of Paris) and a model of the building set below a plexiglass floor, as it appears from the top surrounded by the 9e arrondisement, which visitors can walk on. John loved this, and plopped down in the middle with his small sketchpad to draw the building from the top. We sent David off to try to get into the Manet exhibit (which he did, but really only by sheer luck at the very, very end…) and after the kids tired of the Opéra, we walked through the building. I tried to take them behind the big clock (the Musee is in an old train station, so the clock at the front of the building is its most famous feature) but part of the museum is undergoing repairs so we couldn’t get all the way up there. We wandered through the sculptures on the ground floor instead, and when David met up with us, the museum was just closing. So we took the Métro back to our neighborhood and strolled off in search for a place for dinner.

We were all a bit indecisive and grouchy (actually, that was just me…) so it took quite a while for us to make up our minds. We finally ended up at the Hippopotamus in the Bastille, which is a bit like a Parisian Applebee’s. The restaurant was a bit pedestrian, thought the food was actually quite good. David had a steak frites that came to us pretty much rare though I had ordered it “a point” which means medium, but it was probably even more delicious as a result, and I had a salad of salmon and puy lentils, along with a kir (white wine and cassis), which I remember from my last trip to Paris. It was a bit sweeter than I remember (but of course I was 16 at the time and I probably liked it for that reason), but still seemed like just the thing to order on a warm evening in Paris. I think I did a passable job of ordering our meal in French, and was even able to communicate to the waitress that she had given us the wrong bill at the end. I think I did inadvertently tell her that we only wanted one mousse au chocolat for John at the end of the meal instead of two (David’s meal was supposed to include one as well), although it might have been that she wasn’t listening when I said “une autre pour lui, s’il vous plait.” No matter—we had more than enough, and we paid our bill and took a nice walk back to our apartment for the night.

Photos from Day 3

The Seine, a Market and the Eiffel Tower

Emma and I left the apartment early this morning for a quick walk down the rue Rivoli in the Marais for some breakfast. We bought a kilo of cherries (they’re in season here, along with apricots and fresh almonds, which the French coat with olive oil and salt then grill…) at a fruit shop and a baguette, a croissant and a pain au chocolat (John’s favorite…like a square of croissant pastry with chips of chocolate squished inside), and took it all back to the apartment to share with the boys. Then we walked towards the Hotel de Ville to buy tickets for the Batobus, which is a boat that goes up and down the Seine all day, allowing you to get on and get off at any of the stops. I wanted to ride only one stop over and calculated that the boat would take us right there, but when the boat came I realized that it was going in the other direction, so we were treated to an unplanned tour of the entire city of Paris by boat. That was fine by me, and I took lots of pictures of the bridges, but the kids got a little restless after a bit, especially when it started to get hot. We finally got off the boat in the Left Bank, at the Jardin des Plantes, which is a botanical garden. We strolled through on our way to the Latin Quarter, an area of Paris in the 5^th arrondissement so called because it’s near the Sorbonne and other French universities where the Latin language was spoken in the Middle Ages by academics and scholars. We walked towards the Rue Moufettard, a narrow pedestrian area of winding cobblestone streets that features a market a few days a week. The market was full of people, food, wine, great smells, flowers…just what I picture a French market should be. I made a few purchases at some stalls, and tried to be a bit more confident with my French: at the cheese shop, I asked for two different things, and then when the woman gave them to me along with my change, she asked if Emma and John would like to sample a different kind of cheese, I said yes, and thanked her for her generosity (sounds simple enough, but it took me a while to work out what she had asked me in my head!). I bought some fresh apricots at a fruit shop, then a roasted chicken from a woman who David overheard being rude to a few previous customers, and felt triumphant that she was merely curt to me. And when I bought a baguette, I also got a little brioche au sucre wrapped up in an elaborate swirl-shape, but only after asking the girl at the shop if she thought it was something the kids would enjoy.

Then we stopped at a Franprix for some napkins and drinks, and walked to the Arenes de Lutece to eat our picnic lunch, which are the remains of a Roman amphitheater constructed in the first century that once seated 15,000 people for gladiatorial events (I omitted that part of the spot’s history for Emma), discovered in the late 1800’s when the nearby Rue Monge was constructed. It’s now a popular (though dusty) park, and was filled with kids playing soccer in the stage area, and families and couples perched all along the “bleachers” area. We enjoyed our lunch, though John struggled with wanting desperately to play soccer with the kids below but being intimidated about joining in without knowing the language (and I can’t say as I blame him…and kids are much harder to understand in a foreign language than adults anyway). After our lunch, we headed back to the Seine, stopping at a bookshop where I bought a Where’s Waldo-type book about all the sites in Paris for the kids (including one that is the exact view from the windows of our flat) and a French copy of Le Petit Prince for me. Then we got back on the Batobus and took it to the Pont Alexandre III, a bridge that goes from the Grand Palais to Les Invalides. We were headed to the Musee Rodin, but were left with a bit of a walk to get there, and had to search a bit for an ATM on the way (and I have no idea how to say “ATM” in French!), and by the time we arrived, the Museum had just closed. I had promised the kids (and David!) some ice cream in the gardens of the Museum, so they were quite disappointed (all three…) and we began a long, long walk from the garden in front of Les Invalides (where Napoleon is buried) to the Champs de Mars, the park in front of the Eiffel Tower. We were on the lookout for ice cream along the way, but couldn’t find any (surprisingly) so ended up at the park a grouchy, tired bunch. I had purchased tickets ahead of time online for the Eiffel Tower to avoid the long line (and wow was it long when we arrived!) but we had about 45 minutes left to wait, so we walked down to the Seine to sit on the steps and eat the remains of our picnic. While we were seated, David turned to me and said, “You know, I really never liked the Eiffel Tower…” I ignored him, chalking it up to a lack of ice cream, and told the kids a simplified story about the tower: it was built by Gustave Eiffel for the World Exposition in 1889 and at first considered by many Parisians to be an eyesore. After a time, though, Parisians came around and began to love the monument—all except Eiffel’s rival designer William Morris. He began to call the tower the Giant Asparagus, and refused to visit. And when he finally did visit the tower for the first time and people asked him why, he said, “Why on Earth have I come here? Because it’s the only place in Paris I can’t see it from!”

At 7:30, we presented our previously-purchased lift tickets, and cut to the front of the line for the elevator (John did a little victory dance as we walked, shouting “See ya later, suckers!” to all the people in line, who I hope did not speak English!). We rode up, and all very much enjoyed the view (even David, despite not liking the tower and despite having his opened bottle of wine from our picnic lunch confiscated before we were allowed to enter the queue…). John spent some of his souvenir money on a little bear with a shirt that said “Paris” on it and the Eiffel Tower embroidered on his foot, that goes with the Scotland and London bears we already have, and Emma got a little purple keychain of the tower from one of the many, many plastic-tower-hawkers outside. It’s possibly the world’s cheapest trinket, but it made her very happy! We walked back down to the Seine, got on the Batobus again, and rode back to the Hotel de Ville, in the Marais. We took a stroll through the neighborhood, and the kids said they were hungry, so we stopped at a creperie on the Rue de Rosiers. I ordered a crepe with butter and sugar for John, and when the guy making the crepe put on lots of sugar, I said, “And now he won’t be able to sleep…!” I had to repeat the sentence a second time to make myself be understood, but when he did get it and smiled, I felt quite triumphant. We walked a bit more in search of falafel for Emma but found that the spot we had stopped the first night was closed, so returned to the crepe place for two more…one for Emma and one for David. This time, when David held John up to see the process and Emma was struggling to see on her tiptoes, the man making the crepes first encouraged her to cross the small street and stand on a door stoop to see, then told her to come into the shop and around to where he was standing. He then proceeded to let her help make her own crepe, which was very sweet (I noticed that he kept glancing up a tv screen showing the Barcelona-Manchester United football game while she was making the crepe, and I figured that he must have been a Barca fan and was in a good mood). I took a few photos of her working behind the counter, since I’m guessing the experience will likely end up being the highlight of her trip!

So, we took our crepes and walked through the Marais eating them, which was fabulous. The streets were crowded, and we were all having a great time. It was certainly one of those moments that David and I will always remember about being in Paris. The kids are having a fabulous time, too--Emma loves the markets and the shopping, even though we haven’t yet bought much other than food and wine. John keeps proclaiming, “This is a really good city” as he walks through all the neighborhoods with us, and he has also started to show his appreciation of French food by kissing the tips of his fingers and opening them with a flourish and a “supoib!” when he tastes something he likes. And, when he overhears someone speaking French, he comes out with a loud “Oh la la…croissant!” in a French accent, which actually gets funnier each time he says it. We’ve got two little contests going: one, to find the thinnest woman, and two, to spot the most French-looking man. I think I’m in the running on the first one, after having spotted a pregnant woman in the Jardin des Tuileries pushing a little boy on a slide and wearing four-inch high heels on legs that weren’t much wider than cigarettes. David’s winning the second, as he saw a man on a bicycle wearing a red scarf and a black and white striped tshirt, though Emma and I did see a man outside the Louvre who was able to smoke a cigarette, pick his nose and text on his cell phone all at the same time. We’re trying to provide photographic evidence to support our entries, which can sometimes prove difficult and requires us to use the kids as a “photo-foil” from time to time. Our contest will continue, and we’ll see what we come up by the end of the trip!

I posted some more photos from our second day at: Paris 2 Photos

Une Journée Complète

Our first full day in Paris was a full one indeed! I am realizing that I may have been a bit ambitious in my itinerary-planning and that I may need to ease up in the next few days, to keep from returning to St. Andrews as an exhausted, burnt-out bunch! We left our apartment at 9am and went straight to a boulangerie for croissants and a baguette. I chose one near our apartment that I had read about in a food blog, and it was a quick walk, just on the other side of the Place des Vosges. We took a quick tour of the square on our way (and took some photos too…), and found the bakery with no problem. I went in with Emma and stood behind a woman, trying to eavesdrop on her conversation with the woman behind the counter to make sure that my rehearsed French was going to come out ok. When it was my turn, I blurted out a quick bonjour and asked for what I wanted in French without having to resort to pointing at the items. The woman behind the counter nodded, gathered the items as I listed them, and gave me my total and then my change with a curt merci. I thanked her and left, but was just a wee bit put out that she wasn’t a bit nicer to me (though I did greatly appreciate that she didn’t automatically speak English back to me, and carried out the transaction en français). Then I remembered that I hadn’t greeted her with the required bonjour Madame! and she probably thought I was quite rude as a result. And what’s worse—I left without saying merci Madame as well. So, all of this means that I’ll have to find a new boulangerie for our morning bread today!

We planned to take a very early Métro trip to the Cathédrale de Notre Dame, but were delayed a bit when our intended Métro station of departure was closed for repair, and then when the second Métro station we visited only sold tickets with a chip-and-pin credit card or with Euro coins. We intended to buy a carnet (or 10-pack) of tickets which would run us €12 and we didn’t have that much money in coins. So, we went to yet a third Métro station, which thankfully did accept bills and we were on our way—though we were halfway to Notre Dame by that point anyway. The Métro proved to be very easy to use, after we figured out that we actually had to open the doors for ourselves, missed our intended stop, rode to the next stop, switched directions, and rode back to the previous stop again. The kids thought it was a real adventure, though, and I made it through my first Métro ride without having my purse stolen, so all in all it was a great success.

Notre Dame was lovely, and we spent a good deal of time touring the inside. I had billed the visit to the kids, though, as an opportunity to see all the gargoyles from the tower, so as we waited in the queue to get into the cathedral, they were anxious to pass through quickly to start the climb. Unfortunately, when we arrived at the tower, we learned that the towers were closed because of a workers’ strike. I remembered that this happens all the time in Paris, and am assuming that it’s probably about job cuts, but I did think for a moment that if I lived in a city as lovely as Paris, I might be swayed to see the benefit of a few days “on strike” as well! So we walked around the cathedral instead, then crossed the Petit Pont over to the Left Bank for a trip to Shakespeare and Company, a secondhand English bookstore about which I had read great things. David browsed for a bit, and John and I sat outside, where we watched a small group of people conducting a photo shoot with a model outside the shop (it’s quite the quaint setting, as you can imagine!). The model was sitting on a bench and cycling through the various expressions (Now you’re bored! Now you’re pensive! Give me flustered! Now you’re pouting!) and though it was a very small bench, a Frenchman saw a bit of open space next to her, sat right down and began to read his newspaper. John and I thought this was hilarious, and so John started to take some photos of her as well (and she and her camera crew were too put out by the paper-reading Frenchman to notice!). They always say that the French don’t need much personal space!

We stopped at a crêperie for lunch that had been suggested to us by a friend (thanks Kay!) and got two huge crêpes which we ate outside the bookstore. We bought Emma a kids’ book on Henry VIII (yes, that does exist!) but David couldn’t be persuaded to buy any Foucault, despite my prompting. Instead, we walked across two more bridges that cross the Seine for some ice cream at Berthillon—another must-do on many people’s Paris trip, including ours. We ordered strawberry and mango, and I did a passable job of communicating with the girl in the shop, though I was flustered about the use of the Madame part at the end of our transaction because she was much younger than me, and I didn’t want to insult her with a Mademoiselle, which I have read is a bit dated, especially coming from one woman to another! Or perhaps that’s just what they tell middle-aged women so they aren’t insulted when someone doesn’t Mademoiselle them? We took another Métro trip (this one frightfully crowded, where we were almost trampled by a group of American girls…) towards the 1e arrondissement to see the Musee de l’Orangerie, a museum of Impressionist work where Monet’s water-lily paintings—the Nymphéas—are displayed on curved walls in two separate rooms under direct diffused light, as he originally intended them to be displayed. I thought this would be a great introduction to Impressionism for the kids, and since it was a small museum, they wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. I thought the museum was fabulous—just my kind of thing, and they tolerated it well enough, especially the bottom floor that houses the Paul Guillaume collection of Impressionist paintings, where I gave them my camera and listed items they would need to find in the paintings as a kind of an Impressionist scavenger hunt. After our museum visit, we walked through the nearby Jardin des Tuileries, an elegant Parisian park with dusty wide paths, elegant fountains, and many Pelouse Non Accessible signs on the grass. We took the kids to a small playground to the side of the garden, where they played for a good bit, then to a set of ground-level trampolines, which they loved and which were worth way more than the €2 entrance price.

By around 5pm, we were all starting to get a bit hungry (I wonder how one says “peckish” in French?) so we headed towards the Louvre, where an underground food court with foods from around the world was recommended by one of my many guide books. When we arrived, I was struck once again by how frightfully expensive Paris can be! A meal at a food court was going to run us €15 euros (about $22) each, so I couldn’t imagine how much a meal at a nice bistro would be later in the week. David went off with the kids to procure some pizza with a parlez-vous anglais? approach, and I went a few shops down to try to get some lamb tagine in couscous with stewed lemons for us. The couple in front of me didn’t speak French, and when they tried to pay with their credit card, the woman behind the counter told them her credit card machine must not be working so they would have to pay with cash. They didn’t understand, since she had swiped their card through the machine and gave them a receipt which they couldn’t read, and she obviously didn’t speak English so just kept repeating to them, louder each time, Il ne march pas! Il ne marche pas! and putting her hand on their tray to keep them from walking away with their meal. She finally got her point across somehow and they paid in cash, then left, and because I had heard the whole thing, and understood the whole thing, I felt confident going into my transaction. So, I began with a hefty Bonjour Madame! and launched into our order in French. I faltered a bit when pressed to come up with the word for “chick peas” so I did have to point for that one, but she stuck with me, and then I even asked a question about one of the salads. She made a suggestion to me that I order a certain meal combination to make our order a bit cheaper, and to basically give us a free dessert, and then I asked which dessert she would recommend, and I managed to understand her completely as she pointed to each one and described what was inside. I chose the almond pastry she recommended (qui est tout à fait délicieux) and paid for my meal with another hearty Merci Madame…Bonsoir! then went off in search of the David and the kids to recount my victory, line by line.

After dinner, we were off to the Louvre (it’s open late on Friday nights, so there was no line at all to get in). We bought our tickets (the guy behind the counter complemented John on his French football jersey…) and quickly perused the map for the things we really wanted to see. David wanted to see The Wedding Feast at Cana and a few other paintings that he teaches, and I wanted to see some of the Roman and Egyptian collections. Emma asked to see the Napoleon III apartments and I figured (or more hoped, actually) that John would be impressed with all the French sculptures on the ground floor. The Louvre is immense, obviously, and since it was evening and we were all a bit tired going in, we had to engineer a hit-the-highlights of the highlights trip and do the bare minimum with kids, but it was still a great visit. We saw much of what we wanted to see, and Emma and John politely sat on a bench and mocked us (John played the role of David gesturing at a painting and explaining the triangles of light, while Emma pretended to frantically run around like me, offering to translate all the placards under the paintings…). The apartments and the French sculptures were a hit, and we left on a high note (though as we left, I overheard an American woman say to her young daughter after the girl asked what a certain Egyptian display was: “I don’t know, hon, but isn’t it cool?” and hoped that I had not uttered the same phrase at some point in the visit!)

P.S. I have taken over 350 photos in the last 48 hours, and in order to prevent photo-overload, I'm just providing a link to some of them:

Paris Photos

Nous sommes arrivés!

Nous sommes à Paris! Nous avons arrivés hier après-midi et puis quand je…oh, sorry! I’m getting carried away! Let me back up a bit: when we found out more than two years ago that we would be in Scotland for a semester, my very first thought was that we were definitely going to take the kids to Paris at the end. I have been to Paris only once---when I was 17 years old and in high school, and spent a summer living with a host family and going to le lycée technique in Brittany through a program at Indiana University. The first part of the experience was difficult…living with a French family was not easy, and though my French was greatly improved at the end, it was certainly a challenging experience. At the end of the trip, though, our group of about 20 American high school students was driven to Paris, put up in a hostel, and let loose. As you can imagine, I have wonderful memories of that part of the trip, and ever since then have desperately wanted to come back!

So, twenty years later, here I am! Over the past five months, I have been planning an itinerary for us, and searching for apartments in Paris. I knew from the beginning that we wanted to stay in an apartment in one of the neighborhoods (arrondissements) that would allow us to experience a bit of daily Parisian life and would give the kids a bit of space to spread out in between our visits to the parks and the markets. I eventually chose a one-bedroom flat in the Marais district (the 4e arrondissement) one block away from the Place des Vosges, which is the oldest planned square in Paris. I rented the flat through an American company that rents about 200 different flats all around the city to American tourists, and they sent me the keys to the place a few weeks ago with a map of the area and a note that simply said Merci beaucoup! Easy enough! And once the keys arrived, I was obsessed with fine-tuning our itinerary—staying up late into the night researching and rearranging, adding and nixing, second and third guessing. Was a visit to Napoleon’s tomb worth it? Would the kids be able to take the massiveness of the Louvre, or should we stick to the Musée de l’Orangerie? If we arrived at the Cathédrale Notre Dame right at 10am, would the line to climb the tower already be oppressively long? Could we make it 20 minutes out of our way from the Musée Rodin for a gâteau opéra at Lenôtre? I was checking the tripadvisor sites about taking kids to Paris and reading the David Lebovitz blog daily. In the last week, I have even begun my day with a “walk” through our neighborhood in the Marais through Google Earth! So much fun!

I have also spent the last five months working on my French. It was my minor in college, but I was able to finish all the requirements by the end of my sophomore year (I told you the trip to Brittany helped with my command of the language!), and then I switched to Italian. I haven’t spoken French since (in fact, I was mortified during my senior week in college when I was inducted in the French honor society, and learned during the ceremony that I was expected to say a few words of gratitude…en francais! If memory serves, I believe I stammered out a quick “uh, merci, uh, oui, uh merci beaucoup!”). So, in the last five months, I have been listening to a daily podcast in French on my morning run called Coffee Break French. It’s produced by a Glaswegian guy, and while I have been able to successfully restore much of my ability to speak the language with the program, I now do so with a bit of a Scottish accent, which is a little strange. I have also been working with Emma and John a bit on a few key phrases that they might need to use while in Paris, and coaching them on French etiquette: always say bonjour when walking into a shop, and au revoir when leaving, and use s’il vous plaît and merci (please and thank you) as much as possible; never touch anything in a market unless you are in the process of buying it; don’t walk around with gum in your mouth or your hands in your pocket.

The only downside to all the planning was that I came across a lot of advice about avoiding pickpockets in Paris, and became just a tad bit worried about it. I read about the crowding scam in the Metro where someone watches you put away your money after you buy a ticket, then bumps into you on the train and slyly helps himself to some of it. I read about the string scheme, apparently common in the Montmartre area, where someone quickly ties a piece of string around your wrist then demands money for it, and the ring scheme, used near the Eiffel Tower, where someone gives you a gold ring that they found, claiming you must have lost it, then demands money from you. I got so carried away with worrying about it that I began to chant French phrases in my head at night as I fell asleep: “No, please, that ring is not mine! Go away! Thank you!”

My biggest concern about pickpockets was that, after our arrival, we would need to make the trip from the airport to our apartment, where we would need to take the RER into the city and switch to a Métro line at a very large Métro station with both kids and two suitcases in tow. The RER is notorious for pickpockets, especially when it comes to tourists fresh out of the airport laden with suitcases, laptop bags, purses and kids (i.e. us!). I also know from experience that the Métro is not easy to navigate with large suitcases, and though I don’t know from experience, I am guessing that it might be tricky with kids too. So, to avoid the risk and to alleviate my worry about the RER (much more the latter than the former…and I’m sure David would not use the word “worry” there, but would go with something like “torment” or “anguish”) I arranged for a private transfer service to take us to the apartment right from the airport. I felt a little silly, and a little extravagant, making such a decision (though I might add that in the end, it was actually only a wee bit more expensive than tickets for four people on a return-trip shared van shuttle), but I must say that it certainly paid off when we emerged at baggage claim at Charles de Gaulle airport to find a very polite, English-speaking Ghanaian waiting for us with our name on a big white sign! (I only know he was from Ghana because I saw the screensaver on his iPhone which said “I HEART GHANA!” so am assuming…) He drove us right to our flat, which took about 40 minutes in a bit of traffic (John promptly fell asleep, of course, the instant the van started to move…) and dropped us off at our front door. Again, easy enough! We arrived at our flat without incident…no stolen laptop or passports, and now I feel like I can much more easily tackle the Métro in the days to come without being a pickpocket target.

So, we made our way up the four flights of stairs to our flat and went in. It was actually larger than I had thought from the pictures on the website (and from my general idea that any flat in Paris would be tout petit), but just as cute: huge windows overlooking the Place du marché Sainte Catherine, a bright kitchen that looks over a courtyard overflowing with red geranium-filled window boxes, a bedroom wall made of exposed wooden beams and thick red drapes, and a big bottle of wine on a tiny table waiting for us. We unpacked quickly, and headed out for some dinner. In my constant quest for the perfect itinerary, I read about a falafel place called L’As du Fallafel on the Rue de Rosiers just a few blocks away from us that was a must-see, so we ventured in that direction and found it with no problem. I was able to piece together enough French to order our meal (the result of the podcast is actually that I can understand quite a bit of French, but can’t speak it back nearly as well…), though we are somehow so easily identifiable as English speaking that it wasn’t necessary. Our meals of schwarma, falafel and humus were delicious, and not too frightfully expensive. We treated the kids to their first taste of Orangina (still one of my best memories of France…twenty years later and after “globalization” has brought Orangina to every Wegman’s store in New York State…), and I was treated to my first taste of sitting amongst the French. After twenty years, it’s refreshing to see that not much about the French has changed—it’s still apparently not acceptable to sit with your hands in your lap, but perfectly OK to have a go at the contents of the inside of your nose in public.

After dinner, we walked a bit, and stopped at a small grocery store for some breakfast supplies. My French came in handy again as we read the labels (though I inadvertently bought lactose-free milk which the kids won’t touch…) and as we paid for our purchases. We did a fair amount of window shopping on the way home too, as most of the stores were closed. The phrase “window-shopping” in French, by the way, is faire du lèche-vitrine which translates into “window-licking” and gives a nice visual…After a stroll, we went back to the apartment, where the kids watched the Hunchback of Notre Dame and I put some last-last-last minute touches on our itinerary for tomorrow!

Weather Woes and Early Goodbyes

Our streak of cold, bad weather continued into this week, and on Monday, a ferocious windstorm swept into the area, downing large trees all over St. Andrews (see photo at left of a car parked in front of the B. Janetta ice cream shop on South Street in St. Andrews!) and closing several of the local bridges. It was quite a strange day...vacillating between pouring rain, crazy wind, and full-on sunshine! I dashed out to pick up the kids from school at 3pm and almost couldn't make it to the car because it was so windy. As I stood on the playground outside the school waiting for them to emerge, it was blazingly sunny, but on the way home it began to pour, and we were all soaked just from the trip between car and front door!

The study group met for one last time on Monday night--we took all the students to the Pizza Express (that's actually a pretty good UK chain...despite the name!) for a farewell dinner, and everyone had fun--though John probably enjoyed himself more than anyone by circulating among all the groups of girls and turning on the charm. His seven-year old version of charm is unfortunately to poke them on the back and run away quickly, and when they tire of that, to tousle their hair. But they all tolerated it quite well! At

the end of the dinner, we all stood outside the restaurant (in the 70 mph wind!) saying our goodbyes, as some of them were heading in different directions after finals, and all of them would be gone by Thursday. It was quite sad--our group has been marvelous, and we hate to see the study group part of the trip end. All of our students got along with each other so well, and they were always up for any kind of adventure, whether it involved climbing 400 steps in York, getting up early for the wrong train, or pushing a narrow boat down a freezing cold creek in Oxford! They are a cheerful, casual, welcoming bunch, and we'll really miss them!

Just hours after our group dinner, we started to hear the news about the ash cloud that was slowly settling over Scotland. At first, the BBC predicted that it wouldn't affect air travel, then when the news came that President Obama was leaving Ireland early, things began to change quickly. By Tuesday morning, all flights in or out of Glasgow and Edinburgh were cancelled, and no one seemed to know anything. One of our students was supposed to fly out of Edinburgh to Paris early on Tuesday morning but didn't make it. Instead, he caught a train to London to try for a flight there. I last heard from him as he was enroute to London... The fear was that the rest of the students, scheduled to leave from Edinburgh on Thursday morning, would be stuck here as well until the ash dissipated. What's worse is that our family is scheduled to fly out of Edinburgh too, just an hour after the students leave, to Paris for a vacation. I guess when I was booking our tickets I should have left more than an hour's worth of time in between the flights, in case anything went wrong. Oh well...I'll know that when we do the next study group! So, while I was monitoring the BBC website for news and emailing people at Colgate to form a Plan B, C, and D for the students, I got another email from Allison Buras, the wife of the Baylor study group in St. Andrews who have been here with us for the past semester. She just learned that her grandmother had passed away, and she was preparing to leave with her three boys as soon as possible on the next open flight.

We went over to their house to say a hasty good-bye, and our families ended up taking one last walk down the Lade Braes together. That was sad as well--our kids have become good friends, and David and I enjoy spending time with Todd and Allison as well. We have had dinner at each other's houses on many occasions, and have often traded babysitting. Since Allison changed her flight and we weren't sure that British Airways was going to be able to fly this morning, I offered to drive them to the airport and wait with them until they checked in. Todd came as well, though he isn't returning to the States until Saturday with the rest of the Baylor students. We left St. Andrews at 4:15 am, which of course wasn't a problem since the sun was already up! We arrived at the airport, which was absolutely mobbed with people who had spent the night there waiting for their cancelled flights to leave, and Allison checked herself and the boys in without a problem. Their flight was the first one to leave that morning, and I could tell that she was quite relieved not to have to haul six months worth of luggage back to St. Andrews with her to wait for another flight.

Glamis Castle and Loch Lomond

I spent the rest of the week traveling with my family: we went to Glamis Castle on Thursday while the kids were in school so we didn't have to worry about the gruesome details that a castle tour sometimes includes. This time, we weren't disappointed: we learned about the ghost that is bricked up in the salon wall, supposedly engaged in an eternal game of poker with the devil himself, and the white lady who sits in the very back-row chair in the chapel of the castle who is the ghost of Lady Janet Douglas, burned at the stake at Edinburgh Castle by James V. We also saw Duncan's Hall, which the tour guide explained was the "setting" of the murder of King Duncan by Macbeth, even though the room was built 400 years after the actual murder took place, and the actual murder took place in Elgin. Despite the gore and the historical discrepancies, the tour was excellent. The Queen Mother, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, was born and spent her childhood here, and there is a royal suite that her family used on visits to Scotland that was lovely to see. I also liked the small powder room off the drawing room, used by servants to repowder men's wigs, reapply waxy makeup to pockmarked skin, and remove maggots from the ladies' elaborate, yet rarely washed or combed out, hairstyles. Glamis Castle also has a good cafe built into their Victorian kitchen, a carriage house with various exhibits (this one was on royal weddings through the years, of course!) and beautiful gardens, where the four of us spent a few hours taking photos of flowers and Highland cows, and sipping from the bottle of Bruadar that Ted bought in the gift shop. Bruadar is a whisky liqueur made from malt whisky, honey and sloeberries, and it's quite sweet--in fact, my mother even took a pull from the bottle and didn't hate it! I have a photo to prove it, but will preserve her dignity by not posting it...

On Friday, we visited the first tee at the Old Course, and walked around in some of the golf shops (my mother is the golfer and enjoyed this very much, and the three of us were successful in suppressing our yawns as we headed into yet another pro shop!)

We had lunch at a chippy in town, then my mother and I went to Greyfriars Primary School to help with Emma's Friday activity group. My mother was shocked that, when we arrived and went to the computer classroom where the activity was to take place, all of the kids were sitting calmly, doing the activity that they were supposed to, without a teacher in the room. I was working with a boy named Johny in P2 (first grade) on a program that helped him with decimals, and she was impressed that they were so advanced, and so well behaved. I think that's because she used to teach first grade! After school, we went to West Sands beach to take a photo of all of us with St. Andrews in the background. The best photo is below, all the way at the end, and I won't mention how many tries it took to take it!

On Saturday, we woke up to dreary, persistent rain, with more in the forecast, but packed up the car anyway and headed west. Amy and Ted and my mother had all their suitcases with them for the return flight home on Monday, so it made for quite a cozy ride! Our first stop was Doune Castle, built in the 14th century by the Duke of Albany. It's unusual for a Scottish castle in that it was all built at one time, rather than section by section through various centuries, and has

remained relatively unchanged since. Like almost all other Scottish castles, though, it did host Mary Queen of Scots on a few occasions (I was actually impressed during our visit to Aberdour Castle early on in the week to learn that MQS never stayed at that castle, and if I were management there, I would definitely play that up: Come to Aberdour for a unique visit to the ONLY castle in Scotland without a Mary Queen of Scots bedchamber!). Doune Castle is not as well-known for any of these things, however, but for something that happened there in 1974: Monty Python and the Holy Grail was filmed there. That fact alone must account for about 80% of visits made to Doune. In fact, the free audio guide that is distributed at the ticket till is narrated by Terry Jones of the Monty Python comedy team. In each room, he presents a straight-forward account of the various activities that might have taken place there, then says at the end of each section, "press the green button for more about the Monty Python scenes that were filmed here." This was endlessly fascinating to Emma and John, who had never seen the movies but who still very much appreciated the taunts of a French soldier to King Arthur: "I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hampster and your father stank of elderberries!"

As we left Doune and drove into Callander for lunch, the rain became torrential, and though we successfully ducked into a cafe for some lunch, our afternoon plans of shopping in the quaint high street then hiking in the nearby Queen Elizabeth State Forest were pretty much dashed. We made a quick stop into the David Marshall Lodge Visitor Center, where we glanced at a live feed of an osprey sitting on an egg, and where a Scottish forester who was sitting in the corner

monitoring the feed and eating his lunch pointed a candy bar at me and, with a mouth full of food and in a thick Scottish accent, said "Moor bhurg vahnrandy ist seedum then, nae?" I nodded and giggled, and ushered the kids out of there as soon as possible, before he finished chewing!

We drove on to Loch Lomond, where we checked in our hostel for the night. We were staying at the Auchendennan House, which was built on the site of a hunting lodge owned by Robert the Bruce. The current building was built between 1842-46 by a Glaswegian merchant and features a ballroom and a huge cast-iron staircase, despite it being used during World War II as housing for an anti-aircraft division of the British army, and after the war being turned into a hostel. The views out of our room were spectacular, though we were looking at Loch Lomond through the driving rain. After setting in, we drove to Loch Lomond Shores for dinner at the Kilted Skirlie, which was

delicious despite being in the middle of a poorly-conceived touristy shopping mall. But since it was raining, we had very little other options. My post-dinner itinerary of driving north to a pub called the Drover's Inn that features traditional live Scottish music on Saturday night was also squashed because of the rain, so instead we took a quick drive through the next-door, high-end Cameron House Hotel to count the Bentleys and Aston Martins in the parking lot (which was gravel...who drives an Aston Martin onto a gravel parking lot!?) then returned to the hostel for an early night.

On Sunday, the rain continued so our options were very limited. In fact, since we didn't have enough room in the car to bring breakfast with us, and since even the touristy shopping mall on the shores of Loch Lomond didn't open until 10, we had to do the unthinkable: go to a McDonald's for breakfast! It's the first McDonald's I had seen in Scotland (giving you an idea of the kind of place we were visiting...), and probably the first one I had been in for over a year. But, coffee is coffee, and I had been awake for three hours already without having had any. So, desperate times call for...

We padded around Loch Lomond a bit and did some shopping in the end, then stopped in the town of Balloch for lunch. The pub we chose had a good menu of Sunday roasts, and while we were eating, the rain stopped and the sun came out, at last! So we packed up the car and headed towards Glasgow, where Amy, Ted and my mother were going to stay in an airport hotel for the flight home this morning. We stopped at Dumbarton Castle on the way, which is built between two huge volcanic rocks on the Firth of Clyde overlooking the city. Not much is left of the castle now, though you can still climb all the way to the top along the castle walls and visit the prison and the gunpowder magazine. John was the only one of us brave enough to go all the way to the top, though it was so windy and he had on a windbreaker that was puffed out like a sail that I was afraid he was just going to be blown off into the Firth of Clyde, so I couldn't watch! We toured all the nooks and crannies of the castle, stopped to watch some men playing bocce ball on a groomed courtyard near the river, then drove into Glasgow to drop off my family at the hotel and then to begin the 90 minute drive "home" to St. Andrews, where we all went to bed early!

Traveling with Americans

This week, I have been doing some day trips with my sister, my mother and Ted while the kids are at school. We’re returning to some of the places that I have visited before, so it’s been a bit of a highlights tour for me, though it has been different to see some of these places without kids in tow. On Monday, we visited Stirling Castle again, and this time we joined up with a guided tour of the castle, which would have been way too long for Emma and John to tolerate. The guide here was a well-informed young Scotswoman with a Highlands accent and pink hair (the latter gave away her nationality more than the former, of course!) who presented a fairly balanced history of the castle mixed with a bit of Scottish nationalism when recounting stories of the Battle of Flodden. I thought the tour was fabulous, though I was thankful that the kids weren’t there to hear it—I can’t imagine

Emma enjoying the guide’s story of William Wallace making a sword belt out of the skin of Hugh de Cressingham, or the story of the quilt that hangs at the front of the chapel to honor the 16 schoolchildren, all friends of the tour guide, killed in 1996 in a murder-suicide at the primary school in nearby Dunblane.

On Tuesday, we took Emma with us on a tour of Aberdour Castle, then Linlithgow Palace—both places that she had thoroughly enjoyed the first time around. During this visit, we had plenty of time to investigate all the nooks and crannies in Linlithgow, and Emma thoroughly enjoyed having her photo taken in every fireplace she could find. At both places, the employees of Historic Scotland were very friendly, and at Aberdour the

woman gave Emma a trivia sheet to fill in as we went around the castle, which ended up being just as instructive for all of us as it was for her. For lunch, we went to Four Marys Pub in the village of Linlithgow, where Ted had some more haggis (this time in Balmoral Chicken) and Emma and my sister had “macaroni cheese” made with Mull of Kintyre Cheddar…a dish that is guaranteed to make one swear off Kraft for the rest of one’s life.

On Wednesday, we took the train into Edinburgh, and after arriving at Waverly Station, walked right to the castle. I had visited with the Colgate students in February, when we were practically the only group there, and the few other visitors were all Scottish or English. This time, since tourist season has begun, I noticed right away that almost all the other visitors were American—I think I heard more American accents yesterday than I have in all the previous five months combined. As I walked around the castle, I began to notice how the American accent can often be

incredibly nasal-y and American speech is constantly peppered with words such as “stuff” and “like.” I was also appalled to overhear several things coming from the mouths of Americans that were downright ridiculous. One young college student said to her friend, “OK, I’m all been-there-done-that with Edinburgh Castle now! This blows!” As I was standing in line in the exhibit about prisoners of war held in Edinburgh Castle during the various wars and entered the room about the American Revolution, an American student was pointing out a portrait of George Washington to his German companion, and said something along the lines of, “Dude, there’s the MAN!” His companion asked if George Washington was the person on the American ten-dollar bill, and the American said no…that was Alexander Hamilton. The companion then asked who Alexander Hamilton was, and the American said something along the lines of this: “Oh, well, he was a politician? And maybe an economist? I can’t remember for sure. But he was in a really cool duel with someone else where I think he shot first? Or maybe the other guy shot him? And then he died? I can’t remember for sure, but I think he was a politician. Or at least he was pretty important?” The German just nodded his head and said, “Ah…I see…and perhaps that’s why he’s on American currency then…” Indeed.

The worst instance, though, came as we were standing in line to see the Honours of Scotland (the Scottish crown jewels…a crown, scepter and sword of state, along with the Stone of Destiny). Just ahead of us, an older American woman had sidled up to a guard standing in front of the large, spotlighted case holding the honours, and asked him in a twangy accent: “Are these the REAL crown jewels?” He launched in an explanation (which I found quite interesting, actually) about how some of the crown jewels at the Tower of London are actually replicas, because the real things are often in use, so for logistical purposes they display replicas, whereas the Honours of Scotland are not used as much (the crown is used at the opening of the Scottish Parliament, but the sword and scepter are too fragile to be moved). The woman patiently listened to his explanation, then sighed and said, “Oh, well then I have to say that I’m quite disappointed!” He gave her a puzzled look, and she continued, “I mean, there’s all this build-up about them, you know? You go through all these rooms that tell about the history of them, you know, and how important they are and stuff, but when you see them, they’re definitely underwhelming. I mean, like, I would have thought that they would have been absolutely covered in jewels and stuff, you know?” The guard gave her a steady look, then turned to his co-worker and said simply, “I’m going on break,” and promptly left.

The Isle of May

My mother, sister Amy and brother-in-law Ted arrived on Saturday (despite a small mix-up when I went to the Glasgow airport to pick them up and realized, upon parking the car and finding my way to the International arrivals gate where the only “international” flights listed were coming from Dublin, that there are actually two international airports in Glasgow, and I was at the wrong one!) for a week-long visit. After getting them settled at the house, we took them into the town of St. Andrews to show them the must-see sights (the castle, the cathedral, the Tesco…), then went back to the house for some pork pies and millionaires before sending them to bed early to adjust to Scotland time. On Sunday, they woke up at a reasonable time, and after Ted and I went for a quick run along the Lade Braes, we dressed in all the warm clothes we could and drove to Anstruther to catch the Isle of May Princess. The ferry leaves from the pier in Anstruther for about a six mile trip across the North Sea to the Isle of May. The boat sails with the tide in order

to ensure a smooth ride, but the tide was certainly not cooperating with us on Sunday. Ted had wisely taken a Dramamine before the boat departed, but the rest of us figured the ferry boat was large enough that we would be immune to seasickness. We were wrong! The boat rolled and pitched so much that after twenty minutes I was sure I was going to throw up at any moment and had to keep my mouth clamped shut lest anything should escape—answering questions with either “mmm” or “hhh” for the duration of the ride. I kept my eyes fixed on the island the whole time, just willing it to get closer so we could get off, and I swear it just kept getting further and further away. My mother, sister and even Emma were likewise green, though Ted was fine because of the pill and David was having a ball, since he’s immune to seasickness and was enjoying the silence from the four of us!

After an eternity, we arrived at the Isle of May, which is a National Nature Reserve known for being a home to an amazing number of birds each year. There were a fair number of grey seals peeking up at us out of the water as we docked, likely curious about why this boatful of tourists was a bit greener than usual. As we (gratefully) got off the boat, a Scottish Natural Heritage guide met us and told us about the types of birds were were going to see (eiderducks, pufins, terns, razorbills, guillemot, and shag), and instructed up about the importance of staying on the path since some of the birds nest just a few feet off to the side. The guide said the isle was

the most important site in the UK for bird research for two reasons: it was an island so didn’t have any predators, and it was close to a large source of fish just off-shore (also why the Anstruther Fish Bar back on the mainland is so popular!) The isle also had three lighthouses on it, including the oldest lighthouse in Scotland, and we began our tour at the visitor center (and the bathrooms!) so the kids could pick up brochures listing some of the sites where they could do rubbings. We walked to the southern end of the isle first to see a large colony of puffins and one of the lighthouses, and after the kids finished their rubbings there, we noticed two seals sunning themselves on a rock on the cliffs below us. Then we walked down by the pier to have a picnic lunch of French bread, cheese and Nutella, then continued on to the northern end of the island toward the Robert Stevenson lighthouse (the grandfather of the author, though Robert Louis

Stevenson apparently visited the island many times and took inspiration for Treasure Island. Along the way, we saw several eiderducks sitting on their nests, and the puffins and razorbills were all over the island. Though the island is uninhabited, save for a few researchers staying for weeks at a time and living off of soup packets, it’s quite noisy because of the cries of the terns, who had just arrived, along with the other tourists who had just arrived and were shouting, “Look, Nigel, another rabbit!” Most of our fellow visitors were equipped with very expensive cameras and were there to take photos…one man had a telephoto lens wrapped in camouflage duct-tape that was so large that John mistook it for a bazooka! We spent a few hours on the island, then headed back to the boat for the dreaded return trip. This time, we had all followed Ted’s lead and taken a Dramamine. So, though none of us were sick this time, we were all desperately trying to stay awake (my mother unsuccessfully so!) for the ride back to Anstruther.

David had yet another quiet, peaceful crossing, so when we return to the States and he says the Isle of May was the best thing he saw, you’ll know the real reason why! We returned to Anstruther, and joined the flock of people heading straight for the Anstruther Fish Bar for an early dinner of fried haddock and mushy peas, washed down with Irn Bru!

Disclaimer: The photos appearing in this post were taken at the Isle of May, under an agreement that I would approve them with my sister before posting. However, since she went to bed earlier than I did tonight, the agreement is henceforth null and void.