By Special Arrangement

Patrick, Bill, and Bill's sister

I'm incredibly spoiled.  Longtime Novembrance readers know that Patrick does legal work for many Broadway and West End theater people.  Patrick's clients are amazingly talented, and the best, most decorated, and kindest of the whole bunch is a genius named William David Brohn.

On Sunday, Bill was honored at a gala benefit concert entitled "Broadway to West End by Special Arrangement: A Musical Tribute to William David Brohn" at London's Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.  Though our October calendar was already quite inked up, Patrick didn't think we should miss the chance to celebrate with Bill.  Our friend Marucela agreed to watch the kids, so we made plans for our mini-escape.

Saturday night, Patrick and I flew to London; we landed at about 10 o'clock Sunday morning.  We took the Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station, then caught a taxi to Marylebone, the charming neighborhood where our dear friend Carmen "LaFabulous" lives.  After a joyful reunion, we sat in her tasteful and spacious flat and chatted for hours. 

We went to dinner at a lovely little gastropub near Carmen's flat and afterwards visited a new gelateria in Marylebone High Street.  After a stroll down the high street, savoring our dessert and looking in all the fabulous shop windows (including those of this bookstore that demands a visit someday soon), we parted ways with Carmen and took a cab to Drury Lane. 

The concert was top-notch.  Sir Anthony Andrews was the Master of Ceremonies, and how divine it was to see him in person again.  We heard some of the best songs from many of the musicals Bill has orchestrated over the years: Miss Saigon, My Fair Lady, Carousel, Showboat, Ragtime, Mary Poppins, and Wicked, among many others.  I wish they had chosen something from The Secret Garden, but I can't complain.  Highlights for me were "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face" (sung by Sir Anthony himself), "Can't Help Lovin' That Man" from Showboat, "The Wizard and I" from Wicked, and Bill's "Ragtime Symphonic Suite."

Even better than the music was seeing our dear, modest Bill overwhelmed by accolades from producers, composers, and other theater legends.  Blushing and beaming, Bill's radiant face probably could have powered the entire West End all evening long.

We made a brief appearance at the post-concert reception, warmly congratulating Bill and saying hello to several other old friends.  Then we went back to Carmen's and sat up talking until 2:00 a.m.  We hated having to sleep, but a few hours of rest seemed prudent.

Monday morning, we got up at 6:00, hugged Carmen goodbye, and made our way home.  I love traveling with our children, but I also love traveling alone.  Patrick and I watched three movies in a row on the flight home without a single interruption: heaven.

Then, jiggety-jig, we were home again just 45 hours after we'd left.  Of those 45, only about 6 were spent sleeping.  Whirlwind?  Yes.  Worth it?  Absolutely.

The Great French Saga, Part V

Friday the 14th was Day Two of the Paris Museum Pass.  We went to the Louvre first and saw the bare essentials.  As it was 16 years ago, so it was on this trip: I have a hard time being motivated to spend a ton of time at the Louvre, since we go to NYC's Metropolitan Museum on a regular basis.  They both have vast collections of gorgeous art, but as philistine as it sounds for me to say this, except for a few very notable pieces, I find the two museums somewhat interchangeable (though the physical structure of the Louvre itself is far more fabulous).  Don't hate me. 

So: we saw the Mona Lisa, which is much better placed than it was 16 years ago.  You could actually see it despite the mass of humanity standing in front of it.  We saw the Winged Victory (above) and the Madonna of the Rocks.  We saw Paul Delaroche's Christian Martyr, an engraving of which hangs over our living room fireplace.  You may have seen it right here at Novembrance before.

The kids were thrilled to see the original: very gratifying.  But the Louvre was a mob scene, so we left after an appallingly short visit and walked down the Tuileries to the Orangerie Museum.  Everyone liked this one better because there were very few people there.  Four of Monet's gigantic water lily pieces hang in a very cool oval room.  After having been to Giverny, the kids were thrilled to see Monet's masterpieces.  The museum also has a lovely collection of other Impressionist art, so we took our time and enjoyed it all. 

It was lunch time.  Café Angelina awaited.  We got there ahead of the lunch rush and got a big table in the back.  The lunch was delicious, but the real reason we were there was for the hot chocolate.  It is ridiculously thick--like pancake batter--and so creamy, dark, and delicious.  Once again, reality exceeded the high expectations I had given my children.  The bill was a small fortune, but I know the kids will never forget that meal.

After Angelina, we got on the Métro and headed for the Arc de Triomphe.  Countless stairs later, we emerged at the top of the Arch and had a great look around. 

The air was a bit hazy, but the skies were clear and the views were still terrific.  Daniel absolutely loved the Arch; it whetted his appetite for the Eiffel Tower.  The Tower and Notre Dame were the two things he most wanted to see, and he had been so patient.  His reward was coming.

That night, we watched a French movie called Les Choristes on DVD.  It's available in the U.S.--titled The Chorus--and you must see it right away if you haven't already.  It's about a man who gets a job teaching at a boarding school for troubled boys.  He forms a choir, which of course transforms everyone's lives.  Yes, I know; it sounds like Stand and Deliver and Blackboard Jungle and every other movie about idealistic teachers and cynical children, but it's a lovely film and the music is exquisite.  When we got home, I bought the DVD, the soundtrack, and the sheet music for two of the songs so that my children can learn them.

The next morning: Destination Eiffel.  We got there early.  Tess and I hopped out of the van and got in line while Patrick and the others parked the car.  I'd never been to the top of the tower before because the crowds are always so daunting.  But this time, it was all about satisfying the kids.  They loved it: the views, the elevators, the kitschy gift shops.  It really was great fun, and how satisfying it was to descend and see lines three times as long as when we arrived.

We walked all the way down the Champs de Mars toward our next stop: Les Invalides.  It was hotter than blazes, but we walked in the shade and the kids sang the rounds that I had taught them on the way home from Normandy.  The stares we got were very gratifying--the Von Perkins Family Singers on their European tour. 

Les Invalides is totally cool.  Napoleon's ginormous porphyry tomb is so over the top; you have to admire the ego that persisted long after his death.  The mosaics, the bas reliefs, the stained glass, the gold-encrusted dome: it's all a huge temple to one man.

Kitty corner to "Napoleon's house," as Daniel called it, is the Rodin Museum.  This normally would not have been on my list (though Rodin's work is amazing), but James got the nickname "Rodin" at Scout Camp this year (apparently because he's a deep thinker), so he was all fired up to go.  It was on the Museum Pass list and so close by, so we included it. 

The sculptures and gardens were lovely, but the guards didn't want Patrick walking around inside with Anne in the backpack, and since she'd fallen asleep and had had so few naps on our trips, there was no way we were taking her off his back.  We let the older kids go inside the manse and explore on their own while we waited on the steps. 

After Rodin, it was a long walk back to the car, but we made it with periodic water breaks and by playing the SmartCar game.  There are SmartCars parked on nearly every block in Paris, much to Daniel's endless delight.  We finally made it back to the parking garage.  We got in the van, broke out our lunch, and headed for Fontainebleau.

Fontainebleau is an accessible palace, not nearly as grand as Versailles (and practically deserted in comparison), but it's so much easier to imagine actually living there.  Which is exactly what Tess did--as we toured the blissfully empty halls, she decided exactly which bedrooms would belong to whom in our family, etc.  I had never been to Fontainebleau; it was a delight to discover it along with the children. 

Anne loves sculpture of any kind, it turns out.  She points and stares and coos: it's terrific. 

This is the library.  The whole thing is just so beautiful.  More elaborate gardens; more giant fish in the predator-free ponds.  I highly recommend it.

Sunday.  This was our last day of the Museum Pass, and we wanted to squeeze every last minute out of it.  We got going right after church.

The Orsay.  My second favorite museum in all the world (second only to the Frick Collection).  The kids LOVED it: the structure, including the huge clock; the sculpture; the scads of Impressionist fabulousness; and my favorite painting there.  The looks on the apostles' faces slay me every time.  I get all choked up taking in the joy and wonder and disbelief and cautious hope they are radiating as they run to the Garden Tomb. 


Next we went to La Sainte Chapelle.  Oh, the glory of it.  Christian had enjoyed all the churches we'd seen, but when we got to the Chapelle's second floor, he literally gasped.  It's no small feat to get a 15-year-old boy to gasp. 

The photos never do it justice, and I am surprised by joy every time I enter it.  We didn't want to leave, but Notre Dame called.

The square in front of Notre Dame was very crowded, as always.  We went through the cathedral's interior, which is lovely, but not so lovely as Chartres or Bayeux.  The real draw for us was the tower ascent.  I had been having a bad feeling about taking Anne up there, however, so I sent Patrick and the Big Five up while Anne and I waited in the shade below.  It was a good thing, too.  The wait to get up to the top was an hour, and the balconies were all very crowded once they were on top.  I didn't see my crew again for 2.5 hours (though I did happen to look up at the exact moment they looked out over the front balcony--we waved to each other--that was a fun moment).

All the kids loved the gargoyles and the big bells, not to mention the views.  But Patrick reported that it was unbearably hot and sunny up there; Anne would have been dreadfully uncomfortable and probably would have gotten sunburnt.  As it was, I read while Anne slept, and then we entertained ourselves by feeding the pigeons when she woke up. 

Once we were all together again, we walked over to the Ile Saint-Louis for ice cream at Berthillon: the best ice cream in the world.  I don't know how they make those flavors so full and rich and perfectly evocative.  Why, oh why won't they import it?  I would gladly pay a lot of money for tiny, perfect portions of this delightsome substance.  We floated back to the car, licking our cones in utter bliss.

After four solid days of Museum Pass action, I needed a down day.  Monday, Patrick took Christian, James, and Hope to the Holocaust Museum (one of Christian's requests), while I stayed at the house and played French housewife.  I had read that the Holocaust Museum was inappropriate for anyone under 10, so it worked out perfectly. 

Anne woke up that morning with red, sticky eyes, so I walked to the village square with the kids and went to the pharmacy.  What a peerless system.  I described Anne's symptoms to the highly trained pharmacist, who also looked at Anne's eyes.  She gave me some antiseptic eye drops and told me that if they didn't help in a week, to take her to the doctor once we were home.  I paid about five dollars for the drops, which worked like a charm.  The whole event took 10 minutes.  Health care reform: we need it yesterday, already.

We also went to the village market for lunch food, then went back to the house so that Anne could have a proper nap.  After naps and lunch, we went to the lovely little park around the corner and played for a long time.  P and the Big Three got back to the house just after we did that afternoon.  They had had a great time; after the Shoah Museum, they hung out in the Latin Quarter, whereupon Christian announced that he wanted to move there.  The kids bought souvenirs at the second-hand booksellers on the quais and ate crèpes Nutella--a great afternoon. 

Things were winding down.  The next day, we went to the Château de Monte Cristo, the house of Alexandre Dumas (James's request): charming, deserted, great fun.  It was only about a half hour from "our" house. 

Dumas had a lovely little house built up the hill from the main house; this was where he wrote.  Covet.  Forget a room of one's own; I want the "Chateau d'If," as he called it. 

After the fun scavenger hunt through the house and gardens (given to the kids at the Dumas Visitors' Center), we got in the car to head home. 

But on the way back, we saw a place that demanded exploration.  It turned out to be the Parc de Marly, the site of a ruined château, now a public park.  With a huge pond.  And the most giant fish ever.  Fortunately, I had some stale brioche in the car.  Really: these fish were unbelievable.  Not so plentiful as those in Versailles, but HUGE. 

At this park, as nearly everywhere, Tess and Daniel crowed: "Mom, your favorite!  Straight lines of trees!"  Indeed.  I'm a sucker for them every single time.  We walked around for a while, satisfied that our urge to explore had borne good fruit.

Wednesday was our last day of fun; we planned to clean the house and make a trip to the Montfort pool on Thursday, then get up and head to the airport on Friday morning.  We drove into Paris for the last time and parked behind the Basilique du Sacré Coeur.  We knew Montmartre would be crowded, but when isn't it?  The day was beautiful, and the white towers of the Basilica were starkly gorgeous against the azure sky.  When we went inside, a choir of nuns was singing a motet; we happened to arrive in the middle of a mass.  We quietly walked around the ambulatory, taking in the brilliant mosaics while listening to the perfect music.  A lovely series of moments; I had teary eyes and chills from the beauty overload. 

We walked down the hill, then took the funicular train back up to the top; we had Métro tickets to burn, and riding the funicular train is one of Patrick's fond childhood memories.  Then it was time for lunch.  We found a great little restaurant that had room for us and were delighted by the terrific meal. 

Next, we drove to Patrick's old neighborhood (he lived in Paris for a year when he was nine) and went to the Parc Monceau.  Patrick remembered feeding black swans there as a child.  The swans were gone, but our bread did not go wasted; there were plenty of carp in the ponds to feed. 

That was it.  We drove back to Neauphle.  The kids had one last chance to hold their breath while going through each and every tunnel of the Boulevard Périphérique.  We had one of our last packages of Prince cookies.  We waved goodbye to the Eiffel Tower, La Défense, and all of the other landmarks the kids had come to recognize. 

We cleaned the next day, and the menfolk had one more chance to sport their Speedos at the Montfort pool.  I made jam with the huge quantity of mirabelle plums we had picked from the neighbor's tree.  We left eleven little jars and one huge jar of spiced plum jam for our exchange family to split with the neighbors.  We had a simple dinner, but did not stint on desserts.  Friday morning we drove to the airport and took a plane home.

Once we arrived in New York, we stayed with friends for four days.  We had signed a contract with the French family for 8/2 through 8/25, but then Patrick decided he couldn't miss three Sundays in a row, so we changed our return and came home on the 21st.  This was after the French family had bought their tickets, so we made other arrangements for those last few days.  It was a nice transition for the kids, who got to play all day, every day with our friends' children.

I've probably made the trip sound too perfect; it wasn't.  There were a few whines and short tempers and meltdowns here and there.  These things are inevitable when eight people are constantly together for three weeks straight.  I fell down some stairs and did something bad to my elbow; I went to the doctor when I got home, and the ulnar nerve is still inflamed.  (It's slowly getting better.)  There was the quicksand incident.  The kids broke a couple of toys.  The exchange family's cats threw up on the couch once.  We may have killed the hydrangea and a couple of roses through neglect (I never have to water yard plants here in New York because it rains so much, and I fear we did too little, too late in the French yard). 

But it was as close to perfect as a trip can get. 

I HIGHLY recommend the house exchange experience.  We met the French family Saturday morning when we came to our house in Cold Spring to pick up a few things.  They were a delight.  We offered to cook dinner for them on Monday night and they enthusiastically accepted.  We had such a good time that night that I was heartbroken that they were leaving the next day.  We had become friends; a real bond will be between us for years to come, I am sure.  They loved our house, Cold Spring (our village), and the Northeast in general.  They made the most of their days in NYC; it sounded to us as though their trip was as good as ours was. 

When we came back to the house for good the next day, they were just leaving.  We hugged and kissed them and watched them drive away.  Our revels now were ended.

What patient readers you are; thanks for sitting through my virtual slideshow these past few days!  You're the best.

The Great French Saga, Part IV

I love this window in St. Pierre's church in Montfort-l'Amaury.  The Hebrews are collecting manna as it falls from heaven.  Speaking of food, I have yet to mention the food shopping on our trip.  As you know, I hate shopping in general.  Clothes: hate.  Shoes: hate.  Furniture, equipment, accessories, etc.: hate. 

Even with both books and yarn, two of my most favorite things, I'd rather just know exactly what I want and run in and get it fast; I get overwhelmed otherwise. 

Food shopping in the States is fine--not my favorite way to spend time, but it must be done--but I'd rather just have all the ingredients I need magically appear in my cupboards and fridge.

Food shopping in France is another story.  So many new things to discover and try!  The regular markets and supermarkets are great all by themselves, but the neighbors told us about a market that is my new Mecca: La Marnière in the town of Maurepas, just ten minutes from Neauphle.
 
We went there for the first time while Carmen was with us.  I walked in and whispered to Patrick and Carmen, "It's like food porn."  Symmetrical arrays of the most exquisite, gem-like produce greeted my eyes.  Cheerful and knowledgeable grocers kept watch over their flocks of broccoli and leeks, ready to engage in lengthy and earnest conversations about methods of preparation.  "He's flirting with you," P muttered as I discussed butter lettuce with a kindly fellow. 

"Yes," I answered under my breath as we walked away, "But he gave me an amazing price."  The grocers have the power to write a little note to be placed inside the bag of whatever vegetable you've just taken away from your discourse.  This note discounts the regular price by quite a bit.  Such a delight.

Ohh, the fish and meat; ahh, the cheese and dairy.  We ate simply, but we ate so very well.  Nothing was wasted, no one overate.  Perfection.

Then there was Picard.  It's a chain of boutiques.  That sell frozen food.  It sounds neither glamorous nor appealing.  And yet.

As we left the palace of Fontainebleau on our second Saturday (details will come later), we realized we had a bit of a problem.  By the time we got home, the markets would be closed, and we still needed to shop both for dinner and for Sunday's meals.  We decided to look for something on our way out of Fontainebleau.  P saw the Picard sign and pulled over.  "Try here," he said, "Though I'm not familiar with this store."  I went in while everyone else waited in the car.

Picard was utterly empty and looked like an operating theater, with pristine white floors and walls.  Rows of frozen food cases awaited exploration.  I took a cart and opened the first case in the first aisle.  My heart started racing.  Artichoke hearts!  Sausages stuffed with herbs, parmesan and pine nuts!  Court bouillon! 

Vivid photos and prose described the contents of each beguiling box; I quickly planned two dinners and a lunch and filled the cart.  Last to go in was an insulated bag ("Mon Sac Picard") with which to carry my treasures home.  Picard did not disappoint; the food was as good as the containers had promised.  Why do we Americans settle for less than mediocre, when utter deliciousness is possible?  It is a puzzlement.

But back to our chronology:

The day after our post-Normandy R&R day in Montfort (see the photos at the top of this posts) was Patrick's birthday.  It was also the day we planned to start the use of our Paris Museum Pass.  The Museum Pass is a 2-, 4-, or 6-day card that a) saves you money (about half of what you'd pay for admission); and b) LETS YOU JUMP THE QUEUE at almost every place on their 60-venue list.  All the big places--except the Eiffel Tower--are on it: the Louvre, the Orsay, the towers of Notre Dame, the Arch of Triumph, etc.  We had loved our Museum Passes on our trip 16 years ago and were thrilled that they still existed.  Patrick and I bought this new set back on our first day in Paris, but they are not activated until you date and sign them.

We'd bought 4-day passes and then went through the list very carefully so that we could plan our four days and use our passes to the utmost advantage.  We started with Versailles, which seemed a fitting way to celebrate Patrick's birthday. 

What a DELIGHT it is to walk past the kilometre-long lines and straight into the ticket-holders' entrance.  Why everyone doesn't buy a Paris Museum Pass is completely beyond me, but whatever.

The palace itself was quite crowded, and some of the wonder of the Hall of Mirrors and the Royal Apartments was lost on the kids because they were distracted by the hordes.  Once we got out to the grounds, however, all was right.  We sat in the shade near one of the glorious fountains and ate our lunch. 

Then we strolled down the canals and eventually made our way to the Trianons and Marie Antoinette's farm. 

Poor, deluded Marie, playing shepherdess at her little Disneyland of a compound while rebellion fomented.  But what a delightful place it is: the gardens still grow, the animals still roam their pens, the little faux-Norman cottages are still thatched to perfection. 

The hands-down favorite thing for the kids about Versailles were the carp in the farm's pond.  Sixteen years ago, when P and I went there, I took an old baguette with which to feed the ducks.  Imagine my alarm when, as I cast my bread upon the waters, the surface immediately boiled with what looked like TRILLIONS of LARGE, seething fish, all competing madly for the crumbs.  The ducks never had a chance. 

I had told the kids this story in dramatic detail and hoped the fish would still be there and live up to the expectations I had raised.  Christian, our young angler, even mentioned them as we walked toward Marie's hamlet.  "Those fish had better not disappoint," he said. 

Oh, they did not; they exceeded even the wildest imaginings of my children.  They squealed and chortled at the bizarre spectacle.  We were well prepared with crumbs and crusts, but you could stand there all day and the fish would never stop begging for more.  Once the food was gone, the fish stayed there raising their open mouths out of the water for several minutes.  It was highly entertaining.  The kids even fed the fish a few dandelion heads, but I made them stop picking flowers pretty quickly. 

After a many hours of walking and admiring, we bought some excellent sorbet on the palace grounds.  Tess's boule of sorbet fell out of its cone and onto the ground with almost her first lick.  Christian immediately handed her his cone and took her empty one.  He's a prince of a boy, I tell you.  Patrick persuaded him to trade with him, so Christian did get some of the mouthwatering sorbet, but I was a little emotional over the unselfishness of my sweet kid.

We took the kids home, fixed them hot dogs (or, actually, saucisses de Strasbourg, which are far more delicious), and left for our mindblowing dinner at l'Abbaye des Vaulx de Cernay. 

The place was gorgeous.  The service was unbelievable, once again reminding me of the difference between waitstaff that has gone to college in their field and waitstaff that are actually unemployed actors.  (P asked at dinner, "So, what do unemployed actors in France do, if the waitstaff is all professional?"  We laughed, but the question went unanswered.)

The food was lovely: not the best we've ever had, but more than adequate.  The cheeses and desserts in particular were quite delicious.  We lingered for hours in that beautiful room; I can't imagine a better way to spend a birthday.

Speaking of Patrick's birthday in France, 16 years ago, we celebrated him at a terrific Parisian restaurant called La Fontaine de Mars.  Guess who recently copied us on their much publicized Date Night?

Coming tomorrow: the fifth and final installment of The Great French Saga!

The Great French Saga, Part II

Our fourth day, we went to Parc Astérix.  This is a Six-Flags/Lagoon-style amusement park based on the famous French cartoon character and his gang of Gallic upstarts.  P knew all the books by heart as a child, and our kids love both those and the hilarious (though highly politically incorrect) Tintin series.  The Parc was crowded and very pricey, but worth it.  We chatted as we stood in long lines, and the rides were so fun that we kept going back for more.  We stayed until closing time; we wanted to get our money's worth. 

Every day in the car on the way home, I'd hand out Prince cookies.  These are gaufrette wafers with thick chocolate cream sandwiched between.  By day three, this was an inviolable tradition, and after that, I made sure we always had a packet of them in the glove box. 

The French family had left their keys with a friend who lives in the village.  When we arrived our first day, we called her; she came over, let us in, and showed us around.  She then invited us (all eight of us, mind you) over for dinner for Thursday night (day four).  We demurred, but eventually said yes after she insisted.  So after Parc Astérix, we showered and got ready to go to dinner at the neighbors' house.  We were nervous: these were total strangers.

We had the time of our lives.  The neighbors have three kids who are basically the same age as James, Hope, and Tess (and the same age as our house exchange family's kids).  The kids surmounted the language barrier by playing an extended and enthusiastic game of Cache-Cache (Hide and Seek) in the gardens.  They played for HOURS, resuming the game between each course of dinner.

Dinner was magnificent after we got over the social hurdle of refusing champagne.  Elizabeth and Jean-Michel made us juice cocktails instead (which were delicious).  We also had fresh melon (have you ever had a French cantaloupe?  They make ours taste like pablum).  Next came fresh foie gras, which, as you know, is about my favorite food of all time.  The main course was duck breast, potatoes, and sautéed apples.  The cheeses were fabulous, and then we had ice cream topped with fresh peaches from their garden.  They also had a plum tree loaded down with almost-ripe fruit; they told us that they were leaving for Turkey for three weeks that weekend and begged us to come pick plums while they were away.  More on that later.

We stayed for hours; Anne fell asleep early on, so we put her on a cushion on the grass (we were eating on their terrace), covered her with a blanket, and let her lie while we talked and ate and laughed.  It was a magical evening, and we marveled at the miracle of it as we walked home through the dark village streets at midnight.  That's right: we spent four hours with people we've never met before; we now consider them friends.

Day Five = Chartres of the glowing, jewel-like windows.  The city of Chartres is built in a bowl-like valley.  This means that as you approach the city on the autoroute, only the cathedral (built on the highest hill within the valley) is visible in the distance as you look out over the farms and fields.  It looks completely isolated until you get right into town.  It's astonishing. 

We went on a Friday, because on Fridays they clear the cathedral floor so that people can walk the stone labyrinth.  We went there early in our trip because we wanted to hear Malcolm Miller lecture.  Mr. Miller is an Englishman who moved to Chartres as a young man fresh out of Cambridge.  He taught English at a French high school, but almost immediately began giving lectures in English to tourists on the history and symbology of Chartres Cathedral.  He's just completed his 50th year lecturing there, and he's still going strong.  Patrick heard him there when he was on Study Abroad in 1986; the two of us heard him when we went there 16 years ago.  Before we left, I emailed Mr. Miller to find out whether a) he was still alive; and b) he was still lecturing.  Sure enough, he is, but was leaving for vacation after our first week in France.  We adjusted our schedule accordingly.

As we met him in the nave, I was a bit nervous.  Would the kids be bored and make a scene?  My fears were soon laid to rest; Mr. Miller's lectures (he boasts that he's never given the same one twice) are so riveting that the children sat through the entire 75 minutes transfixed.  He taught his audience how to read a stained glass window and talked a lot about the symbols, which the kids loved.  ("Why are Melchizedek and Peter holding keys?" Mr. Miller asked, I'm sure not really expecting an answer.  Yet four young hands shot up immediately.)  Our time with him was fabulous.

We walked the labyrinth and climbed to the top of the bell tower (oy, the stairs).  All the kids basically wanted to move in, and their enthusiasm for religious edifices miraculously held throughout the entire trip.  They positively lit up any time we were inside a church or cathedral.  Even now, if Daniel sees a photo of a cathedral, he starts jumping up and down with joy.

I haven't mentioned many food specifics yet.  Here's what we did almost every day for breakfast and lunch.  Patrick would get up early and go to the boulangerie.  He'd get croissants, brioche, or pains au chocolat for breakfast and baguettes for our lunch.  Our breakfasts were invariably: plain yogurt with turbinado sugar mixed in; a boulangerie treat; and juice (they had all kinds of exciting juice mixes in the supermarkets).  Our lunches were almost always bottled water and sandwiches made from baguettes, fresh Normandy butter, some sort of ham or roast beef, and some sort of delectable cheese.  I packed a picnic lunch almost every day, no matter where we were going; we never got tired of this routine. 

For dinner, I'd make something simple (chicken or grilled sausage or roast beef) with lots of vegetables.  We followed this with a large salad, then a course of cheeses.  Ahh, the French cheeses that are completely unavailable here due to import restrictions: all the tommes (from the Pyrenées, Auvergne, or l'Ile de France); the double- and triple-crèmes; the little goat crottins; and my favorite new discovery, the curé nantais.  The kids' favorite was hands down the morbier, a firm cows' milk cheese that has a distinctive layer of ash in the middle.  After the cheeses, we'd each have a pot de crème for dessert: either chocolate, caramel, or vanilla.  I bought these pre-made: mouthwateringly delicious.

Stay tuned for Part III: the catacombs and cemeteries of Paris, Mont Saint-Michel, and Normandy!

The Great French Saga, Part I

This week I'll present my journal of our adventures in France in five parts.  It won't be linear and it won't be exhaustive, but I hope it will be somewhat entertaining.

France, how do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

I love thy cheeses and thy gorgeous fruits and breads, not to mention the genius that is the pain au chocolat and the oranais pastry.  Thine art is a feast for mine eyes; thy language falls so sweetly upon mine ears.  I love thy tiny, vibrant villages filled with cranky old men and nearly nude octagenarian sunbathers.  I love just about everything....

We found lodgings through HomeLink.org, and I highly recommend the house exchange system.  We had a very positive experience all the way around.  The house itself was great: 300 years old, right on a main road in the village of Neauphle-le-Chateau, which is about 20 minutes outside of Versailles.  The husband of our exchange family is an architect, so the inside of the house was interesting and comfortable (though not the most babyproof place--their youngest child is seven). 

The house had a tiny backyard completely enclosed by a 10-foot stone wall that had ivy, grapevines, and espaliered pears clinging to it.  There was a little wooden swingset, a hammock, lots of bee-covered lavender and rose bushes, and enough chairs so that we could all eat outside while watching the golden French twilight fall and listening to the carillion of the village church....

Only drawbacks: lilliputian washer/dryer.  And we took only three days' worth of clothes each, so we did 2-3 loads of laundry per day.  No matter; it was like regular life.  I just hope the our exchange family didn't have a collective heart attack when their electric bill arrived.  Oh, also: lilliputian kitchen sink.  So arty; so useless for actually washing dishes.  But the kids were on KP most nights, so it was fine.

Only 20 minutes away from Neauphle (in the other direction from Versailles) was Montfort-l'Amaury, birthplace of my ancestor Simon de Montfort.  We visited the ruins of the castle (which was destroyed in the Hundred Years' War) and the gorgeous little church with lovely intact 16th century windows.

We also went to the public pool in Montfort, whereupon we found out that males MUST wear "les slips de bain."  Or, in other words (you guessed it): Speedos.  C'est beaucoup plus hygienique, n'est-ce pas?  Christian balked initially, but all four Perkins males ended up getting new swimwear out of the vending machine conveniently located in the poolhouse's lobby.  Though it took them a while to not be embarrassed, the boys actually looked great, and P looked hotter than July, what with the suit and the gorgeous vandyke beard he grew while on our trip.

Giverny: even more gorgeous that you would imagine.  Monet's house is to die for; the kitchen is bright yellow with delft blue tiles everywhere and an enormous range (even bigger than mine).  All the rooms are painted the most beautiful pastel shades--the original colors Monet devised for the house, about a century before anyone else was coming up with these color combinations.  The gardens were at their peak and TO DIE FOR.  No picture or essay could possibly do them justice.  They are as sublime as his paintings.  The Japanese garden is idyllic, and standing on the little arched bridge Monet painted so many times, looking at the water lilies--you feel as if you yourself are art.  Transporting.  My version of heaven looks an awful lot like Giverny. 

Our first day in Paris, we took a Batobus from the Eiffel Tower to the Botanical Gardens and back.  We wanted to orient the kids using the river Seine; there's so much to see from the water, and you get a great sense of the city's center that way.  We got off the boat at the Louvre and walked across town to the Opera quarter, where we went to a multimedia presentation called Paris Story.

It was cheesy and unutterably French: the history of Paris told in dialogue between an actor playing Victor Hugo and an actress who represented the spirit of Paris.  The best part of it was that in the lobby of the theater, there was a large, 3D map of Paris with a list of landmarks at the bottom.  You could press a button next to the landmark's name and the site on the map would light up.  The kids played with that for a long time, and they really did get a sense of where things were in the city.  After Paris Story, we strolled through the streets to the Tuileries Gardens, where we had ice cream.  Heaven!

Coming soon in Part II: a French amusement park, a gorgeous cathedral, and the best backyard dinner ever.