The In-between

After speaking face to face with some of my loyal readers, I realized, you have no idea if my vacation to Paris was actually any good after the travel debacle. I assure you, it was amazing. I am positive that after living in Moscow for a year, my family are better tourists in general and maybe, if I can push the envelope a little, more European.

Let me give you an example. On one particular day we did not want to pay the ridiculous metro fare for six so we told the fam we would walk. Armed with bottled waters purchased from illegal street side vendors and baguettes, we walked. We began at Notre Dame, continued on along the river Seine, saw Musee D’Orsay, Grand Palais, and stopped over at Place Concorde. Then down Champs Elysse to the Arc de Triomphe and then onward to the Eiffel Tower. This was done in one day. Total mileage on the achy feet of elementary students–5.1. No stroller.

Just before we arrived at the Tower, Number 2 needed to use the facilities. They were sparse in that part of town. If I were just an American tourist I may go running to a stranger in bold English asking for a bathroom. But I’m not. He asked if he could casually use the side of a building that was hidden by a bush. Sadly, there wasn’t even a second thought. I recently found out that Number 4 used a stump behind the playground by our house, because 50 feet was too far to walk. Like I said, European?

I’m not sure if I mentioned that we went to EuroDisney as well. Yes, four days of magic and overpriced goods made in China. If you asked me ten years ago what I thought of Disney, I would have told you, “eeeeh, it’s okay….” Somewhere, in a moment of parenting bliss, we promised Number 1 we would take our whole family to Disney before the magic died; namely when they were all single digits. Now I’m on the backside of fulfilling my kids’ dreams, I can say it was worth every Euro. We rode every coaster, every ride, went to every parade, saw every show, and posed with all the characters. I realized just how third culture my kids are when I saw we would have to wait 45 minutes to see ‘Playhouse Disney Live’ in English. Number 3 and 4 shrugged their shoulders and said, “No big deal, mom, we can watch it in French. It’ll be fun!” Meeska-Mooska-Mickey-Mouse sounded slightly different, but it was great fun!

Since I homeschool, I figured a couple days in Paris definitely counts for “field trips.” And no exhibit was greater to my kids than the famous, “Small World” ride. I felt great bursts of pride when they identified nearly every country represented, including Thailand, which Number 2 stated obviously, “which you know, of course, was called Siam before.” A+ for me.

The Louvre.

Pictures cannot describe the depth and magnitude of such a museum. We decided to go on the first Sunday of the month because admission was free. We stood in line outside the building and the guards posted a sign that read: From this point, the wait is 2.5 hours. I had some serious doubts but the lines were moving faster here than they were at Disney so maybe it wasn’t so bad. I was wrong. The lines wrapped around the outside block, down the street, inside the courtyard weaving and winding all the way. Just as hubby and I were debating what to do next, a guard on a bicycle pulled over to us. He points to the children (so very many of them for one family) and says in French, “child privilege.” He instructed us to go to the front of the line. I didn’t want this window of opportunity to close so I hustled directly to the entrance, knocking people over with my pink stroller (well maybe not really.)

When we arrived at the entrance, the guard graciously pulled aside the barrier and said, “go right ahead.” I am still amazed at this entire situation. In preparation for the sequel to this article, I will leave you hanging with an exclamatory statement --- You will never believe what happened next…