Bits and pieces

I sit from a hotel lobby in Munich, with ein Milch Kaffee in hand. Internet access at my fingertips. And the children and hubs are still sleeping in the room above. It is 6:57 a.m. and everything is quiet. I must backspace frequently because the German keyboard switches the y and the z keys...and I love it. I cannot believe our time is almost up here in Europe, but our budget is oh, so glad that it is. While we have not had to pay for our primary flights or hotels, the food and entertainment budget is feeling the strain, as is my waistline from too many croissant breakfasts. Ahhh, Europe. I do love zou.

A Roman Goddess

Today I became a Roman goddess. I stood on the edge of ancient Rome, I shed my robe, and the masses clapped and cheered before my naked body. Bowing at my desperately-needing-a-manicure feet and dipping me into therapeutic, healing waters and saunas and steam rooms, with precise order of warm, and warmer, and hot enough to stripe my skin, and dip, and dunk, and warm, and freeze. My muscles, as stiff as any good marbled Roman goddess would be, melted under the hours of quiet and water therapy. 

Today, I went to Friedrichsbad,  the traditional Roman bath house in Baden-Baden Germany, naked as the day I was born. In front of other people. Yes. I did. And the best part? Child care for ten euros, total.  Two children. Three hours. Ten euros. Would I do it again? Yes, I would. No skivvies? No problem. Vielen dank!!!

Disclaimer: Okay, maybe no one ACTUALLY clapped and cheered before my naked body or bowed at my feet. But they should have. I was naked, for goodness sakes!! I think that justifies at least one round of the Hallelujah chorus. Right? Right????

Paris, in a nutshell

 We arrived in Paris later than expected, after some snow delays in the early morning. We were a little worried when we saw the flight schedules and all of the cancelled flights at the airport. Fortunately, our flight was never cancelled and was only delayed by a couple of hours. 

Isabelle, with her nose in an Archie book every chance she could get.

By the time we landed, the snow had melted and the weather had dwindled to a cold, misty, drizzling mess. We found our hotel, and Princess Isabelle was determined to make her way to the Eiffel Tower...so off we went...down Champs Elysees, pausing at Arc de Triumphe, and then on to that massive, sparkling, tower of dreams. She just *had* to touch it. In her words, this was  the best day of her life. Mission accomplished.

(What people think we do in Paris.)

  

Aria, on the other hand, was more than just a little tired and had passed out completely in the most basic of umbrella strollers. I was sure she would be begging for a chiropractor the next day, but she insisted she had quite a good nap.  

Aria, snoozing contentedly in the rain in front of the Eiffel Tower.

We promised each other not to tell her that we had actually BEEN to the Eiffel Tower, as she would get to see it the following day anyway. She would have been heartbroken. But as promised, she saw it the next day when we proceeded to take the elevator ...all...the...way...to...the...tippy...tippy...top. (I personally would only recommend going to the 2nd platform with children though. The lines for that second elevator were incredibly long, the views more muddled, and the wind....ohhhhh, the wind...)

A view of Paris from the tippy tippy top of the Eiffel Tower.

We also got to visit Notre Dame, which is preparing for its year-long celebration of its birthday in 2013, when it turns 850 years old. That´s a whole lot of candles.

Waiting patiently to go in the cathedral.

Isabelle is a big fan of the Mona Lisa, so once in the Louvre, we made a beeline for the painting. She was amazed at how small it was. Despite Isabelle´s surprise, the ol´ girl seemed pleased to see us...at least...I think she was...

 

 

The hunt for macarons finally came to an end at Laduree and Pierre Herme, the two top rated macaron spots in the city. Tom preferred the Pierre Herme (a lighter, crispier texture), while I preferred the Laduree (a softer, chewier texture). Of course, I wouldn´t turn down a box from either one.  

 

 

We left Paris on Monday morning, exhausted. We were more than happy to move on to the easier pace of Barcelona and the milder weather.

(What we actually DO in Paris. Haha. Not really, but I did have to capture this everyday moment. In Paris.)

Churros, and Chocolate, and Picasso....Oh My!!!

Yum.

The "traditional" breakfast in Spain is not biscuits and gravy, bacon and eggs, or a bagel with cream cheese. No...it's a crispy fried dough called a churro that you can dip in a steamy cup of hot chocolate. The girls don't seem to mind a bit--although in this picture, Aria seems to be wondering what she'll have to do to her sister to get her hands on Isabelle's share.

Having some fun at Plaza Mayor during the Christmas market. Apparently the Spanish are more into nativity scenes than Christmas trees, so they had lots of nativity options. There were also plenty of booths selling squares of moss as the base for the nativity scenes, plenty of festive greenery, and I even got to steal a kiss from my girls under some mistletoe.

Visiting the Royal Palace in Madrid. I'm not usually one to enjoy palace tours, but this place was impressive, and I was oh so sad to be unable to take pictures inside. 





Isabelle, getting her fill of Picasso and Dali at the Reina Sofia.

I couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance between Tom and good ol' Sal...

Jamon!!!

Jamon!

Tom enjoying a crispy fried anchovy (and not the kind from a can - who knew???).
The girls weren't too fond of these little delicacies.

A plate full of ham, chorizo, and manchego cheese....and one happy Iz, getting her fill of bread and cheese (A Canada).

This, folks, is the real thing. Coke with sugar - just like we used to get in the states before they pulled that "New Coke" switcheroo. Yum - and it comes in a reasonable portion size instead of a gallon bucket with a hose for a straw.

Dinner at Museo de Jamon. We decided to eat here cheaply to offset the cost of going to a Flamenco show.
 Man, was that ever a delicious decision!!!

We couldn't believe how cheap this place was....it was soooo good. This was our tab for the
 entire family's dinner (including a full liter of beer between the two of us.)

Weeeee're off to see the wizard!!!

How much have my babies grown that they can navigate airports and metros all while lugging all of their own luggage and looking super cute doing it?? (We'll leave out the part where Isabelle dangerously scrambled up the down escalator on her hands and knees while trying to recover her suitcase that she'd dropped. Don't worry, mom...it turned out just fine except for yet another pair of ruined white leggings.) Oh, and there are very real reasons why "they" recommend traveling with backpacks instead of wheeled luggage in Europe. We won't go into that so much, as I'm trying to paint a pretty European fresco in my European narrative here...

So, here we are on the first leg of our month-long adventure. I got a good kick in the pants this year on the whole seize-the-day philosophy and decided to seize my children while we're all still bright-eyed, healthy, and tolerant of each other and make the trek across the big, blue pond.
No, we're not rich. No, we've not come into an inheritance. No, we've not forfeited college funds...okay, well, that one may be accurate. We've worked the better part of this year building up points and miles to "pay" for this extravagance. And...here we are! In the hotel in Madrid. Me blogging (what?? Blogging?!?!?!?!) while my children sleep in their beds and my Tom figures his technological needs for working remotely for the next two weeks.
Carpe diem!! Wait...I'm in Spain and should probably figure out how to say that locally...or I can just say that I'm preparing for the last bit of our trip in Rome. Italy!! Or I could just gather up the fam and head out for some paella. Yeah, baby!!!

Hang tight with all your might!

Isn't that how the old mnemonic device goes? Stalactites hang tight (tite) with all their might (mite)--and THAT'S how you remember stalactites hang from the ceiling and stalagmites grow from the ground.
Why is that important, you ask? Because in Rochester, it's not icicles that form...it's stalactites. That picture is just one I snapped quickly of our roof as I was heading out the door to pick the Izster up from school...these are small in comparison to some of the ones I've seen around!!!
Hang tight!!!