Skype makes us a little bit crazy

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Skype has been very important to us while we’ve been here in Vienna.  It’s a lifeline — a connection to our family and friends.  I don’t know what we would have done without it.  The distance would seem so much greater, and the time we’ve been away would feel infinitely longer if we didn’t have it.

We Skype a lot.  In a typical week, we Skype 4-5 times.  And although it provides this essential connection to home, and therefore it feels completely unreasonable and ungrateful to malign it in any way, it often makes us all kind of crazy.

006An imminent Skype is always exciting — even after 2 years here, the kids are always thrilled to see their grandparents or other family and friends on Skype.  With excitement comes a lot of energy, but then, in order to make the Skype functional at all, we ask the kids to settle down, which almost never happens.  We expect a lot of them when we Skype — don’t touch the computer, don’t be too loud, be nice to each other, “What did you do at school today?”, “Do you remember what you wanted to tell Grandma?”.  They really do try.  But they also shout, push toys up to the monitor (almost never the camera), throw things, talk over each other and everyone else, and jockey for position in front of the computer, pushing and climbing on each other and on Dan & I.  They want the undivided attention of the person we’re Skyping with, and they want our undivided attention.  Everyone always needs something — a snack, a toy from a high shelf, a fresh diaper, a different tv show, different clothes — anything to regain our attention, and I put them off a lot with “Mommy can’t right now . . .” and “In a minute.”  Because they want our attention, the kids resort to wreaking havoc, attacking the computer or fighting with each other in order to become the focus.  And, since we’re on Skype, I’m uncommonly reluctant to enforce consequences — it takes me away from the Skype, and it is always a bummer for everyone.  So, I usually don’t.  The kids have figured that out, so Skype has become an insane whirlwind of frenetic energy and unruly behavior, beginning the moment I start to set up the computer.  It’s like distilling out the essence of a tough night’s sleep, too much sugar and a missed nap and injecting it into the kids.

Still, Skype is absolutely vital to our mental well-being while we’re here, and we certainly aren’t going to cut back on our Skypes — however crazy they might be, they’re worth every wild moment in order to see our loved ones from home.  I also doubt that they’re going to stop being a little bit insane anytime soon, but what they lack in normalcy they will continue to make up for in enthusiastic chaos.

What we did wrong

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Having been here two years, I think we’ve finally got some distance and perspective on the trauma that was our relocation.  And even though it’s most likely nearly a year away, I’ve already begun to contemplate the logistics of returning home.  (Oddly, in some ways, it seems even more daunting to be moving home.  When we came here, we were expected to be overwhelmed and clueless for a while — when we move home, I think we’re going to feel a lot of pressure to have our feet under us right away, which I doubt very seriously that we will.)  In thinking about all of that, I’ve realized some things we really didn’t do the right way when we moved here, or at least some things I would do differently if I had it to do over again.

First, I really wish we hadn’t come over nearly a month before Dan started work.  We had visions of getting our house hunting done, getting moved in, having our phones and cable set up and being completely settled before Dan had to go off to work, leaving me at home alone with two small children.  But, it didn’t work that way at all.  Instead, because Dan wasn’t working yet, there was a ton of stuff, for legal and logistical reasons, that we couldn’t do at all.  We couldn’t sign a lease without being able to prove employment, we couldn’t get phones, and we had no income.  The IAEA provides a relocation stipend, which we were counting on as income for that first month, but we couldn’t start the paperwork on that until Dan signed his contract . . . which couldn’t happen until his first day of work.  So, although we were able to do some house hunting, it didn’t save us a lot of time, and mostly, we were just living here for a month without an income and with very little that we could accomplish.  If I had it to do again, I would come 5-7 days before Dan’s first day of work, maybe do a little sightseeing and/or house hunting, and then take the weekends of his first month of work to finalize getting a place.

In that same thread, I wish we had just rented a temporary, furnished apartment for an entire month after our arrival.  To go along with our visions of finding a place really quickly, we rented our first temporary apartment for only 8 days, which was an unrealistically short time (we were trying to save money).  We should have just rented a place for a month.  Even *if* we had found a place sooner, it took 6+ weeks for our stuff to arrive.  Having a single place we could have stayed in while we got ourselves situated would have been easier (and, ultimately, cheaper).  Moving to another temporary place 8 days after our arrival was stressful and complicated (and the second place wasn’t as nice, or as well located, as the first).  I’d rather have paid for the temporary apartment for a month and had the “frustration” of having to pay for 2 places at the same time, if we’d been lucky enough to find a place quickly, than to deal with moving around during that first month.  Alternatively, Dan & I could have flown over a month or so early for a long weekend and done some house hunting and found a place, and then have moved directly into it when we arrived.  (Although our furniture and stuff STILL wouldn’t have arrived until 6 weeks after we left the States.)

Speaking of “stuff” . . . I would have handled that completely differently, too.  The IAEA provided us with movers and with long-term storage for while we’re abroad.  We also got to choose which things would be shipping quickly by air and which would be shipping (theoretically more slowly) by sea.  That’s great, but we over thought those decisions way too much.  I tried to micromanage which stuff came and which stuff didn’t — these towels stay, these go, these others go by air and some go by sea — and it completely backfired.  Either because I was giving too many instructions to be understood, or because they just didn’t care, a lot of things did not end up where we’d intended.  (Almost all of our sheets and towels ended up in storage, along with most of my shoes, while most of our candles and knickknacks ended up here although we wanted them in storage.)  If I had it to do again, I would only have stored our guest room furniture (we didn’t know how many rooms we would have, so that was the right call) and any appliances that wouldn’t run on European electrical current.  I would have brought everything else and sold/given away/donated/thrown out stuff we couldn’t find a home for.  Also, because we were “so sure” we would only be here for a maximum of 2 years, there are some things (Christmas decorations, the toddler conversion for Liam’s bed) that we left behind to be “practical” that now I really wish we had.  I think we should have just brought it all.  And, in the same way, trying to sort out what needed to come by air or by sea was a mess.  (Our sea shipment arrived a few days BEFORE our “quick” air shipment.)  I would have put only a few things in the air shipment — the double stroller, the kids’ bikes, some of their favorite toys, maybe a changing pad — and sent everything else by sea.  Our temporary place was furnished, so we didn’t really need anything, and our permanent place wasn’t, so then we needed everything.  There wasn’t really an in between.

So many of our mistakes came from being over-eager and trying to be overly efficient.  Life here is not as efficient as it is at home, and in trying to force it, we made things difficult.  Because we didn’t know where we’d be living, we registered Benjamin for kindergarten near Dan’s work, to ensure he got a spot.  Although that ultimately worked out, and we’re incredibly happy with B’s school, the location means that I have a 45 minute commute to take B to school, and then again to pick him up . . . each way.  If I did all of the dropping off and picking up eery day, that would be 3 hours of my day (he’s only in school for 3 hours — it’ll be 4 this fall).  So, I don’t — Dan picks him up every day.  But if we’d waited until we knew where we were living, we might have been able to get him into a school that was a 10-15 minute walk from here, and I could have easily dropped him off and picked him up each day.  In hindsight, it would have been worth him missing the first semester of school when we got here to have him in a more conveniently located place.

Speaking of unrealistic ideas, we shouldn’t have planned to travel outside of Austria (and very little inside of it) for the first year.  The first year is all about getting settled, figuring out how stuff works and taking care of logistical things.  And, it’s very expensive to relocate (even if the movers are paid for).  There were a ton of start-up expenses we didn’t plan for.  So we ended up frustrated and disappointed that we couldn’t travel, when it was pretty unrealistic that we thought we were going to.  The first year is for getting established.  The second year is GREAT for travel — we had a ton of vacation time saved up from not travelling the first year, so the second year was a chance to see so many things and take a lot of time off.  It was great, but our original plan was just not practical.

The only exception to the “don’t plan to travel the first year” thing is that I wish we HAD gone home to visit the first year.  We didn’t, because we thought, “We won’t be there that long, we don’t need to come rushing home right away, we should use our vacation time to see Austria.”  And, there is logic to all of that.  But, the truth is that being away from home is really, really hard.  Not getting to see everyone for a year or more makes it much more difficult than it needs to be.  I wish we’d gone home for Thanksgiving or for part of Christmastime during that first year.  I honestly wonder if we’d be struggling with missing home so badly right now if we’d been home more often.  (As it is we’ve been home twice in 2+ years, but the two times were last spring and summer, so it feels almost like we only went home once.)

So, if I had it to do all over again, that’s what I’d change.  And, a few of those definitely apply for our repatriation next year, so they’re worth me keeping in mind.  (For anyone contemplating an international move like this one, I hope you can put our hard-won lessons and words of relative wisdom to good use.)

Ambient music

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Vienna has a different sound than what I was used to in the States.  At home, the single most pervasive ambient sound around my home was traffic — I lived very close to the DC beltway, and I could hear it at all hours from my house (unless my air conditioner was running, in which case I couldn’t hear anything but that).  I considered it part of suburban living, and accepted it as fact.  When I wanted to hear “nature”, or at least the absence of “city”, I went out to see my horses and experience the outdoors.

When I wasn’t hearing car sounds, I was hearing other sounds that I took for granted — loud music from someone else’s windows (typically hip hop or pop, or something else that had come out in the past few months), sirens, helicopters, planes, dogs barking, sometimes people arguing.  There was always a lot of sound, everywhere, all the time, and I just understood it to be part of life around a lot of people.

Vienna is more different than I could have imagined.  Here, we live not in the suburbs, but smack in the middle of the largest city in Austria.  Instead of living in a condo with about 30 units, I live in a building with more than twice that, and the building is also home to several businesses, including a few restaurants.  I almost never hear sounds from my neighbors — either through the walls or out the (often open) windows.  Austrians are quieter than Americans, certainly, and we keep up with the stereotype — we’re probably the noisiest people in the entire building.  With two little kids, a dog, and quiet Austrian neighbors, it would be hard to imagine it any other way.  (Part of the difference is also the building construction, I imagine — when the windows are closed, you really don’t hear anything from your neighbors at all.)

And here, instead of being confined to my car, I’m out walking around the city, nearly every day, fully aware of the sounds around me.  The vehicular sounds are much less pervasive.  The street I live on is busy but narrow — although there is a lot of traffic, especially at certain parts of the day, most of the streets right around where I live are one way and one lane.  A busy main road is just over a block from here (closer than the Beltway was to my home in Virginia — but not by much) but I almost never hear the sounds from it, either.  Instead, when I’m out on the street, I hear the sounds of hooves on cobblestones, and the ding of bicycle bells warning pedestrians to look both ways before they cross the one way streets.

And the music that I hear is very different.  People keep their windows open here a lot more than at home, so it’s much more common to hear music coming from inside someone’s home that in was in the US.  Music coming from a car driving down the street is uncommon, though.  And in both cases, whether it comes from a house or from a car, it’s overwhelmingly likely to be something classical or something from an opera.  I can only remember hearing more recent music — anything rom the last century — emanating from a car on one or two occasions EVER since I”ve been here.  And, when the classical music comes through the open window of a home here, it’s very often being played live by one of the residents.  I’ve heard flute and harp played, but most often it’s the piano.  One of our neighbors plays (very well) and we’re often treated to their practice.

A large part of the seemingly clichéd auditory experience I have here is where I live — we live in the relatively fancy downtown 1st District, where, I guess, the people are pretty fancy, too.  (I imagine my experience would be different if I lived a few blocks closer to the University, for example.)  The experience of stopping on the way home from the market to hear my neighbor practice his piano is every bit as charming as it sounds, and being serenaded by opera blasting through a car’s windows while I sit in an outdoor cafe makes me smile every time it happens (and yes, it’s happened more than once).  These sounds are just another piece of the many “pinch me I live in Europe” moments that I get to enjoy all the time.  I love it.

RSVP

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In less than 2 weeks, B turns 5.  Aside from the mingled feelings of shock and pride I feel about this, I’m also experiencing the frenetic anticipation of putting together B’s birthday party, which will be next Saturday.  He had a pretty big party when he turned 1, but he was too little to have much opinion in the matter, and I had a lot of help from my mom.  For his second birthday, we had a party, too — he was also too little to vote much, and I also had help.  His third birthday was party-less (aside from Dan, Liam & I), and last year we were at the beach with family, so we had a party, but pressure was minimal and help was plentiful.

This year is different.  This year B really wanted to have a party, with his friends, and he has lots of ideas about what it should entail.  He has very strong opinions, but he isn’t able to articulate some of them until I suggest something counter to his idea and he gets very frustrated with me for not (psychically) understanding.

He wanted to invite his whole class at school (20 kids) in addition to his other friends.  I vetoed, and said he could choose 8 from school (which evolved into 11 once we accounted for their siblings).  Add to this the complication of having at least 5 different first languages represented amongst the invitees, and I think we’ll have our hands full as it is.

This is where crossing cultures becomes an adventure.  The invitations said RSVP, and I provided both my phone number and email (in case there was anyone who didn’t want to attempt English but didn’t trust my German), but although B’s party is next weekend, I currently have no idea how many kids will be there.  Of the 17 invitations we gave out for his birthday party, we only heard back from 5 of the kids.  We were able to contact 3 more to find out their plans, but for the other 9, kids from B’s school for whom we don’t have contact info, we have no idea if they’re coming, and, unless they decide to call, we won’t.

I’ve always heard that the rule of thumb is that most people who don’t RSVP won’t come — people who know they can be there let you know, people who can’t, or who aren’t sure, don’t feel as motivated about getting back in touch.  But the thing is, in a different culture, in a different country, I can’t really make that assumption.  Maybe RSVP doesn’t mean anything in German (I mean, it’s an abbreviation for a French phrase, so it doesn’t technically mean anything in English either).  Maybe, culturally, a “regrets only” mentality is typical, so I ought to take their silence as a yes.  Maybe we caught people just as they were leaving for summer holidays, and everyone is gone (in a country where 2-4 week summer vacations are common, a lot of people are gone for a lot of the summer).  Maybe everyone is just really busy and I’ll get a bunch of responses this coming week.  Or maybe they never got the invitations at all (they were left in the kids’ cubbies at school).  I just don’t know, but I can’t make too many assumptions.

So, at this point, we know we’ll have somewhere between 6 and 15 kids here for the party, plus parents.  That’s a bit of a wide range for planning purposes (somewhere between 12 and 35 people, I’m guessing, because of course, for the non-RSVPers, we have no clue how many adults might come, too).

It’ll be fine.  In fact, it’ll be great.  It’s 3 hours out of everyone’s life, and the only person whose opinion really counts is Benjamin, and he certainly isn’t going to care if we run out of paper cups or if there aren’t enough places for everyone to sit.  He’s going to have (I hope) a great time no matter what.  He’s excited to celebrate with his friends, and that he shall do.  I’m excited, too.

The Fourth

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I’m not a person with a ton of Independence Day traditions.  I’ve always done something to mark the holiday, but I have almost always found that my plans for the Fourth of July have come together at the last minute (if they come together at all).

Even so, I have so often been fortunate to celebrate the day with family and friends, whether hanging out at my Dad’s, being at the beach, going to watch fireworks, pulling over on a bridge at the GA/SC line to watch the fireworks over the river, chasing a terrified dog down a dark street lined by trees full of fireflies, or, most recently, flying home with my boys to be with our family in the States.  I have varied and bountiful memories of July 4th, and all of them, woven together, make up my very loose idea of Independence Day traditions.

013Being away from home, we wanted to do something to mark the holiday, especially because, since the boys are beginning to be old enough to understand such things, we want them to have some idea about the Fourth of July.  Fireworks aren’t a possibility, and neither did we find any convenient displays of American flags or red, white and blue anything.  We settled for celebrating with a version of a cookout (made indoors): hot dogs (served in buns, American style, with ketchup and French’s mustard), Cheetos, potato chips, watermelon, lemonade and ice cream.  (The boys are not interested in eating hot dogs in buns.  I fear we will have a lot of work to do in the realm of repatriation when we move home.)  It was really nice, and it did feel appropriately festive.

I don’t feel lonely or forlorn at being away from home on this day.  But I do feel very aware of my American-ness.  Like any imperfect family (and all of them are), for all of our collective national dysfunction, I am proud to be a part of it.  The ideals on which my country was founded are wise, and the spirit of my fellow Americans is strong.  We are neighbors, we are family, we are a community, and I am proud to be a part of that.  And although I’m not exactly sad, I do miss it.  Today, on a day that celebrates my nation and my people, I am not among them, but my heart is home.

Am I missing something?

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Our experience here feels so BIG.  The struggles and challenges feel massive, the discoveries wonderful, the perfect moments stunningly delightful.  The highs are so high and the lows can be very low.  Before we came, we were told it would be like this.  We’ve told others, who have come since, the same thing:  “Be prepared. It’s a rollercoaster.”

And it is.  And it’s worth it.  For all of the tough moments, all of the frustrations, all of the roadblocks and the loneliness, we’re glad we’re here.  Because the good moments are so very good and we know that life will never be quite like this again.  We know that we will never be the same again.  Being here, living it, it’s overwhelming and all-encompassing.  It’s a huge, mentally monopolizing experience, in that it changes us constantly and it occupies so much of our time and mental energy just to plan and execute daily life.

It’s sometimes shocking to me, then, how different the experience of other people in a similar situation can be.  I don’t get a lot of time to do so (see the “overwhelming” and “monopolizing” comments above) but I sometimes get to read what other American expats in Austria experience, or (even more rarely) actually talk so some of them about it.

Their experiences, while as massive and entirely consuming as ours, are completely different.  Some of them have experiences, regularly, that they define their time in Vienna by — at coffee houses, bars, clubs, art museums — that we have barely seen, if at all.  Some of their favorite places are places I’ve never heard of, let alone been to, and the images, captured in words or pictures, of “their” Vienna seems as foreign to me as mine do to most of my friends at home.

So I wonder, sometimes, am I missing something?  How many of the essential, quintessential Viennese experiences will I never have?  Not just because I’m a mom, and I’m busy with my little ones, but also because of my own tastes and preferences, my own prejudices and perspective.  What will I miss?  What will I never see?  What am I not experiencing that “is* Vienna to someone else?

Because there’s a pressure that comes with living abroad, a feeling that I ought to really get to know Vienna while I”m here.  That I ought to really see and experience it.  That I should go home knowing certain things and having experienced particular aspects of this city, this country, this continent.  And I don’t know if I’m having the Austrian or Viennese experience.

Actually, I know, in so many ways, that I’m not.  We haven’t been to the Opera.  We’ve only eaten once at a “fancy” restaurant.  We don’t shop (except for shoes for the kids and once, regrettably, for a ballgown).  I don’t spend lazy mornings at a coffee house or evenings drinking wine and people-watching.  Our days are spent with playgrounds and kindergarten drop-offs and our evenings are usually full of baths and stories.  I’d wager I’ve seen more parks than an average American expat in Vienna, but haven’t been to many art museums.  I’ve mastered getting around the Christmas markets with a stroller, but haven’t been to the Naschmarkt.  Some days I feel a little proud of the way my experience here has differed from “the norm”, and some days I’m frustrated by it.

The pressure and expectation to have a certain kind of experience come, I know, from me, not from the outside.  I hear about the things other people are doing, and I think, “Am I supposed to be doing that?  Is that what this is about?”

We’ve entered into the final year of our time in Vienna, and I think that makes me feel the pressure more acutely, because the window is closing, this fleeting opportunity is finite and will be over soon.  There’s so much still to see and do, and I want to be sure to hit the highlights while I can.

New neighbors

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I think it started about a week ago — just after dusk we started to hear shrill calls in the courtyard outside of our building.  They were coming from a pair of creatures (I wasn’t sure what kind) either in the trees or on the roof.  It was a plaintive sound — kind of like kittens looking for their mother, but too loud, too airborne and not feline enough for that.  It went on for hours with them calling back and forth, perfect echoes of each other.

At first, I was worried about the creatures — there was definitely a sad or lost sound to their cries.  Had a baby something fallen from a nest?  Was something injured?  It went on for hours, and it kept us up (because of course we have the windows open for the breeze).  When we finally fell asleep, both Dan & I had nightmares — parental nightmares about something happening to the kids — that we think were probably inspired by the sad cries of our new nocturnal neighbor creatures.

They are quiet through the day, but each evening they come back, calling and answering shrilly outside our windows.  I’ve already gotten used to them — I can sleep through their noise without a problem now — but I still didn’t know what they were.  Being nocturnal, loud, and either in the trees or on the roof, I’ve been guessing owls, but they certainly don’t sound “hoot”-y at all.

Then, last night, one landed on the eave of the roof over our living room. I thought they were loud before, but this was alarming — I thought it had gotten in the house!  Apparently, so did Bailey, who, after ignoring them for a week, absolutely freaked out, as though someone was trying to break down the front door.

After subduing my fierce canine to the best of my ability, I went to investigate (the creature was apparently not impressed by Bailey, because it neither moved not ceased its calling) and got my first look.  I only saw it in shadow, perched on the roof, but I’m pretty sure it was an owl.  It looked at me for a minute before I shooed it away (because Bailey wasn’t going to settle down while it was sitting outside our window, and I didn’t want it to wake the kids).  I saw it take off and fly to the other side of the courtyard.  It was bigger in flight than I expected, and it was pretty beautiful.  And after doing some research online, I’m guessing we have a pair of Barn Owls living near us now (although the ones we have are slightly more “crying” and less “screeching” than the ones I found online, so I’m not entirely sure).

So, we have new, noisy, nighttime neighbors.  I think they’re owls.  I know they’re not worried about Bailey.  And though they kind of drove me crazy that first night, I kind of hope they stick around.

Summer vacation

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Today, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the weather was perfect — 72 and sunny with a cool breeze.  Today is the first day of B’s summer vacation from school, and I had visions of sleeping in, a trip to the playground, or maybe the pool, and lots of snuggling with the kids.

So far, the boys got up before 7, and although we’ve gotten in LOTS of snuggling, it’s unfortunately mostly because Liam is sick.  (He woke up from his nap yesterday with a fever, and added a rash today, so I’ve been pretty worried.)  So our first day of summer vacation has been spent taking temperatures and going to the pediatrician’s office to get him checked out and to get a throat culture (no strep).  B is feeling ok (he was probably sick with a mild version of this last week when he was feeling a bit run down) and though Liam is miserable, he should be feeling well in a few days.  And, since we are on summer vacation, I’m home to snuggle them both, with nowhere else I need to be.  It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for the first day of our summer break, but, Liam’s illness aside, it was really a pretty good day.  He’ll be better soon, and our summer fun will be waiting for us then.

Assorted thoughts on Paris

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A few thoughts and notes about our most recent trip to Paris:

* The last time we went to Paris, I was surprised at how beautiful it was.  It’s one of those things, like hearing how green Ireland is, that you hear so often that you figure it can’t live up to the hype.  But, it does.  And then, if anything, it was even more beautiful this time of year.  The roses have bloomed, the twilight lasts for hours, and the color of the Seine during the long dusk is amazing.

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* The late, long evening really messed with our heads.  One night, we accidentally kept the kids out until 10:15, when it had just started to get dark.  The next night, wiser and more aware, we accidentally stayed out until 10:40.  The following night, we were out until after 11.  Oops.

* Beignets!  How did I live for 36 years without ever eating one?  My life is now complete (or would be, if I lived across the street from the bakery that made the ones we ate in Paris).  Last visit, we swooned over the macaroons, this time, the beignets.  Our current theory is that we might have to try every bakery in France to determine what their particular speciality is.  Ah, France!

* For the first time ever in our air travel with the kids, we checked our stroller (complete with gliding board) at the ticket counter, instead of at the gate.  We were pleasantly surprised to find it easier to move through the airport without it (except that Vienna now has a separate security line for people with strollers, which would have been nice).  So often, a gate-checked stroller isn’t returned until baggage claim anyway, so it didn’t make any difference on the arrival end, and it made us feel even less encumbered by stuff prior to departure.  Not sure we’ll do it every time, but it’s probably something we’ll try again.  (The kids did have their Trunkis to ride instead.  Not sure I would have ditched the stroller otherwise.)

* We bypassed the stroller hell of the Paris Metro by taking a cab from the airport to our apartment.  I didn’t have a concrete plan for getting back, though, other than the phone book.  But, lo & behold, I found an advertisement for a taxi service, listing reasonable fares, attached to a street light near our apartment.  In what might have been a major lapse in judgement, I contacted them.  And it turned out perfectly.  Our driver, Raphael, showed up right on time and got us quickly, comfortably & safely to the airport (for a good fare — a few Euro less than it cost us to go the other direction).  It was a gamble that paid off.  (Info: http://www.navette770.com/ ).  I would absolutely use them again.

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Liam, with the world’s largest lollipop (actually, 15 of them, cleverly packaged), and Benjamin, afraid he won’t get any (he did)

* Since the kids are off of bottles and don’t use pacis, we’ve struggle with how to handle ear pain from pressure changes during the flights.  They usually get so upset so quickly that we can’t coax them into drinking water, milk, or even juice from their sippy cups, and they end up just having to tough it out.  This time, we tried something new that worked great — lollipops!  The kids feel like they’re getting a special treat, and they last long enough to get through the pressure change (wait until you’re rolling for takeoff to hand them out, though).  Coming home, we were out, and had to go shopping.  Our only success was a mega-pack at the Duty Free shop at the airport.  (Now we have some for our next trip!)

I think that’s it from our trip to Paris.  More soon from Vienna again!

Visiting the Louvre

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On our first trip to Paris, we had a busy itinerary, and, when the trip was over, there was one thing on our “must see” list that we’d had to skip — a visit to the Louvre.  I was disappointed, but it was the right decision.  By the day we had planned to go, the kids were tired of waiting in lines and having to be patient and quiet.  A trip to a massive art museum just wasn’t the right choice.  So, we skipped it, but I knew I’d want to go back.

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I’m not an art person.  My mind appreciates art made with words, and art made of movement, but somehow I’m lacking the ability to understand or appreciate most fine art.  I don’t know why — it’s just not a skill a possess.  But I do still like to try.  I can appreciate art on a basic level (a philosophy professor in college described people with my aesthetic sense as being from the “me likey/me no likey” school of thought) and I’m always interested in the social/cultural/religious context of art.  I guess I’m a better sociologist than I am an appreciator of art (and I’m not a sociologist, either).

151Regardless, I like to try to look at art even though I struggle to see what others do.  And it feels to me like visiting the Louvre is an important part of being in Paris — especially because they have art I’ve actually heard of (although when I went to the Vatican Museum I was pleasantly surprised to find that my favorite things turned out to not be things I’d heard of before).

Last time, we visited the exterior of the Louvre, and this time we made a point to actually go in.  We planned to go the day that it was supposed to rain, and although there was a little rain in the morning, mostly it ended up just being a very hot day.  By the time we got over to the Louvre, just before lunchtime, it was hot and sunny and I wasn’t looking forward to waiting in the sun in the long line to get in.  Luckily, I’d read up beforehand, and in Rick Steves’ guide for Paris, he outlined a few other alternative (underground) entrances, which was nice, because although we had to wait a bit (although not as long as I expected) to get in, we did it in the shade and relative cool underground shopping area.

158After waiting through the security line, we finally made it to the main entrance of the Louvre, under the giant pyramid.  Since the kids were tired, and we wanted to enjoy as much time there as possible, we went to the information desk and borrowed (for free!) two strollers for the boys.  (As a note — I’ve said before that I love Paris, except for how much crime there is.  As we were waiting at the information desk, a man came up who had been pickpocketed just steps away from where we were standing.  It really does happen just about everywhere tourists go in the city.)  After the security line, the ticket line was so short as to be a complete non-event.

The Louvre is massive, and it’s a little overwhelming, especially for someone without a good sense for art.  I really couldn’t tell which sections we’d enjoy the most, or where we should start, so we just chose 4 things we really wanted to see (and likely the most touristy items in the entire museum — Cupid & Psyche, Winged Victory, the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa) and decided to start with those.  Although the strollers were a nice touch, and the elevators were plentiful, it was still a pain to get around the museum.  Even *with* the elevators, there were stairs to traverse everywhere, and the wait to get into an elevator was VERY long at times.  (Still, I’m glad we did the strollers.  The kids each slept through part of the museum, and I suspect that we all enjoyed a longer and more peaceful visit because of it.  The museum was also very hot the day we were there, and I think we all would have been uncomfortable if we’d been carrying the kids around, which is probably what would have happened if we hadn’t had the strollers.)

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Even with my limited aesthetics, I really enjoyed the museum.  There was just so much to see.  The sculptures we chose in particular were all lovely (Winged Victory was my favorite — and I loved the way it was presented) and we were treated to many other fine items as we walked along.  Each of the boys was fascinated with different Greek statues, and they actually enjoyed studying them for a bit (which was a nice surprise).  We were lucky enough to happen upon a hidden no-stairs access to the area where the Mona Lisa was housed, and the woman who was guarding the entrance was nice enough to let us through.

167I’d heard — a lot — prior to going how underwhelming the Mona Lisa could be.  And I get that.  There’s so much build up about it, and it’s so revered, that actually looking at it, you definitely might expect it to be bigger.  But since I’d been so prepared to be unimpressed by it, I was pleased to find that I wasn’t.  I really liked it.  (Although I can’t say why, because, as I’ve said, I have no art sense.)  It is stunning to see the level of attention and protection that this one little painting gets.  But I was glad to get the chance to see it, and happy to wait, along with the kids, to get our turn at the front of the crowd.  (At the end of the day, B said it had been his favorite part of the Louvre, and that the Louvre had been his favorite part of Paris, although he’s since revised his opinion and bestowed that honor on the Jardin du Luxembourg.)

If I had it to do over again . . . I’d probably do almost exactly what we did (which I almost never get to say).  We went in the late morning, and I think that contributed to the crowds not being too bad (even though it was a Monday, which is supposed to be quite crowded).  Entering via the Galerie du Carrousel underground mall entrance was really functional (we left via the main pyramid entrance to get the full effect).  We were lucky that we weren’t victim to any sort of pickpocketing, but I think if I went again I would be sure to bring absolutely nothing of value.  It’s so easy to get distracted looking at the art, and take your eyes off of your bag for a second.  Even though the stairs were a pain, I think borrowing the strollers was a great idea — and if we had gotten tired of pushing them around, we could have just returned them, too.  And I think that choosing a few iconic items to see first, and then seeing what state the kids were in, was a good idea.  By the time we negotiated the stairs and elevators and saw the things we really wanted to see, we had actually seen a significant portion of two wings of the museum, so it worked out.

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We had a great time.  I’m so glad we went.  The kids enjoyed it, the museum was lovely, and it felt really nice to experience a piece that had been missing from our Parisian adventures.