Running a little behind in the blog here, but I wanted to post this because it's just one of those moments of beauty among the hustle of every day life. Ah, Pachelbel! Wish we'd had time for more.
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... and a second and third. First impression was courtesy our taxi driver, who was at first puzzled at how to fit 4 passengers, 4 suitcases, and 4 backpacks into his sedan. Realizing it would take more effort than it was worth to put more than 2 suitcases in the trunk, he decided that he would use the front passenger seat for the overflow. This was after Sojourner and the kids and one suitcase and three bags had been loaded into the back seat. Fortunately, I am a relatively small guy, so I was able to squeeze in to the front seat for the trip to the apartment. Acceleration is apparently the key to driving in Zagrab, if our driver was any measure. No seatbelt required. He shaved 15 minutes off the 45-minute journey to the apartment, not at our request but presumably so he could get on to whatever it was he was terribly late for. Still, we made it there alive and the fare was only 15 euro. I was decidedly unimpressed with the drop off location. I had to ask twice if this was, in fact, the correct address. The prolific graffiti and penitentiary-style steel gate gave me pause, as did the man who was pawing through the trash bins before me. But Sojourner powered through my reticence and led us through the steel gates (she knew the code to open them), and into the darkness beyond. Right up to the moment we opened the apartment door I thought we had made a whopping error in judgment. Then we were through and in a moment my concerns vanished. The apartment is grand, and spacious, with high ceilings and remote-controlled blinds. It's everything our Paris apartment was not. In fact, the square footage of the entire Paris apartment was probably about twice the square footage of the master bath alone here in Zagreb.
Next morning (today), I went out in search of a restaurant that had been recommended by the apartment rental company. On my 10-minute walk I encountered no fewer than 4 people searching through trash bins. I assume they were looking for bottles for some kind of redemption value, but I don't know that for sure. I also encountered a woman who aggressively panhandled me (again, I am assuming because I don't understand a word of Croatian). I saw that the graffiti is almost everywhere, and while there are many prosperous shops in the area, there are also many closed up shops and many buildings bearing only the shadows of signs long-since removed. It's a strange state of decay mixed with prosperity. Years ago, we went to the Virgin Islands. There we found fantastic wealth intermixed with desperate poverty. Zagreb (at least, the Zagreb I've seen in the last 12 hours) is not like that. It has built itself up as a tourist economy, but the graffiti, panhandling, and scavenging suggest a hint of desperation. They're making their way along the road to prosperity, but not everyone is coming along for the ride and they're certainly not there yet. It's also worth pointing out that there's a lot of smoking here. Fortunately, we have not been forced to endure indoor smoking anywhere yet, but outside there are many street cafes where it seems smoking is not just allowed but required. It's too bad we won't be able to enjoy sitting outside at any cafes.
Despite my complaints, Zagreb has been a good destination so far. We're here for only barely more than a day, so I expect we're only going to scratch the surface. The friendly waiter at the Cafe Fotika told us we really must get to the the zoo, but I suspect that will have to wait for another time. It's hard to arrive in La Ville-Lumière and not feel excited. But Paris is a demanding mistress-- She has so many sights to see and so many delights to be discovered. We are already more than halfway into our week in Paris and it's clear we will depart leaving too much undone. Each day we try leave as early as we can manage-- no languid breakfasts of croissant and coffee. Each day we return after the kids' purported bedtime. Our pedometers report close to 20,000 steps daily-- twice the norm. And yet so much remains to be seen and done. Our Paris friends have been the most gracious of hosts. They have also been our personal guides (and translators!) in Paris. We hope to repay the favor when they come visit us in Rome later this year. The visit to Versailles was well worth the effort. I think everyone enjoyed the Gardens more than the Maison, despite the rain. It's tough to really grok the grand scale of this place. It makes you feel small in comparison, which is exactly what Louis XIV wanted, to be sure. The kids especially enjoyed the musical fountains.
After Parc Floral we detoured slightly to explore the nearby Chateau de Vincennes. The place is surrounded by a moat and an outer wall. The kids were sent to go play on the outer wall. This seemed like good clean fun at the time, as the perspective makes the wall look like it's only a few feet tall. "Uncle Big" knew better, though. He stopped the kids from climbing onto the wall, pointing out the perilous 20' drop on the other side of the apparent 3' wall long before any of the other parents had connected the dots.
The weather in Bruges cleared up enough for us to get out and do some sightseeing, including a trip on the canal. The pictures tell a better story than words, so I'll just point you to the Gallery page on our trip blog. This was a beautiful moment as we crossed the bridge toward the Church of Our Lady. There are thousands upon thousands of statues in Europe. They live as a mostly anonymous backdrop to the soaring cathedrals and other grand monuments. But each one has its own story and was crafted by people who, though largely anonymous to us, had stories of their own and lived their lives during a time when these works represented the very best of humanity's achievements. Our next stop is Paris, where we will be visiting with friends who are spending a whole year as ex-pats in the city.
Yesterday was not the best day of our trip.
It wasn't bad, mind you. Nobody got hurt and nothing was lost. But it was one of those days where you realize early on that best thing that's going to happen is going to bed. It started with rain, which has continued unabated in Bruges since Tuesday. It varies from a vigorous downpour to dry spells just long enough to make you hope that perhaps it's finally going to stop long enough to do something like a boat tour or a bike ride. Then it starts raining again. We made our way to the St. John's Hospital, stopping along the way for a quick potty stop. Something about having to pay to use the bathroom seems to bring out incontinence in the kids, so 2 euro later (Luigi went not once but twice), we got to St John's. The museum was good, made up of many authentic artifacts and paintings that were presented in a way that allowed you to get up close. Medical care in the 13th century involved a lot of talking to saints, Jesus, Mary, and God. There were also some medical instruments-- all of which looked as appalling as you might imagine. It's hard to think about the scalpels, forceps, scissors, etc. without being reminded that anesthesia was not yet available. One painting was particularly jarring-- a famous doctor smiling benignly at the painter while inserting a scalpel into the eye of a child who did not look altogether comfortable with the situation. The most jarring part of the scene is how the man is smiling "at the camera" instead of paying attention to the scalpel. By lunchtime, the rain and cold and sudden need of a restroom were making the day less than fun. For lunch we wanted something that was not quite as fancy/expensive as yesterday's lunch, but a step above the sandwich and fry shops that dot the south side of the berg like dandelions on the lawn. Sojourner got a recommendation from a local and so we would up at a restaurant whose name I won't even attempt to pronounce. Clue #1 that we had chosen poorly was the linen table settings complete with fancy wine glasses. This was not our definition of casual. Clue #2 was that the prices for starters were in the 20's and main courses were in the 30's. They did have a kinder menu, but it had only two items-- fish sticks and a roasted chicken, each for 10 euro ("children 10 and under only"). Not exactly "mid-price". The clue that sealed the deal was when the waiter strongly and loudly chastised the American couple at the next table for suggesting that they might share an entree. He seemed to relish his invective, finding several ways to declare that plate sharing may be done in (such uncouth places as) America, but it "just isn't done here." We should have just waked out. The food was quite good, but we did not enjoy our meal because what we all really wanted was to just get out of there. Of course, their credit card system broke so Sojourner was forced to go wandering in search of a cash machine. We eventually did escape (for under 100 euro thanks to some judicious ordering on Sojourner's part), and headed for the Beguine house museum. But really, by this point our sprits had been crushed and so the best part of the day was the return to our apartment. Intermission at the Lion King! Sojourner and I came to see this show a decade ago, shortly after it opened in London. It was superb then and it's still great today. Whether you have kids with you or not is well worth the price of admission.
Upon arrival in London we got to enjoy the not-unexpected fun of being "taken for a ride" by the cabbie. Our hotel is in Blackfriar's on the north bank of the Thames, but the cabbie saw fit to take us through a few other boroughs before depositing us at our hotel. We bid farewell to £20 on what should have been a £14 trip and checked in.
Crossing the Thames on the foot bridge, Luigi allowed himself to be lured into the grasp of one of the many street characters in this area-- in this case a rather tooth-challenged Charlie Chaplin. I declined the man's offer to take my daughter and handed over 50p ransom for the return of my son. In my haste I forgot to snap a picture (the whole pretext for the affair). That toothy grin had set off my parental warning bells. Both Luigi and I got an earful from Sojourner. Luigi for having allowed himself to be lured in and me for paying the man anything at all.
We were walking along Buckingham Palace Road today when the thought first struck me that it might be kind of nice to live in London. I had expected to eventually feel that traveler's fancy come over me, but I honestly didn't expect it to happen so quickly. (only 2 days in to a 110-day trip!) While Sojourner is the kind to start planning the next getaway before the current one is over, I am more of a homebody. I think it's in my nature to anticipate and focus on all the things that could go wrong in a trip, rather than the things to enjoy. With any luck London will cure me of this before we leave. Not too long ago I was told by a waiter at Wilde Rover in Kirkland that a "Black and Tan" was actually Guinness and Bass IPA. What I wanted, he said, (Guinness and Harp) was a "half and half". I enjoyed that potion and, moved by the spirit of Old World charm around me, ordered it when we arrived at the Punch (as in Punch and Judy) Tavern in Blackfriar's. What I got didn't look like a half and half or a black and tan; rather it looked like a straight-up Guinness with a taste of "Guinness-lite" so I knew something was up. Suspecting I had contributed to the overall negative impression of Americans, I inquired with the server about my order. Only when pressed did he gently allow that no, nobody ordered such a thing in London sans the occasional American tourist. Alas. I've also since learned from Wikipedia that one really ought to avoid the "black and tan" term altogether as it can be considered offensive. I think I'll just stick with some lager. Well, technically the duck is waiting at the edge of the pond for the Big Plane to give us a lift over it. Some say September in Seattle is the best time of year. What were we thinking? |
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December 2013
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