As you may have surmised from the fact that I posted something here recently, we went to Europe and returned unscathed! The short version of it is that Elise was a champ at traveling, baby jet lag turned out to not even be a thing, really, and it was cold but not unbearable. Three cheers for that. But a single sentence does not a blog post make, so I shall recap IN FULL to appease the masses. Or myself.

On February 28th, Elise turned 9 months old and I realized I had to get off my procrastinatastic butt and get packing before we left the house at 3pm for our flight. All I can say is praise the Lord for naps, or else we would have needed to buy all our things in another country. Every last thing. Naps happened, the suitcase and the backpack were stuffed, and a couple of spare items were tucked away into the front pocket of the Ergo since they wouldn't fit anywhere else. We hightailed it to the bus that transported us to the airport, and Elise, clad in her very best fleece pajamas, decided that the ride was the perfect time to practice her backwards swan dive.

We made it to the airport in plenty of time, lugged our luggage + Ergo + stroller through security, gate checked the stroller, and boarded the plane. We were in the aisle seat, and while the middle seat was empty, the lady in the window seat made it no secret that she was not thrilled to be sitting near a baby. Specifically, she texted someone and then placed her phone in very plain view on the seat between us to make sure I saw it: "On plane. Seated next to an infant."

Off to a great start!

Fortunately, she need not have worried, and I not-so-secretly hope that she feels a tiny speck of remorse for the snarky text, because Elise barely made a peep and then fell asleep for the majority of that first leg. SO THERE.

Other than that, there isn't much to report about flying, apart from the fact that Elise got a fair amount of sleep (for a plane ride) and I got none, but we both survived and were ready to go adventuring by the time we got to our hotel and washed ourselves up. Oh, except that our stroller was sent to Copenhagen instead of Paris. That was not fun, but we still had the Ergo. I resembled a pack horse with Elise on the front, my backpack on my back, and my suitcase in hand, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and while a vacation doesn't really count as a "desperate time," it was...laughable. As an added bonus, I probably burned more calories because of the extra portaging.

I feel like I should add a quick note right here to inform you that the one thing I did NOT end up doing was using my real camera at any point during the trip, despite the fact that I toted both it and my extra lens around with us the whole time. As a result, the photo quality is entirely sub par. You've been warned.

Our first day in Paris was a short one, thanks to the time change. We arrived at 11:00, got settled and cleaned up by 2:00, and were out the door by 2:30 to meet our friends! The plan was to meet at Ladurée on the Champs-Élysées for a late lunch and some macarons, and then walk around the city until dinner. It turns out that Ladurée does everything confectionary well, and so instead of macarons, I opted for their French toast with rose chantilly cream and a raspberry coulis.

What does rose chantilly cream taste like, you ask? It tastes like you melted a rose, poured the melted liquid into some heavy cream, added a dash of confectioner's sugar, and whipped it until it gets into its proper form. Basically, it tastes exactly like how a rose smells. By itself, I don't know if I'd eat it off a spoon for a snack. (Am I the only one that does that with regular whipped cream? Don't answer that.) But with the French toast and the raspberry? HEAVENLY. If you go there, you must try it! I insist!

Elise enjoyed the raspberries, and considering I can't handle the texture of raspberries myself, it was a win for both of us.

Once we finished up, we headed out into the cold to sightsee, but after a couple of metro rides, a long-ish time without milk, and a chilly wind, Elise decided she'd had enough. Our friends Rachael and Julie headed to a delicious dinner at a restaurant Chaz and I ate at on our honeymoon, while Elise and I went back to the hotel to warm up, consume Cheerios and veggie straws for supper, and hit the hay at 8:30.

Based on how long this is taking me, I'll probably need to split this thrilling account up into multiple posts. I can just hear you shouting for joy.

On to day 2! Feeling entirely refreshed, we got ready in the morning and, after nearly flooding the bathroom thanks to an open shower and a parent focused on the baby rather than the water volume, set out to explore. On the itinerary for the day: Notre Dame, Sainte-Chapelle, and the Musée d'Orsay, followed by dinner with another friend who lives in the city. All in all, it was ambitious, but we managed to do it!

Notre Dame is always an experience. It's gorgeous, and this time we were lucky enough to be there during a service, so we listened to the chanted prayers and readings (in French, of course!) while walking around the perimeter with all the other tourists. It always amazes me that they're able to carry on with the service with so many people roaming around, but they do, and we were grateful for it. Elise must have been in awe, because she merely looked around and didn't take the opportunity to test the (presumably magnificent) acoustics. I was grateful.

After taking it all in, we headed to a nearby cafe and got some lunch before making our way to Sainte-Chapelle. The waiter was charmed with Elise, and by the end of the meal we'd made a new friend. Or at least, she had.

Sainte-Chapelle had never been on my must-visit list in Paris, but it really should have been. Stained glass is always a sight to behold, but this was beyond comprehension. The closest thing by comparison would be what I imagine it would be like to stand inside a life-size kaleidoscope. Filtered light poured in from every direction, and it seemed like a fitting site for the relics of Christ, for which it was originally constructed.

Elise WAS a little more enthusiastic about fussing here, but she quickly gave into slumber and all was quiet shortly thereafter.

Since the Musée d'Orsay was less than a mile away, we continued our trek on foot. Rachael, a dear friend and also Elise's godmother, should have won an award for the day, because she did some baby-wearing! Elise should probably be counting her lucky stars/many blessings to have someone so invested in both her spiritual formation and also her Paris-touring comfort.

And while I'm thinking of it, I'll offer a piece of unsolicited advice. Everyone *always* loves unsolicited advice. Here goes: when hunting for friends, always choose someone who loves your babies as much as they love you. You can't go wrong. And your children will know they're loved by a village, which seems like a pretty important thing to me. More love = happier kids, right?

That's enough advice for one post.

We ended the sightseeing portion of our day with a pass through the Musée d'Orsay. I actually prefer the Musée d'Orsay to the Louvre, and yes, I realize how pretentious that sounds when said out loud. Or even read in your head. But I've said it, and it remains true. The Musée d'Orsay is smaller than the Louvre, so it's much more manageable in a single visit.

While the Louvre has a plethora of famous older paintings (among other things), the Musée d'Orsay holds the largest collection of artwork from the impressionist and post-impressionist era, including paintings by Monet and Van Gogh. I particularly enjoyed/was amused by Monet's "Les Dindons," which is quite literally a portrait of turkeys on his patron's lawn. What's not to love? Elise also seemed to enjoy her jaunt around the museum.

Oh, see that stroller? It is not ours. It belongs to the museum, and in order to use it, I had to leave them with my passport until we returned it. PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF THAT IMPORTANT DETAIL.

While the art at the museum was gorgeous and probably worth discussing at length, what I really want to discuss is the hot chocolate I had at the museum cafe. It was hands down the best hot chocolate I have had to date, not only on this trip, but ever in my life. And that's saying a lot, because just on the trip I think I drank hot chocolate nearly every day. I mean, if you can't tell by my inability to put it down for a photo, just look at Elise's longing expression:

Did I allow to her to have just a little bit of the whipped cream? Yes. Yes I did. Question my parenting choices all you want. We were in France. C'est la vie.

We finished up our time at the museum with taking photos by one of the two large clocks on the fifth floor. These couple of minutes resulted in some of my favorite photos from the trip, so it was well worth taking our turn in the informal line of tourists who also wanted to take the same photo.

We returned the borrowed stroller in exchange for my passport and made the 40-minute trek back to our hotel for the night. Upon arrival at the hotel, the man at the front desk asked for my passport to check in, which is standard practice, and as I reached for it in its spot in the Ergo pocket, I realized it wasn't there. Not only was it not there, but I knew I had last seen it at the counter when I returned the stroller and had no memory of actually taking it. In addition, the museum was now closed, and our train to our next destination was scheduled to leave before the museum would open the following morning. Cue a solid 15 minutes of me trying to get ahold of anyone who might know someone able to enter a closed museum after hours to retrieve a passport within another locked area of the building in garbled French...chances were SLIM.

At the last moment, which was one of despair placated in the form of an exquisite chocolate-enshrouded more-chocolate mousse purchased at the patisserie next door, I reached into my coat pocket and unexpectedly withdrew the "missing" passport. I think it was actually miraculous.

I ended the night with a very tasty dinner with a friend I hadn't seen in a couple of years (hi, Sarah!), snapped a picture of the Louvre's pyramids under the moonlight on the way back, and went to bed feeling fat and happy. Although not too fat, because I'd walked over 19,000 steps that day. I'm sure that balanced out all the chocolate.

I think that's quite enough for a single blog post. Tales of Colmar, Basel, and a return to Paris still need to be recounted, so if you haven't already keeled over in boredom, STAY TUNED.

Woodstock Writings