Europe Days 18-22: Paris

Saturday, July 13

I woke up at 3:38 am and was unable to fall back asleep.  Unbeknownst to me, right around that time, Spencer was crawling into bed in his cabin across the hallway after hanging out with his newfound friends.  I got up at around 5:30 am, watched the ship sail in through Venice, had some breakfast, then went back to the room and tried to shower and finish packing quietly, but managed to wake up Jennifer anyway.  Sorry!

Our goal was to leave the ship by 9 am, store our bags, and spend the day in Venice.  As usual, things took a bit longer than usual (blame the long lines in the breakfast buffet as all the cruisers had one last chance for all the food they could eat).  Since we were carrying our bags off the ship, we could leave any time we wanted.  We rolled off and walked over to the Venice bus station, found the place to check our bags, then boarded a vaporetto towards St. Mark’s square. 

Venice is essentially one big tourist trap.  It's kind of like Busch Gardens, only dirtier and not as fun.  Since its fall from power in the 1700s, Venice has done nothing of note, and is slowly decaying while living on tourists.  The line to enter St. Mark’s church snaked through the plaza, but we skipped it by checking our backpack and getting the pass to jump in front.  We stumbled over the rolling floors while gazing at the glittering frescoed ceilings. 

The kids vetoed going through the Doge’s Palace (“no more museums!”), but Kirsten compensated by finding a leather goods store and buying a soft Italian leather purse.  We jostled through the narrow streets, working our way over to Campo Santa Maria Formosa to a place incongruously named Peter Pan's.  It was recommended by Dr. Steves, and indeed the food was good.  Rather than eat in the little place, we carried out our food and ate pizza and kabobs while sitting in the shadow of the church and watching the tourists and pigeons. 

After several wrong turns and dead ends, we found ourselves at the Rialto Bridge.  Spencer declared he was done for the day, and went on a vacation strike by sitting down in the middle of the bridge.  The combination of lack of sleep, searing heat, masses of tourists, and reentry from the cruise had drained his energy and attitude.  He told us to leave him, and he'd meet us back at the bus station, but that didn’t sound like a good idea to me.  The rest of us found a shady spot and waited for him to come around.  By that time, no one was feeling any love for Venice, so we boarded a vaporetto back to the bus station, bought ice creams, and hung out in the shade.  Eventually, we retrieved our bags and boarded the bus for the airport two hours earlier than needed, since we were pretty sure the airport would be cleaner, cooler, and more comfortable than the bus station plaza.  Unfortunately, the A/C didn’t seem to be working well at the airport, but two out of three ain't bad.  We found a table and chairs where we could eat, play cards, and close our eyes. 

We took off from Venice at dusk, and landed in Paris at 10:30 pm, just as night was falling.  Talk about daylight savings!  As we rode into the city in our taxi, we saw fireworks and the Eiffel Tower sparkling, and realized that tomorrow was Bastille Day.  I wondered if any stores or sights would be open.

We were met at our apartment at 11:30 pm by the owner’s babysitter, as the owner was out of town.  Our apartment is on the 6^th floor of a 7 story building, located in the 10^th Arrondisement, near the Gare d’Nord and Gare d’Est train stations.  I'm guessing that the structure predated indoor plumbing and electricity.  We have three bedrooms, a large living area, a large bathroom, and a teensy tiny galley kitchen.  No air conditioning, however, but we can open the windows and catch a nice cross breeze since we are so high.  We were so tired from our day of transitions that we flopped into our beds, windows open to the sound of fireworks.

Sunday, July 14

Today is Bastille Day, France’s version of the 4^th of July.  We slept in, which for me means that I woke up at about 6 am, Jennifer around 8:30, and the kids between 10:30 and 11.  I ventured out at about 7:30 am to explore the neighborhood.  Most of the stores were closed for the national holiday, but I found a hotel for a Paris map, and, more importantly, an open bakery for fresh crossaints for the family.  There was a big parade down the Champs Elysses at 10 am – we couldn’t see it from out apartment, but I saw about 20 different squadrons of French aircraft flying over the route, some streaming the tricolors of the French flag. 

I did some research and found that the Louvre Museum had free admission today, so we walked over to a metro station (there are 5 within a 10 minute walk) and made our way downtown.  Walking into the huge courtyard, we discovered that the admission line was snaking around the pyramid in the bright hot sun and was more than an hour long.  I recalled reading in the Gospel of Steves that there was a lesser-known entrance, so I went scouting and finally found it on the lower level of an air conditioned shopping mall.  I called the rest of the family and they trundled over, and soon we were inside one of the world’s largest museums, along with tens of thousands of others who, like us, wanted to avoid paying the $15 per person entry fee.

The kids had already reached their limit of museums, but were willing to make an allowance to see the painting of the Mona Lisa and carving of the Dying Slave, along with the world’s most famous double amputee (fun fact: the Venus de Milo is a size 14).  We brushed by lots of other stuff, such as the Winged Victory of Samothrace, and occasionally wondered why other paintings were there.  Two hours later we were back outside.  The kids thought that was just the right amount of time, and Jennifer and I simply nodded.   

Kirsten chose a lunch place nearby (Le Fumior), where our typically French speedy service permitted Spencer and me to play a long game of chess.  We didn’t mind relaxing, however – we were in comfortable chairs, they kept bringing reasonably cold water, and the food was good. 

We walked along the Seine, then wound back to the Teulleries Garden, where I played Frisbee with Garrett and Spencer.  We stopped at an ice cream place and found that single cones were about $5 each, and a can of diet coke was about $4.  I told the kids that Paris was called the city of light because it lightened your wallet.  We spent most of the afternoon slowly meandering our way to the Champs de Mars.  Along the way, we found a Starbucks (reliable free toilets!), only to find there was only one potty and a long line.  An hour and several frappes later, we were in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, where the fireworks show would be staged.  We found a place to sit and wait.  There was an orchestra playing nearby, and occasionally an opera singer would kill a cat.  We watched the place fill with more than a million Parisians and tourists, watched several fights break out as latecomers tried to leap over those already sitting, and futilely tried to avoid the wafting clouds of second-hand smoke.  It seems like a lot more people smoke in Paris than in the US.  In the cafes, it seems nearly everyone sitting at the outside tables is smoking.  In theory, France has regulated smoking in restaurants, but there seems to be no enforcement.  Anyway, as dusk fell on the Champs de Mars, the crowds of people who were trying to get somewhere else found there was no way through the masses sitting, and they stood there blocking the view of everyone behind them.  The crowd started chanting in French “sit, sit, sit,” then applauded wildly as people figured out they were the problem, and sheepishly complied.  It was an entertaining way to pass a couple of hours.

At a little past 11 pm, the lights on the Eiffel Tower went black then started blinking, throbbing techno music started pulsing, and the fireworks show started.  It was 35 minutes of constant fireworks – every few seconds, at least 6 or 8 bursts would simultaneously explode.  Garrett was complaining that the Eiffel Tower was partially blocking our view.  I told him to chill out and enjoy the moment – how often would he be able to watch the Paris Bastille Day fireworks live?  The finale had 30+ bursts every few seconds, and ended with my ears throbbing from the techno music, my butt numb and dirty from sitting on the ground for so long, and my legs with pins and needles from being folded up. It was great.

But the best part was yet to come: the ride home.  We all held hands as we snaked through the throngs towards the Ecole Milatare metro stop, only to find that it was closed to prevent overcrowding.  We congaed for another 10 minutes to the next stop and balanced on the platform as the crowds surged in.  The train arrived, and a sea of humanity surged through the doors.  We were wedged in; any closer and we’d need condoms.  It was a sweaty, rocking ride, and every stop, more people would manage to push their way onto the train.  After a half dozen stops of being introduced to someone else’s sweaty armpit, the tide relented, and we could breathe again.  I was reminded of when I lived in NYC in the summer of 1982, and attended an extra innings baseball game at Yankees stadium.  When the game finally ended, everyone surged to the 161^st St. subway.  A post-midnight short train (only 4 cars) arrived, and everyone from Yankee stadium pushed on board.  Even that ride to 125^th Street was not as bad as our Parisian post-fireworks train. 

Monday July 15

Today the kids set the agenda.  Kirsten wanted to go to a street market, and chose the Puces St. Ouen, located just outside the Paris beltway.  We got going at about 10 am, and rode the metro to Porte de Clignancourt.  We spent the next couple of hours browsing through hundreds of stalls of knock-off clothing, strange antiques (quite a few real stuffed animals), and everything else under the sun.  Kirsten got a dress, Spencer got a poster, Jennifer got a magnet, Garrett a blister, and I got sunstroke.  We stopped for lunch at Café Paul Bert, where we were treated to complementary second-hand smoke with an otherwise good lunch. 

Spencer selected the afternoon’s itinerary: Montmartre, where Jennifer also wanted to explore.  We took the metro back down to Chateau Rouge, and walked up the hill towards the Sacre Couer.  Below the white domed church, there was a park where there used to be gypsum mines, which supplied the city with the materials for (you guessed it) Plaster of Paris.  We noticed that all of the grass was surrounded by fences.  Apparently, the grass in parks is for looking at, not for walking on or laying on.  Paris is virtually all apartments and concrete, and the concept of personal yards is a luxury that was reserved for royals, and that died in 1789.  Being Americans, we hopped over the fence anyway and laid on the grass in the shade for an hour or so, recharging our batteries. 

Eventually we stirred ourselves to walk the rest of the way up the hill and look inside the church, which was built only about 140 years ago as an act of penance by the city’s dwindling active Catholics to atone for the ongoing sins of the city.  The surrounding neighborhood showed that it didn’t work: Montmartre was and is the home of starving artists and fools raging against the injustice of the world for not supporting them as they chase their dreams.  We bought ice cream and made our way over to the Dali museum, which was surreal. 

Although there was much more to see in the area, the kids decided that they were done, so we got lost while walking down the hill looking for the Abbess metro station.  We were so desperate, we actually asked directions three different times.  Eventually we found it and went back home to put up our aching feet.  No one felt like going out for dinner, so Jennifer and I went shopping for supplies, ending up with pasta with meat sauce, a green salad, and vegetables.  It’s the first dinner we’ve cooked on our vacation.  We ended the day with some family games. 

Tuesday July 16

Spencer said that he wanted a day off from being a tourist, so he stayed at the apartment, napped, listened to music, and watched a movie on the computer, while the rest of us went out.  We first went to Sainte Chapelle, a church built in the 1240’s to house the (supposed) crown of Jesus.  It’s located within the complex that includes the French Supreme Court, so security is tight.  I walked into the church and thought, wait, this isn’t the right church . . . before I realized we entered in the crypt.  I may be slow, but eventually I’ll figure it out.  We walked up the circular stairs, and as I turned the last corner to enter the main floor, I had one of those rare “wow!” moments.  The narrow, tall chapel has 15 huge stained glass windows, each over 70 feet tall, and radiating light.  The 1100+ panes tell virtually every story from the bible, plus some post-biblical Christian history.  It’s a remarkable visual feast. 

We continued down the island to the Notre Dame, and sat to soak in that famous façade.  Eventually we joined the long line snaking around Point Zero, from which all distances are measured in Paris.  The Romans built a Temple of Jupiter on this spot in 52 BC, and after Rome fell, the Germanic Franks turned the temple into a Christian church.  The line circled around the statue of Charlemagne, the first ruler of the Holy Roman Empire in around 800 AD.  The current church took about 200 years to build, from 1163 to 1345.  We looked up at the 28 kings of Judah, who the peasants in the French Revolution thought were the French kings, and lopped off their heads.  (They were only restored about 40 years ago).  Also during the Revolution, the church was secularized and the altar replaced with a statue representing the divinity of man.  While the church eventually was rededicated, the relationship between the French and Catholicism remains tenuous. 

We eventually made our way inside, and slowly shuffled around the nave, marveling at the huge rose windows and the architectural details.   It struck me once again how these massive buildings that were intended to be spiritual centers now are little more than tourist attractions.  I rarely feel my spirit moved when I walk through those massive cathedrals.  At least the interiors of the French churches are not as junked up with all the frescoes or gilding that we saw in Italy. 

We took one look at the line to go up on the balcony, and said “not today, Zerg.”  Instead, we walked behind the cathedral to the Deportation Memorial, to commemorate the 200,000 French citizens that the Vichy government willingly sent to the concentration camps, where fewer than 3% survived.  The place was a surprisingly small, concrete tomb in the Brutalist style.  A narrow corridor of 200,000 lights represented each person who was sent off.  The sparing pamphlet was strangely written in the passive voice, as if to try to deflect French responsibility for the murder of so many.  The memorial fairly screamed that the French still are in massive denial for their culpability in their part of the Holocaust. 

We walked across the bridge and had a good three course lunch at Café Med, a little creperie.  Across the street was Berthillon, a favorite Parisian ice cream joint, so of course we had to have a sample.  We ambled over to the Left Bank, looked at the booksellers lining the river, and took more pictures of the Notre Dame.  Eventually, we made our way to the Luxembourg Gardens, where we sat on the grass near some cute preschoolers.  In a few minutes, a couple of gendarmes told us to move off the grass – it was forbidden to sit or walk anywhere green, apparently.  They also evicted the preschoolers.  I felt much safer after the little criminals were handcuffed and jailed. 

Garrett and I found a graveled walk where we could toss the Frisbee, and Jennifer and Kirsten found the only patch of grass in the 60 acre park where people could legally step on.  That little patch was wall-to-wall people, and everywhere else was wide open, guarded by Inspector Clouseau and his partners.  This is a strange, strange place.

We rode the RER train back to Gare d’Nord, and walked back to the apartment.  We didn’t feel like cooking for dinner, so I used Yelp to find a nearby well-rated and cheap Kurdish restaurant named Urfa Durum.  We carried our lamb kabobs back to the apartment since the tables outside the restaurant were filled, stopping to get some pastries for dessert.  Yum.  We ended the day with some more family card games, going to bed at around midnight. 

Wednesday July 17

Today has ended up being a free day of sorts.  Jennifer and Kirsten wanted to go see the impressionist paintings at the Orsay and the Orangerie Museums, but Spencer and Garrett didn’t want to go (see "no more museums", above).  I proposed taking them on a Segway tour, but they decided they would rather kick back and do nothing.  I decided to stay with them, since Spencer had told me that he might want to do his own thing, and I didn’t want to leave Garrett by himself.  I bought advance tickets on line for Jennifer (Kirsten was free), but had a difficult time downloading them to PDF form.  I couldn’t get the printer in the apartment to work, so I found an internet café where we could print the tickets, then pointed the girls in the right direction for the metro and went back to the apartment.  I spent the day doing laundry, reading, updating this blog, going grocery shopping, and to a bank ATM to replenish the treasury.  Garrett played his DS, took a long bath, and napped.  Spencer left at around 2:30 to further explore Montmartre, and took a phone with him so he could call to get back into the apartment, since we have only two sets of keys.

Speaking of phones, the two cheap world phones have worked just fine with the £10 Orange SIM cards, but as soon as we left the UK, my iPhone gobbled up the £30 of value on that SIM card.  Contrary to what I was told by both the UK sales guy and the Orange texts, the unlimited internet and data through the end of July was for the UK only, not all of Europe.  As soon as I left the UK, the push email feature of my iPhone used up the value of the card.  It’s taken me a half-dozen calls with Orange for them to acknowledge the problem, and they repeatedly have promised to put the £30 of value back onto the SIM card.  But it hasn’t happened yet, and in the meantime, my iPhone cannot send or receive texts or calls over the cellular system.  This morning I yanked out the Orange SIM card and put my Verizon SIM card back in.  I promptly received texts informing me that I would be charged $1.29/min for cell calls, and more than $20 per mb of data, so I shut the data feature off, and will use the cell only for emergencies.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if Orange has kept their promise and restored the value.  Moral of the story:  swapping SIM cards so you have data in Europe at a reasonable cost is not as easy as it should be. 

Europe Days 11-17: Cruise

Saturday, June 6:

This morning I found out that, last night after I went to bed, Kirsten went to the square by our apartment (where there is free wifi), and immediately was hit on by a persistent Italian boy.  She kept telling him no and go away, but he wouldn’t leave her alone.  She stopped going online and walked back to the apartment, and he followed her all the way to the door.   Creepy.  It’s as good a sign as any that it’s time to leave Rome. 

Friday night, I got no sleep.  It was the hottest day of our trip so far, and the room was very hot.  Plus, my nose had taken a cue from my neobladder and was leaking non-stop.  I would toss and turn, get up and go to the bathroom, blow my nose, and repeat.  I knew my restlessness was disturbing Jennifer on the (comparatively) small full-size bed we had, so I moved to the couch, continued to toss and turn and go to the bathroom, went back to bed, back to the couch, etc.  I watched the Roman sky gradually lighten with the approaching of dawn, gave up trying to sleep, went and took a hot shower, hoping the steam would help with my sinuses, then read until the alarms went off for everyone else.  We finished packing, traded texts with the owner of our rental apartment, who instead of coming over simply instructed us to leave the keys on the table, and went off to the Termini Station to catch our train to Venice.  It was just under a 4-hour ride, and we had to immediately go to the ship.  Sightseeing in Venice will have to wait until we get back. 

Our ship is the Norwegian Jade, an older ship built in the mid 90’s that was originally built to cruise around Hawaii.  About 10 or 12 years ago, NCL repositioned the ship to cruise in the Adriatic Sea, but was too cheap to redecorate the pervasive Hawaiian theme in the carpets, posters, paintings, and other décor.  It’s garish and glaringly out of place the first few times you see it, then it just becomes visual background noise.  I booked a balcony room for Jennifer and me, and an inside cabin directly across for the three kids. 

I told the kids that the cruise would be 7 days of them deciding whether they wanted to spend time with the rest of the family, or being on their own.  Aside from the sticking together for the four shore expeditions (Dubrovnik Croatia, Athens Greece, Izmir Turkey, and Split Croatia), they could sleep as late as they wanted, eat when they wanted, go to bed when they wanted, etc.  I booked this cruise both for the great itinerary, and as a sort of mid-vacation break from the 24/7 togetherness. 

NCL features freestyle dining, which is great since I don’t like the scheduled times and the dining room hokiness that other cruise lines have.  With NCL, you do what you want, when you want.  So far, we’ve found that the cafeteria-style food in the buffets are hit and miss, but you don’t need to eat it if you don’t like it.  When we boarded the ship, we were hungry after the 4-hour train ride, so we stowed our bags (all carry-on), changed into more comfortable clothes, then had a late lunch at the buffet.  Any familial tensions from our constant togetherness were quickly melting away. 

Jennifer and I made our way up to the spa, where NCL said it was running a promotion for discounted access to the spa for the length of the cruise for the first 40 passengers to sign up.  The spa is luxurious – gender-specific sauna, menthol steam room, hot tub, cold plunge, and waterfall-style showers.  There’s also a co-ed area that features a large hot tub with a ten-foot wide recliner with powerful bubble jets under it.  The co-ed area also has amazingly comfortable heated tile seats sculpted in a recliner position, with cushioned headrests.  Best of all, the spa was virtually empty.  We signed up on the spot, and spent the next hour there.  There’s nothing quite like sailing down the Grand Canal of Venice standing buck naked in a sauna, looking out of panoramic windows as the storied buildings of Venice pass by.  I later heard that, one deck above, more than 1000 passengers were jammed together, trying to hear the commentary by the cruise director.  I much preferred the quiet relaxation of the spa. 

In the steam room, I would breathe in and out through my nose, trying to loosen and clear my sinuses.  Alternating between the steam room, the cold plunge, the sauna, the cold plunge, the hot tub, the cold plunge, etc., seemed to help bleed out the symptoms of my cold. 

After a bit of soup, I was done for, and went to bed.  I actually managed to get about 5 hours of sleep, which for me is a better than average night’s rest, and luxurious compared to my sleeplessness of the night before.  Meanwhile, Jennifer and the kids went to the opening night’s show, which featured the typically earnest but bad song and dance act that mid-range cruise lines manage to stage, followed by a strange duo – he was a stylized circus clown and she was a super-cheerful assistant who juggled.  I can’t describe it any more than that since I wasn’t there, but the others agreed it was strange and occasionally entertaining. 

Sunday, July 7:

After my usual up-and-down routine, I arose from my restless state, slipped out of the cabin and walked up one flight for a light breakfast.  I think the time in the spa helped with my cold; my nose is not leaking as much.  When the spa opened at 8 am, I was the first one in, and spent another hour doing the same routine.  Jennifer joined me in the spa around 8:30 – I forgot to turn off the alarm on the cell phone that the kids had used to help them get up yesterday (oops) – and we spent a while in the spa.  I think the spa will be my favorite spot on the ship. 

We met up with the kids for their breakfast at 10, then Kirsten went to lay in the sun while the rest of us played card games.  We berthed in Dubrovnik at 2 pm, went to the old walled town and walked around that amazingly preserved city.  The damage from the 1990’s civil war that tore apart Yugoslavia and led to the current borders is completely repaired.  We walked the city walls, browsed through the streets so narrow you could touch the buildings on either side with your hands outstretched, bought some things, and people-watched.  I noticed several girls checking out Spencer, who responded in kind.  We were chased back to the ship by a looming thunderstorm, heralded by several cracks of thunder, and got in the taxi just as the rain started then quickly dissipated. 

After everyone got dinner on their own schedules, we met in the theater for an acrobatic show by a Polish husband and wife team.  They were former Cirque de Soliel performers well-trained in ballet, who did some remarkable things with lifts, suspended rings, ropes, and silk strands.  Talk about being in great shape, especially since she had a baby 18 months ago. 

At around midnight, Kirsten and Spencer went up the disco, where it was 70’s night.  I shudder at the thought. I couldn’t stand disco when I endured it in my teens the first time around, and now it’s kitsch.  I think that I’m the only person in my generation who has not watched Saturday Night Fever.  Any time I hear the BeeGee’s, I am motivated to terminate with extreme prejudice the source of the squealing.  But Kirsten said the disco was okay, except that there were a lot of middle-aged drunk Europeans trying to imitate John Travolta.  My eyes, my eyes!

Monday, July 8:

We lost an hour overnight as we continue to sail towards Greece.  I’m sure we’ll find it later in the week.  Today is a sea day, so the ship will be busy.  I told the kids to sleep in, do their own thing, and maybe we’d see them sometime during the day.  As usual, I was awake early, and spent a couple of hours in the spa.   Jennifer joined me, although we spent most of our time in the gender-specific sides.  Being in the steam room is really helping relieve the symptoms of my cold. 

I did some reading for tomorrow’s port call (Athens), since we had decided that we didn’t want to be captive to a scheduled tour.  Jennifer went back to the spa.  Eventually we met up with the kids; while Spencer took a nap, Kirsten and Jennifer went for a walk on the fitness track, Garrett and I played ping pong and shuffleboard, then Kirsten and I browsed the ridiculously high-priced shopping areas, then she tried her hand at shuffleboard.  Jennifer was the only one who wanted to go to the show – a band named 4Ever.  She discovered it was a group of Spanish men in their mid-30’s trying to be a boy band, and fled after 15 minutes because it was so loud and not well done.  

In the evening, Garrett went to bed early, while Kirsten and Spencer met up with some other young adults they had met.  Jennifer and I went to the spa again (our favorite place on the ship, we’ve decided), and they kicked us out 10 minutes after closing time.  We decided we were hungry and had a late dinner.  It’s nice to be able to have someone prepare food for you anytime you want it. 

Tuesday, July 8:

We arrived the Port of Piraeus at dawn, and by 7 am passengers were disembarking.  Since the ship was sailing at 5 pm, we knew we’d have to avoid our traditional 10 am or later starts.  We all agreed last night to be ready by 7 am.  Garrett took it upon himself to police everyone, waking up at 6 am and urging everyone to get up and see the sunrise.  His invitation was not well received by either his siblings or his parents. 

We walked out of the cruise ship terminal with the intention of walking to the Metro, a bit over a kilometer up the waterfront.  We were immediately set upon by a horde of persistent taxicab drivers, offering (and in some cases demanding) to take us on a full-day guided tour of Athens.  As expected, all refused to drive us to the Metro, instead awaiting the possibility of bigger fish behind us.  It was still early and not yet hot, so the walk was not bad.  We bought 10 tickets for the Metro at a nearby newsstand (5 in, 5 back) for 16 Euros, and seven stops later we were at Monastiraki, just north of the Acropolis.  We walked up the hill and arrived just before the tour buses for the Jade, carrying passengers who had paid $150 each for the same transportation, plus the privilege to follow a tour guide reciting the same information on the signs and in Mr. Steve’s book.  We moved at our own pace, lingered when things interested us, moved on when we were done. 

The Acropolis really is a remarkable place.  To have two year-round fresh water springs bubbling out of the rocky outcropping, forming a naturally defensive area with plenty of fertile land beneath, with close proximity to the ocean, is hard to duplicate elsewhere. Archeologists have found evidence of settlements there dating back to 6800 BC.  The Myceans first fortified the place in 1400 AD.  After the Athenians defeated the Persians in the sixth century BC, they collected tribute money from the surrounding kingdoms.  The Parthenon, with its remarkable design, proportions, and sculpture, was built in only 10 years, and the rest of the buildings on the Acropolis were finished soon thereafter, all built by free men, not slaves.  The visionary Pericles banned servitude and instituted the democratic principles that have guided the West ever since. 

Below the Acropolis, we walked through the Agora, which was the hub of Athenian life.  Socrates would frequently sit there, questioning his students and other passersby.  Diogenes would streak by occasionally, holding a lantern and looking for an honest man, or do more degenerate things in public.  By the third century BC, Athens was under Roman rule, although Rome had with a light hand since they were fond of the great contributions of Athens.  Romans made lots of improvements to the city.  The Apostle Paul showed up in about 55 AD and preached a sermon on Mars Hill, but was generally ignored, so he moved on to Corinth and found more believers. Early in the second century AD, invaders coming down from the Black Sea sacked and burned the city, and Athens languished as a backwater for hundreds of years.  The center of the Parthenon was blown up in 1690s when the Ottoman Turks stored gunpowder there, and the attacking Venetians hit the stash with a mortar shell.  In 1801, Lord Elgin appropriated the Parthenon carvings for the UK, and the Greeks are still holding their breath waiting for Britain to give them back.  Athens became relevant when Greece won its independence from the Ottomans in the 1830s and selected Athens to be the capital.  Now it’s a sprawling, dirty, polluted city of over 4 million that was spruced up early in the decade for the Olympics, but is now grinding through a deep recession with 25%+ unemployment.  End of history lesson. 

After we finished our walk through history, we walked through the Athens flea market, a sprawling collection of schlock interspersed with some junk, and occasional decent shops.  Kirsten haggled for some leather goods, Spencer bought a bowl, and everyone had fun browsing and declining offers of “my friend, my friend, come, come!”  We ate a huge lunch, then slowly made our way back to the Metro for the ride back to the port.  It was well over 90 degrees by then, so we found a taxi driver who was happy to cram all 5 of us in for the ride back to the ship for 5 Euros.  Where were you this morning, my friend?

Back on board, the kids promptly napped, and Jennifer and I – you guessed it – went to the spa.  This cruising stuff is hard work.  Later, we had a family dinner at one of the on-board specialty restaurants.  It was surprisingly good, several steps up from the regular buffet tables.  I read my book then went to bed early as everyone else went to the show (Motown songs with the audience voting which was the least worst; I was later informed it was almost as bad as I thought it would be).  The kids are making friends and are hanging out with them at night. 

Wednesday, July 9:

This morning the ship docked in Izmir, Turkey.  Anciently the city was known as Smyrna, and has been the launching site of millenniums of invasions of Asia Minor.  It was the home of one of the seven Christian churches mentioned in the Book of Revelation.  After the arrival of Muslims in the 8^th Century AD, the city was known as “Infidel Izmir” because it was the foothold of the crusaders, Venetians, and various other western empires.   At the end of World War I, the Greeks invaded Turkey through Izmir; in 1922, the Turks surrounded Izmir, then set fire to the non-Muslim parts of the city, burning it to the ground and killing thousands of non-Muslims, while hundreds of thousands of others huddled on the shore, where they eventually fled to other countries.  Izmir today is Turkey’s second largest city of over 4.5 million, and is a major port for exporting Turkish agricultural products. 

I had arranged a private tour of ancient Ephesus and whatever else we wanted to do. Spencer had stayed out late the night before, so he begged off today’s tour so he could sleep and relax.  The rest of us were met by our driver and tour guide. Ephesus is about 40 miles to the south of Izmir, and between 300 BC and 500 AD was the capital and economic center of Asia Minor.  It sits between two large hills, with the commercial center in the valley and the residences running up the sides of the hills.  The Romans built on the existing Greek city, and by 100 AD Ephesus had over 250,000 inhabitants.  Over time, the shallow harbor silted up, and the town was mostly destroyed by a massive earthquake in the 6^th Century AD.  Its remaining inhabitants went elsewhere, and over the next 1300 years, the ruins were completely covered by silt and mud flowing from the hills, and its location lost to memory.

In 1860, a British archeologist correctly deduced the location of Ephesus, started digging, and found the ruins bearing inscriptions with the city’s name.  Today, only 8% of the city has been excavated beneath more than 20 feet of dirt.  We walked from the upper end of the excavation site downhill through the main drag, past the ancient medical school and pharmacy (dating to 200 BC), looked at the restored Library of Celsus, and to the rebuilt amphitheater with a 25,000 person seating capacity.  It was the site of some of Paul's preaching, where he had a good deal of success.  Later, between about 250 AD and 324 AD, the amphitheater was used to kill Christians for the entertainment of the Roman citizens. 

From Ephesus, we wanted to go shopping for leather goods, so our guide took us to a factory outlet for Rossini, a high-end Italian fashion company.  We were given a private fashion show complete with pouty models strutting on the runway, while we rolled our eyes at each other.  This was not what we had in mind.  We browsed the showroom while the persistent salesman assured us that we should ignore the prices on the tags (starting at $1600 and going above $2000 for jackets), since their asking price was 60% off, and we could haggle from there.  The leather was supple and the garments were nice, but we were not about to spend $800 (or even half that) for a jacket.  It made for a good story, however.

At Jennifer’s request, we then stopped at a pottery factory, where we watched a master potter effortlessly throw a vase and lid.  Garrett wanted to try, so he put on an apron and started to pull a cylinder, doing well for his first time on a wheel.  Eventually it got out of center and collapsed, and we moved on to see the painters painstakingly finish the pieces before being fired.  We walked into the huge showroom and were overwhelmed by thousands of pieces of pottery, most intricately finished.  Jennifer selected a small plate, and I chose a tile, each with different depictions of the tree of life.

Our guide then took us to a restaurant for an excellent Turkish lunch, with an assortment of appetizers and meats.  We chatted with our guide, and learned he had graduated from college in tourism in 2000, and had been a professional guide ever since.  He was raised in Anarka, lived in Izmir, and did tours throughout Turkey.  When Jennifer asked if he had a family, he launched into a long story of how he was in the process of separating from his wife, who had moved out unannounced several weeks ago, and taken their 3 year old daughter with her.  Perhaps that’s why he seemed somewhat distracted and was frequently on the phone during parts of our tour. 

After lunch, Kirsten wanted to try Turkish Delight, so we went to a place that made nothing but that.  The owner set out bowls of more than 20 variations of the treat, and invited us to sample each flavor of small cubes.  We ended up buying two boxes, then wondered if we could carry it onto the ship, since outside food and drink was supposedly banned.  We ended up having no problems. 

Upon our return to the ship, we had to rest after another arduous day of vacation.  We met for dinner at the Japanese steakhouse, where a Filipino cook garbed in a Rising Sun chef hat sliced and diced and tossed surf and turf onto our plates.  Not bad stuff.  After another trip to the spa, Jennifer and I joined Garrett on the front row of the auditorium for the magician show.  The show started by us being subjected to 15 minutes of video telling us that this magician had been named Italy's magician of the year in 2012, which had the curious effect of both raising our expectations and turning us off at the sledgehammer repetitiveness.  As it turned out, the show wasn’t that good – virtually all of his tricks were straightforward, and relatively easy to figure out.  Capped with his arrogance (repeatedly gesturing to the audience to clap more, and more, and more), combined with the lackluster response from the crowd, and I think it’s safe to say that my opinion was shared by many. 

Thursday, July 11:

Today is a sea day, as we cruise south of the Poloponnise on our way back up the Aegean Sea.  As usual, I was awake early, and went upstairs for some breakfast and to await the opening of the spa at 8 am.  I was in the spa for nearly two hours, and had the whole place to myself.  It’s a wonderful oasis amid the teeming masses in other areas of the ship.  Jennifer found me in the library around 10, where I was reading more about tomorrow’s destination of Split.  She was on her way to the spa after having slept in.  Good for her.   We had a relatively quiet day, reading, napping, and playing card games with the kids.  Kirsten and Spencer have been staying out late into the night with others of their age, either in the disco or the hot tubs or some of the lounges.  They seem to be having a good time.

Friday July 12:

It was a relaxed morning, as I followed my usual routine:  up early, breakfast, and first one in the spa.  I also got early boarding passes for the tenders to today’s port of Split, Croatia, since there is no dock large enough to handle the ship.  Four tenders started running at 11 am, but two quickly developed engine trouble, slowing the passenger transfer to a crawl.  We finally got to shore at about 12:15 pm.  We spent most of the afternoon walking around the town that grew around and inside the former retirement home of the Roman Emperor Diocletan, who ruled the Empire from 284 to 305 AD, then spent the last few years at his massive palace.  Diocletan is most known for banning Christianity, and under his reign many were killed in the arenas.  Ironically, over his tomb is a Christian church built in the 6^th Century.  After the Romans retreated from what was then called Dalmatia early in the 5th Century, the locals moved into the palace and proceeded to subdivide it for the next 1500 years.  Today, you can make out the original palace walls and arches, filled in, new windows and doors created, and a warren of streets and houses with the original palace floor forming a uniform base.  Unfortunately, most of the shops offer the same schlocky tourist crap made in China.  I mainly looked at the architecture, while the rest of the family sorted through the chaff.  By 4 pm we were back on the ship.

I found myself a little melancholy as we came back on board.  I was getting a bit tired of being the planner and tour guide, and was feeling underappreciated by my kids.  Sometimes I feel like I am pulling them along, and they neither appreciate my efforts nor offer to help out.  Maybe I’ll turn Paris over to them and take a back seat. 

In the evening, we went to the final show, which was a strange combination of modern interpretive dance, a few magic tricks, and some gymnastics.  After a family dinner, we attended the chocolate lovers dessert spread, but I found little there to my liking.  More than anything, I felt ready to be done with the cruise.  Maybe I should have gone to the spa instead.  Alas, the spa is closed for the duration.  We disembark tomorrow morning back in Venice. 

Europe Days 7-10: Rome

Tuesday, July 2:  Up and out the door by 7:30 am to make our way to Gatwick for our 9:20 flight to Rome on British Air.  In putting the trip together, I’d assumed we’d take the trains everywhere.  I was surprised to learn however, that we could fly to Rome for the same cost that we could take the train to Paris.  And after we decided to throw the cruise into our trip (we leave this Saturday, July 6, out of Venice), flying from London to Rome made both logistical and economic sense.  The flight on the 737-436 was uneventful – the gate agents didn’t look twice at our carry-on bags (Iceland Air could learn some lessons from BA).  We stopped at the local TI (tourist information office), and bought Roma Passes, which provide free entrance into two major sights, 30% discount into others, and free metro and bus travel for 3 days.  The TI also advised us to take a cab into Rome, since that was cheaper than five people buying tickets for the train. 

I could not figure out how to make my cell phone call the cell numbers of others in the EU, however, so I could not get hold of the renter of our apartment in Rome.  When the taxi finally dropped us off, I borrowed the phone from the girl in the shop next door to call the owner.  He ran right over, let us in, and showed me that I must actually dial the “+” symbol.  That’s a new one for me!  But it worked. 

Our apartment at 41 Via Baccina is in the center of Rome.  Kirsten says it has a lot of character.  It’s in a building that is older than the USA. The ceilings are at least 14 feet high, and there are huge windows with wooden shutters that open up above the narrow cobblestone street.  There is no A/C, but even on a hot day like today, the breeze wafts through the open windows (no screens provided or needed), carrying the distant sound of the diners in the nearby cafes and neighbors socializing in the square a block away.  We have three bedrooms, so Kirsten is delighted to have her own room.  It’s less than 5 minutes walk to the Forum or Colosseum, 15 minutes to the main Termini train station. There is a clothes washer, so we’re finishing up our fourth load.  No clothes dryer, but hanging the clothes out in the apartment makes most dry in a few hours. 

This afternoon we walked by the Roman Forum – we’ll go through it tomorrow – and over to the Pantheon.  That building is amazing, especially considering it has stood for nearly 2000 years while the rest of the Roman buildings have crumbled.  We hung out in several squares, especially the Piazza Navona, before heading over to a restaurant recommended by Rick Steves, whose guides are downloaded on my phone and the iPad.  It was a great way to start our Roman holiday. 

Wednesday, July 3: 

I got up at around 7:30 am, and while everyone else was sleeping in, went out and walked around the neighborhood.  I had a croissant at the corner coffee bar, scoped out local wifi hot spots (no internet in our historic apartment), bought some groceries, and got the feel of the area.  At about 9:00, Jennifer emerged from the bedroom.  At 11 am, I rolled the kids out of bed, otherwise they might have stayed there until the afternoon.  After a lazy breakfast, we finally got on our way just before noon. 

Five minutes late we were at the Colosseum.  We skipped the long line using the Roma Passes, and gazed in wonder at that arena of death.  What a remarkable feat of engineering for such a base purpose.  We read how in the first 100 days of operation in about 80 AD, 2000 people and 9000 animals were killed.  What does it say of the people who were so jaded that the point of sporting events was to kill virtually all the participants? 

We then hiked up Palatine Hill and looked at the ruins of the Emperor’s palace, and shook our heads at the decadence of the Romans.  Behind the palace was Circus Maximus, the chariot track that was the basis for the climactic scene of Ben Hur.  It held an astonishing 250,000 people.  We read how 12 daily races were held on 240 days of the year.  There were 4 primary teams, color-coded, and fans would root for their team and fight with supporters of other teams.  Sounds like English soccer hooligans or Philadelphia Eagles fans. 

By then, it was 3 pm, and we were dusty, footsore, and hot (it was a bright sunny day in the high 80’s).  We looked over the rubble of the Forum, decided we’d had enough ruins for the day, and went back to the apartment for lunch and a nap. 

We emerged at about 6 pm and walked over to the Trevi Fountain, threw coins in over our shoulders while making a wish, and people-watched for a while.  We then made our way to the Spanish Steps, where Garrett fished some roses out of the Sinking Boat fountain.  The first one he got out, he handed to Spencer, and almost immediately the rose vendor came over and snatched it out of Spencer’s hand, then walked away.  Spencer was so surprised, he didn’t know what to say.  I guess the vendor recycled his roses by selling them several times in the evening, and didn’t want anyone else on his turf.  Garrett nevertheless captured four other roses, and offered one to each of us.  Jennifer ended up with two, and Spencer with the other two. 

At about 9 pm we decided we were hungry, so after consulting Mr. Steves, we ate at one of his recommended restaurants.  We emerged at about 10:30, feeling very much like we were on the Roman timetable.  We read that unemployment among Romans under age 30 was above 25%, and even higher for men.  Traditionally, Italian men live with their parents until they get married, often until their 30’s, and are mama’s boys, sleeping until noon, going out with friends, and staying out until 2 am or so.  It’s not going to be that way with my kids.  But to further the “when in Rome” vibe, after dinner we stopped for gelato, and Spencer gave his roses to the girl who scooped our ice cream as we were walking out.  Bella, amour!

Thursday, July 4:

We rolled out of the apartment at the ungodly early hour of 9:15 am, taking the Metro over to St. Peter’s Square.  Our plan was to go through St. Peter’s in the morning, have lunch, then tour the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel in the afternoon.  We arrived at about 10 am, and found that the line to enter St. Peter’s stretched ¾ of the way around the colonnade, or more than a half-mile long.  We shuffled along and as dozens of Asian tourists (Chinese, I think) blatantly crowded in line in front of us.  The German tour guide close to us kept shooing them away, but they just moved 10 people away and broke back into line.  It’s all about me, right?

We finally entered that monumental edifice.  I had been reading snippets about St. Peter’s to the kids, such as how the old Circus used to be located there, which was where Nero executed Peter in around 65 AD, how there used to be an old building there but in the 1400’s the Pope decided a grander church was needed, how the cost of building it led the sale of indulgences, which led to Martin Luther getting upset, which led to his 95 Theses and the whole Protestant Reformation.  Talk about unintended consequences. 

Despite the crowds, I was moved as I looked at the Pieta.  Michelangelo was only 24 when he created that remarkable work.  To have the ability to convey such emotion at that age was remarkable.  I shook my head as I saw the notations on the floor of where other major churches would measure if inside, and wondered who it was that came up with that arrogant piece of one-upsmanship, and why it was endorsed.  But then again, I’m not a big fan of cathedrals that have over-the-top gilt and glitz and glam.  For example, the plain ceiling portions of St. Paul’s were so much better than the glittering mosaics that were added in the Victorian age.  And I wonder why so much money is spent on those towering cathedrals that rarely are filled with the penitent.  Anyway, viewed through my jaded lens, I soon had my fill of St. Peter’s.  I’ve been twice, and think that’s enough for one life. 

After a simple lunch with the help of Mr. Steves, we entered the Vatican Museum.  If I thought that St. Peter’s was a testament to excess, then the displays in the Vatican Museum were an embarrassment of riches.  Entire rooms were stacked with hundreds of Greek and Roman sculptures.  Where the tasteful presentation of a half-dozen or so per room might have been stunning, putting hundreds into a room, then another hundred in the next room, and on and on, was overkill to the nth degree.  There is no way that any person can appreciate, or even view, such a deluge of art.  The effect is quickly numbing, contributing to a growing sense of anger at the lack of proportion and selfish hoarding of such remarkable treasures.  What right does the Vatican have to collect and retain the treasures of so many civilizations?  If the Greeks are upset at the English about the Elgin marbles, they should be ten times as furious at the Vatican.  But I digress.

Eventually, we made our way into the Sistine Chapel.  We spent well over an hour gazing at the masterwork of Michelangelo, in both the great ceiling, and the wall of final judgment.  Every face has a story to tell, especially in the last judgment.  No one is smiling – not Jesus, or the angels, or the resurrected, or especially the damned.  I could have spent much longer there (despite the constant yells of “silencio” by the Vatican police), but the kids were growing restless. 

On the way out we passed even more art, including a collection of maps and globes showing the emerging view of the western hemisphere.  I am fond of maps, and liked looking at the now-obvious errors due to the lack of precision in longitude, and lack of exploration.  I find old maps with errors to be a humbling reminder of the limits of our knowledge: there be dragons there. 

On the way back to the Metro, Kirsten and Jennifer wanted to stop at some street vendors and shop, so I sat with the boys at an air-conditioned McDonalds, drank a Coke Light, and rested.  Eventually, we descended into the Metro and found it was rush hour.  People were squeezed tight against each other.  Sometime during the ride, my right front pants pocket was picked, with the thief extracting all of our Roma Passes and about 35 euro in bills.  Thankfully, they didn’t get all of the bills, or my credit card, or my money belt.  I should have put the cash and cards back in my money belt, but was tired and careless.  Lesson learned. 

We made it back to our apartment and rested a bit, then watched as a brief but intense thunderstorm swept the streets.  It quickly passed, and knocked down the temperature by about 10 degrees.  We went to one of the eateries on the local square and had pizza and pasta (again).  There is little variation in the menus, it seems.  All very good, but the monotony is getting old.  I expected better cooking and greater variation in Rome restaurants. 

After dinner, I sat at the local square by the wifi access point and did some research on shore expeditions for next week, sending a dozen emails to possible tour guides.  I have little interest in taking the ship-sponsored tours, as I find them bloated, overpriced, crowded, dull, and insipid.  Ask me later what I really think.  We’ll see what we end up actually doing. 

I just glanced up at the clock and realized it’s 12:15 am on the morning of July 5.  The fireworks have not yet been lit in DC.  Happy birthday America!  Traveling reinforces how very fortunate I am to live in America, have the political, economic, religious, and cultural freedoms and opportunities that I do.  It’s nice to see other places, but it’s nice to come home again.  

My throat has been a little sore for the past couple of days, and I’ve started a post-nasal drip.  I hope I get over the cold quickly, and don’t give it to the rest of my family.

Friday, July 5:

I woke up with full-blown cold symptoms:  headache, congestion, runny nose, sore throat, no appetite, etc.  Today’s plan was to go shopping, but I opted out and instead laid about the apartment, trying and failing to nap, doing some laundry, and updating this blog.  I also walked down to the local pharmacy and got some Italian medicine for cold symptoms.  The pharmacist told me to take one at night, so I dripped and hacked through the rest of the day.  At 7 pm I took the first pill, and if anything my symptoms got worse.  I took another at about 11 pm.  I also broke open a package of Zithromax that I usually carry on trips.  I didn’t know if my cold would respond to it, but I’m willing to do what I can to control the symptoms.  Lots of hand-washing to minimize the risk of spreading germs. 

While I was making phlegm, Jennifer and the kids took a taxi to a market and spent several hours looking at the local offerings.  They came back with shirts for Spencer and Garrett, shoes for Spencer, and pants for Kirsten.  Jennifer said her job was to pass out money.  I know how that feels.

We spent a couple of hours playing family card games, then went up to Gallery Bohrgese, a small museum with an astonishing collection of marble sculptures and paintings by Carravagio and his contemporaries.  The Galley controls crowds by admitting only 350 people every two hours.  It was a very well-presented and impressive collection.  Borhgese was a nephew of the Pope, so was appointed a Cardinal even though he didn’t have a religious bone in his body.  He was the party guy of the church, who entertained visiting nobles and diplomats, as well as commissioned and collected tons of art.  One of the paintings that made me smile was of the Madonna and Child, looking like ordinary people – no halos or angels – and the face of Mary was that of the most prominent prostitutes in Rome.  He was that kind of guy. 

Nearby I saw a Harley Davidson store, so of course I had to get a Rome HD shirt.  Riding a Harley in Rome would be even less practical than a car – nimble scooters rule the roads, and a hog would be cumbersome.  But it’s an image thing, I guess. 

We returned home and I skipped dinner, since I had no appetite.  I’ve been drinking lots of fluids.  Jennifer and the kids went to the nearby square and had pizza.  We began packing up, since we are leaving in the morning for Venice by train.  I thought I would go to sleep, since I had so may drugs in my body, but I could not get to sleep.  I tossed and turned, hacked and dripped, and got up a half-dozen times to get drinks or go potty.  A couple of times I laid down on the couch so I would not disturb Jennifer.  I watched the sun rise over the roofs of Rome, and felt gratitude that I have been able to spend this time with my family. 

Europe Days 1-6: London

Wednesday, June 26:  I had told the family that we were all going to travel with one carry-on bag each, and perhaps a single backpack between us.  Remarkably, each of us managed to do so with little struggle.  We arrived at IAD with plenty of time to get to our gate for our Iceland Air red eye to London, via Reykjavik.  The only reason we were flying Iceland Air was that it had enough free seats using my American Airlines miles.  The gate agents indicated that the flight was full, and rigorously enforced their smaller-than-usual size limitations for carry-on bags (22x8x14, instead of 24x9x14).  Kirsten and Spencer’s failed, because they had books packed in the outer compartments.  Even after we removed books, the gate agents insisted on gate checking their bags.  When we boarded the 757-200, we found that the bins were voluminous and mostly empty.  We muttered under our breath about nasty gate agents while our takeoff was delayed an hour due to thunderstorms in DC.  The captain assured us that our connections would be held for us in Reykjavik. 

Thursday, June 27:  We landed at Reykjavik at 7 am local time.  When trying to board our connection to Heathrow, the gate agent discovered that Spencer and I had tickets to Gatwick, unlike the rest who had tickets to Heathrow.  That was the first time I’d noticed that – I had booked the tickets in two different transactions, since I did not have enough miles for all five of us when I first booked the tickets.  I was assisted during the second transaction by an AA agent, who I had instructed to match the first reservation.  She assured me that she had done so, and I saw that the flight arrival times were the same in both Iceland and London, and looked no further.  Nor did the agents in DC point this out when they gate checked Spencer’s bag to Heathrow.  They were too busy being bag Nazis instead of being helpful.  The line-level agent in Reykjavik said that there was no way that she could change it.  I asked for a supervisor to please come over, and the line agent repeatedly told me that the supervisor could do nothing but sell me two new tickets.  Fortunately, the supervisor displayed more common sense, and promptly let us board the Heathrow flight with the rest of my family, hand writing new seat numbers for our Heathrow flight on our Gatwick boarding passes.  

The red eye flights were icky, as usual.  Jennifer and I had an open seat between us, and the seat pitch was a generous 33 inches, but it’s impossible to get comfortable during a red-eye in economy class.  We dozed as much as we could, but arrived in London bleary and tired.  For me it wasn’t much different from most nights since my leaky neobladder was installed.  Welcome to my world, I told the kids.  I’m still awaiting their sympathy.

When we picked up the two bags from bag check, we found that the retractable handle on Spencer’s bag had been completely torn off.  This was my old Delsey bag that had served me faithfully for years.  We were not about to tour Europe with a broken roller board, so we made out way over to the baggage claims desk.  They took one look at the broken handle, and rolled out three new bags, and told us to choose.  Only one – a hard sided spinner -- was a true carry-on size; the other two would have to be checked.   We selected the smallest spinner, unpacked and repacked Spencer’s bag, and abandoned the broken Delsey to its ignomious fate. 

We stumbled out of baggage claim in search of an ATM to get some pounds.  I tried withdrawing cash and found that the transaction was declined.  I tried another ATM and it too was rejected – this time, it said that my card had expired.  Duh!  Note to self:  before traveling aboard, check the expiration dates of your ATM cards.  Fortunately, Jennifer’s worked, and we added poundage to our collection.  As we went to the hotel to drop our bags, I wondered if the entire trip was going to be a comedy of errors. 

I knew that the best way to get over jet lag when traveling overnight from the US to Europe was to just push through the first day.  Much as the kids wanted to take a nap, I pushed them out of the hotel and into the center of London.  We walked from Waterloo Station, past the London Eye and saw the monstrous line to that steroidal Ferris wheel, and decided we might do that later.  We walked across Westminster Bridge to Parliament, and then decided we were starving.  We entered the first pub we found and ate some really horrible fish and chips, and bangers and mash.  Bad call.  We ambled up the road, past the spot where Charles I was beheaded in 1649, and ran into a parade of the Horse Guards.  Photo nirvana for Jennifer!  We then sat on the lions at Trafalgar Square, only to be whistled at by a nervous Nellie bobby worried that we Americans would somehow slip off those venerable statutes, lose our grip, fall and land on our heads or other tender body parts, then try to make a claim at Old Bailey.  I wasn’t about to do so, but he was rather insistent in his tweeting, so eventually we decided it was time to move on.

At the top of Trafalgar Square, we paid homage to the statute of George Washington, presented by our very own Commonwealth after the second time we bailed the British out a World War.  I guess they had to grit their teeth and say thanks, but I did notice more pigeon poop than usual on George’s head.

We knew we were running on fumes, but Jennifer was insistent that we see Covent Gardens.  It was one of her favorite places when she was here with me in 1985, and a couple of times during the 90’s when she joined me on business travel.  We ambled over to discovery to our horror that Covent Gardens had been turned into the little brother of the Tyson’s Corner mall.  Bleah.  I have no interest in Gap or H&M or Coach or any of those other stores (except for the Apple store).  Now thoroughly dog-tired, we shuffled back to Waterloo Station and to our train to our the hotel, and crashed for the night.  My pad was soaked more deeply than usual, so it took longer for me to awaken from my incontinental drip. 

Friday June 28:  I woke up at 6 or 630 am, voided (again), then tried to slumber some more.  The family started showing signs of life at about 8.  We got out of the hotel at around 9 am and made our way over to St. Paul’s, where an enthusiastic guide gave a 90 minute fire hose of information, most of which went in one ear and out the other.  After we were released from our tour and sat for a moment to rest our eardrums and our feet, we made our way up the 500-plus steps to the top of the dome (pausing at the whispering dome level that does not work, at least with thousands of tourists down below and hundreds ringed around the inner base of the dome), and up to the top to the dome, where we were rained on while we slowly pushed our way past throngs of slow-moving tourists.  I was glad we were not like them, I told Jennifer, as others pushed their way past us. 

We made our way over to the Globe Theater, where we had previously booked groundling tickets to Macbeth – the only Globe tickets available during the 5 days were in town.  We stood next to the stage for nearly three hours watching an excellent performance in period costumes.  It was a lot of fun, but our feet were tired at the end!  Billy Boyd (Pippin in the Lord of the Rings trilogy) was cast as [forget the name, its Macbeths friend in Act 1 who is killed but whose son escapes] He was having fun when he came back as a ghost to torment Macbeth.  Spencer yelled “Go Pippin” during the encores.  We also saw the actors who played Macbeth, King Duncan, and Lady MacDuff exit while we were waiting for the women to emerge from the loo.  It was the best 5 pounds we spent while in the UK.

Our feet tired, we then took at taxi to the British Museum, where the kids looked at the Rosetta Stone, then ran out of gas.  They consented to wait for a bit while Jennifer and I looked at the rest of the Egyptian loot, the Assyrian winged bulls and lion hunt, the Elgin marbles, and the other spoils of the British Empire.  They wanted to see the mummies, so up we went.  They called it quits thereafter – we still had some residual jet lag, I think – so we went and ate some Korean bi bim bap.  I also stopped at the Car Phone Warehouse store and bought prepaid SIM cards for our three quad-band phones, so now we can call each other for 10 pence a minute instead of Verizon’s $1.49 or $1.99/min roaming rate, plus I have Internet access on my phone.  Then to the hotel to sleep.

Saturday, June 29:  Our first sunny day. We got to Portobello Road at about 11 am, where we slowly oozed along with thousands of others up the famous market.  The kids didn’t understand why Mom was singing “Portobello Road” from Mary Poppins.  We found little of interest, however, other than a café with a full English breakfast.  We then walked to Kensington Palace and laid on the grass for an hour or so, dozing.  We had little interest in seeing the actual palace interior, not caring about Victoria or Diana or Will and Kate.  Jennifer found some pictures of flowers in the sunken garden, and was happy to amble on. 

Our next objective was the Churchill War Bunkers, so we daringly boarded a double-decker bus that appeared to be moving towards the center of town.  Just past Wellington Arch, we ran into horrible traffic.  The driver ended the route early, parked the bus, shut it off, and got off.  All us Americans in the second level kept looking at each other like, what’s going on?  The driver poked his head up, saw us all, and said, “What are you doing?  I’m done!  Get off!”  Well, then. We eventually learned that many streets were closed due to a gay pride march.  We hailed a cab, but when we told him where we wanted to go, he said that we were better off to walk through St. James Park to get there, so we did.

The kids and I had been interested in seeing the Churchill Bunker and Museum, but by the time we got there we were pretty knackered.  We walked through the bunkers and got to the museum, only to find that it was put together by a director with ADHD. It made no sense whatsoever, and instead was an unfocused jumble of artifacts and displays. I’d read at least 4 books about the man, and named Spencer in part after Winston Spencer Churchill, so I’ve been kind of fond of the fellow, and even I found the museum a letdown. 

We then made our way over to the Eye, just across the River Thames, where I had pre-booked tickets for a 6:30 ride.  The line put to shame anything in Disney World:  A wait to get the tickets, then a huge snaking queue to get into the wheel itself.  We waited in line for 90 minutes to make one loop on the big Ferris wheel.  Waaaaay overrated.  Truly a once in a lifetime experience. 

Better pub food for dinner, at the Cabbage Patch in Twickenham, near the hotel.  But we still didn’t get in until after 10 pm.  I realized that we were pushing it too much.

Sunday, June 30:  To honor the day of rest, we slept in until 10:30 am.  I even managed to doze after my frequent awakenings.  We had two hotel rooms, and put the boys in one and the girls in another.  Garrett and Spencer played rock paper scissors for the trundle bed.  The A/C in our room was broken, and each day the temperature crept up a degree, until the last day it was 26C. 

Spencer decided he wanted his own day off, so he stayed the hotel where he slept some more, went over to the adjacent health club, did a hard workout, grazed on some food, did some reading, went into town for an AA meeting, had some dinner, and come back to the hotel.  Good for him for naming his needs and doing what it takes to meet his needs.  I’d told each of the kids before we left that this 24/7 family time might wear on us, and that we each needed to be aware of when we needed some time to ourselves. I’m sure that we all will be seeking our own rest days from time to time.  The last thing I want it to be so exhausted and snappish that we are hating each other and our vacation. 

At around midday on Sunday, the rest of us went to the Tower of London, where we enjoyed a wonderful tour by the Beefeater guards (possibly the best acting job in London).  We ate ice cream while waiting in line to see the crown jewels.  The kids were less impressed than I thought they would be – I guess they’re so used to seeing bling and fake rocks, that seeing the real things was underwhelming.  As Kirsten said, “there’s so much of it that it seems fake.”  We poked our heads in the White Tower, saw more armaments and the like, and decided that we were done with projections of power by empires for now. 

We jumped upon the Circle tube line out to Kew Gardens, where we spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying the beautiful gardens, greenhouses, groves, tree walk, and outdoors pleasure than emanates from beautiful living spaces.  Jennifer felt a much greater sense of balance there than anywhere else that we had been in the UK.

We ate an excellent Italian dinner in Richmond, which only got us more excited for the next leg of our journey.  We also decided to abandon the rest of our London itinerary, and spend tomorrow in the countryside.  I booked a rental car on my iPhone while at dinner, and while everyone else went home, I went to Heathrow to pick it up.  I reasoned that we were checking out and moving to a hotel near Gatwick to catch our early flight to Italy in July 2, and renting a car cost less than train tickets for the 5 of us.  Budget gave me a Citroen DS5, which is a 5 passenger station wagon (or “saloon”) with a long trunk (or “boot”) to hold our bags.  It wasn’t until I got in the left front door and saw there was no steering wheel that I remembered that this was the UK.  And it was a manual too!  Fortunately, I was by myself while I was figuring out how to work the GPS, shift with my left hand, drive on the left, look out the mirrors in reverse order, and find out hotel.  But I survived. 

Monday, July 1:  We were out the door by 8:30 am, with the car packed and ready to go, before I remembered that I had left the passports in the safe of the hotel room.  Glad I remembered.  We fit in the DS5 quite nicely, and rode out to Stonehenge – someplace Jennifer and I had always wanted to go, but had written it off for this trip.  It is in the middle of a field by a road, and is as strange and inexplicable as ever it has been.  Way cool. 

We then drove up to Bath, where supposedly my father’s ancestors are from.  I didn’t have time to look for relatives, so we instead ambled around the center of town, popping in shops and soaking up the feel of that beautiful country town.  After a pleasant afternoon, we drove back to Gatwick.  I dropped the family off at the Courtyard Marriott (I was using my accumulated points for the rooms), and returned the car.  Did you know that diesel is about $9/gal in the UK? And gas is about $8.50/gal?  We in the states have it pretty good. 

We ate dinner at the Marriott, which has been the single most expensive dinner on our trip so far.  Not the best, by any means – just the priciest.  

We fly to Rome tomorrow morning.