Leaving so soon?

Today I am much more at stable about the fact that we leave in a week. I was caught a bit off-guard at the realization in my last blog. It is funny that when I am not a planning maniac (as I usually am) about a trip that I become so surprised that it is nearly upon us.

Dear Sister has recovered from her pneumonia, at least to the point where I feel comfortable leaving the respirator at home (I’m only half-kidding here). We may not be able to run as hard and as fast as we did in Amsterdam, but I think the break will do her good. And so far, knock wood, I am still healthy, although I need to be nicer to my body after the punishment it took the last few days.

So yesterday, I buckled down and cancelled the newspaper for the week. I transferred my spending money from checking to savings. I double-checked my ATM daily withdrawal limit. I have 20€ in cash left from the last trip, which will get us a drink and a croissant when we hit French soil. Maybe.

Dear Sister, are you checking these little tasks off too?

Tonight I will thoroughly clean the apartment, since Dear Mother is coming in to tend to the cat, and I will call my credit cards and alert them to my upcoming travels.

This weekend I just want to relax, pack, do laundry and get excited.

I’ve come across a few things on Fodors and in a bit of travel guide reading that I might want to remember or add to the list, but if I don’t, that is ok. We’ll see how relaxed I can stay for how long, before I realize where I am what all there is to see.

Confidential to DS -- congratulations, little sister. They are lucky to get you and your passion.

One week???

Holy crap. As I was walking to work this morning, listening to My Daily French podcasts, I realized that next Thursday I will be needing to speak this language, since I will actually be in France!

I don’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden we are a week from departure. I think subconsciously I have been trying to get over obstacles and other events leading up to the trip and not really focusing on the trip itself. I had a few deadlines at work (indeed I still have one presentation to management the day before I leave!) and I had a spinning conference this past weekend that I was focused on. But now it’s down to the dirty details…

This weekend is my last high intensity training class, I get my hair cut, I start to pack, I need to clean the place since my dear mother is coming in daily to tend to the cat (can’t have her seeing the way it usually looks!). Holy crap, it’s my last weekend at home!

Downhill slide begins...T minus 19

Folks, I do believe the descent into vacation mode has begun. We are officially under twenty days from departure (dear sister, time to start looking, it’s coming whether you want to get on that plane or not!) and this morning, I can just feel it. That anticipation is building, my heart skips a beat as I practice my French podcasts on the way to work.

The signs at work are starting to pop up like crocuses at the spring thaw: I can actually count down that I only have two more Thursdays and Fridays at work, I’m scheduling meetings for after I get back, I’m pushing off deadlines until May. And I’m really starting to lose interest in my projects. I mean, how am I expected to care about any one of these projects when there’s the Louvre, a stack of Vermeers (well, three), the Orangerie, omelettes, wienerschintzel and Louis Vuitton waiting for us on the other side??? How cool is this? IT’S COMING!

I think as an adult, there is very little you can get all wired up and excited about like you did in the lead up to Christmas when you were 10. Sure, Broadway shows and concerts are fun, to some of us spinning conferences can fill the void, but for me, there’s nothing like stepping out of the airport and into a taxi in one of my favorite cities.

I think too, beneath her brave exterior, my sister is feeling it too. Last night we talked and I said, “Three weeks from right now, it’ll be 1 a.m. on our first night in Paris.” And aside from a few curse words and “Oh my god” she also said: “And we’ll just be coming in from late night at the Louvre and Moulin Rouge”….despite having had no sleep for the prior 36 hours!

Here it comes, Little Sister!

[Special thoughts to Dear Sister, who is currently battling flu-monia...we're expecting she'll be fully recovered to romp through the City of Lights, but I'm prepared to carry an IV pole and respirator if not...]

The way it should be

I've been watching HBO's series John Adams and I am hooked. In a big way. As in, this may be one of the best things I've watched this year. It's not too late to get in on it, as all of the three previous episodes are on HBO On Demand too.

But just a point...(because you know I have to make one). It is interesting to see these Fathers of Our Country portrayed and see how little ego was involved in a lot of their decisions. Indeed, when the Continental Congress was urging George Washington to step up to be president, he hemmed and hawed and tried to back down, thinking he wasn't the best man for the job. Ultimately he agreed, saying "But I will do it if that is what is best for the colonies." I'd be lying if I didn't say that a statement like that was refreshingly surprising. Then I realized, wait a minute, that's the way it's supposed to be.

I think today's politicians need to take some time out and watch this. Take note, take heed. For the good of the country, that's what it's all about. Not the special interests, not the corporations or nations bankrolling you, and certainly not YOU. Certainly, definitely not you.

Last steps before heading out

There are a handful of things I do at home before I leave on a trip just to make life easier and to launch a pre-emptive strike against near disaster. I offer these up as helpful hints. The “why” part might help you decide if you need to do them too.

1) Keep a copy of your passport in your luggage and at home.
Why? If on the odd chance you lose your passport, I have heard that it is infinitely faster to get the passport replaced with a copy rather than the Embassy having to research your data.

2) Call the credit cards you’ll be using on vacation and alert them; don’t talk to the first person to answer the phone, ask for the fraud department. Tell them where you’re going, where you may be passing through along the way and for how long. Tell them you expect to be shopping and charging hotel stays. Ask them to confirm the collect number on the back of the card in case you need to call them from your destination. Then, write your account numbers and that phone number down on a copy of your passport that you leave at home so someone could get it to you in the event you need it. Pack another copy of your passport and credit card collect phone number in your carry-on luggage.
Why? My first stop on one trip to Florence was to buy a leather jacket and briefcase. I hadn’t let the credit card company know about my trip and they shut my card down for suspicious/unusual activity. When I tried to call the collect phone number on the card from Italy (remember 800-numbers don’t work outside the US), it was out of service.

3) If you’ll be using an ATM card, get your daily withdrawal limit increased.
Why? If it’s set at $200, that’s roughly 120 euro now, which is about enough to eat for a day. Let the bank know the same thing I just wrote in #2 above. Then switch it back when you get home.

4) Cancel the newspapers, get someone to gather your mail, make provisions for the cat.
Why? Kind of obvious, Pookie needs to eat!

5) Confirm all your hotel reservations and flights.
Why? Please tell me I don’t have to explain...

6) Do the bulk of your packing the weekend before, especially if leaving mid-week.
Why? I usually work right up until about 4 hours before departure, so being able to go home, grab my bag and leave for the airport, without a last minute rush, is key to starting off relaxed and ready. Plus I’m less flustered/nervous/excited on the weekend, so I am thinking more clearly about what’s going in the bag.

Overall, just stop your planning and start to get into vacation mode about a week before. If you haven’t read it, planned it or booked it a week before you go, chances are it wasn’t high on your priority list. Learn to do what you can do with the time you have. Just go and enjoy!

It's enough to just go and "be"

It occurred to me last night as I talked to my sister about our upcoming trip to Paris and Vienna that I may be a bit spoiled. When I admitted to her that I hadn’t done any reading to prepare for the trip and she responded with a pregnant pause, I said to her “it’s like when you go to New York City, you just go and 'be' there, you don’t even think about it anymore.” And I realized that on this, my fifth trip to Paris, that is exactly what I was planning to do: go, be and enjoy, with the added benefit of seeing Paris through my sister’s eyes. This will be her first trip to the City of Lights. So with that in mind I tried to remember when I was first in Paris and what it was like for me. And this led me to wonder whether she might find it the same or different than I did.

In 1999, my mother and I spent a week in London. For both of us, it was our first trip together and for me, it was my first trip to someplace that was not Ireland or Scotland. So London itself wasn’t much of a stretch for me (Mom had been to Ireland and Scotland years before). Most of the UK and Ireland, at least the city parts of it, are pretty reminiscent of Boston and everyone speaks English and the food is pretty common with maybe a few things with different local naming conventions. So a week in London wasn’t too taxing on our minds. But a day trip to Paris, via the Eurostar train through the Channel Tunnel would be all the jolt that our systems needed to fuel future travel dreams.

We left London on the train and whisked our way to Paris, losing an hour on the way due to the GMT vs CET timezones. We arrived at Gare du Nord and made our way to the metro. Our first metro ride was memorable in that a homeless bum proceeded to urinate on to the floor in front of us all (a half-packed subway car) and then fall back to sleep. Somehow, working in Boston steeled me for things like this, but both of us, I’m sure, wondered if this is what the rest of our day had in store for us.

With only about 8 hours on the ground before our return to London, we had to prioritize our sightseeing. And in that time, we decided to visit the Louvre, Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysees, all of which were clustered somewhat close together, at least in theory. The day was a gloriously warm sunny spring day in March, (especially as compared to dark, damp and ultimately flu-inviting London) and we were blessed to be walking the Champs Elysees and seeing the Arc de Triomphe in all of its blinding white concrete splendor. The brighter the sun, the brighter the Arc shone. As we passed sidewalk cafes and noticed French people with little dogs on their laps, in their handbags and pooping all over the sidewalks (a unique feature that still exists today), we were instantly enamoured. We both had a vision of what Paris was, and here, on one of the most famous commercial and stereotypically Parisian boulevards in the world, we lived out that vision.

It was also here that we found a pressed sandwich that fueled us for the rest of our afternoon. A street vendor used a hot press to grill a long skinny loaf of bread filled with jambon et fromage (ham and cheese) and wrapped it in napkins for us to eat as we walked. We may have managed to find a rare empty spot on a bench and enjoy what was certainly to be one of the best sandwiches we ever had.

Moving on to the Louvre, we navigated our way through the throngs (it was a free Sunday at the Louvre, as I recall, so crowding was worse than usual) to find the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo and Winged Victory. Unlike other travelers, we were impressed with all three, not finding Mona disappointing or Venus and Victory over-estimated. Not knowing any better, however, we left the Louvre after seeing the Big Three and not enjoying any of the other masterpieces therein. Time was wasting and we had an itinerary to get to. Getting out of the Louvre was another thing in itself. I recall being cramped into a small elevator with several other people and the doors kept opening on to the same floor. We could not, it seemed, make our way to where we came in using this elevator. My Type A personality and a case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has erased how we eventually exited the museum.

From the Louvre, we walked along the Seine toward Notre Dame, marveling at the outdoor bird and domestic animal markets. How unique and interesting that in the late 90s, people still bought pets (and books, and art, and food) in street markets. We visited Notre Dame and admired it both inside and out (although it is gorgeous, we’d just seen Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, so comparatively speaking it was not the highlight of the day) and headed back to find some dinner before returning to the train.

It was here, along the Seine, heading back toward the Louvre, that I caught my one and only glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. It was only the top half of the structure and it was a silhouette only due to the haze and bright sun, but I saw it off in the distance and right then I knew, I’d be back. How can you not love all this? How can you not admire the height and beauty of the buildings (all significantly lower than the Eiffel Tower), the treasure trove of art, churches, culture, statues, history just sitting here waiting to be seen? It may seem criminal not to have experienced the Eiffel Tower from anything other than miles away, but the day wasn’t long enough and our priorities were otherwise. Oh, we’d be back, next year for sure (and the year after…). We had a case of "je ne c'est quoi" that only complete, weeks-long immersion was going to cure.

We wandered back along the Seine and found what I’m sure is the most touristy restaurant around, where we ordered something French that we recognized immediately on the menu. I have no recollection of what my meal was, but Mom had beef Bourguignon, which she loved.

Other than ordering food (and we took the safe route with instantly recognizable plates) we didn’t suffer much from the language barrier until it came time to buy cookies. We found a bakery across from the Louvre that had cookies sold by weight. My mother picked some out by pointing through the glass case and the cashier told her, in French, what the bill was. I had already headed toward the door, but I heard my mother say, “Just take what you need,” and I looked back to see her holding out all her change for the cashier. I intervened, and we enjoyed some really good butter cookies on the way back to London.

As we made the journey back to England, gaining back our hour lost that morning, we both knew we’d been bitten and were now officially smitten with Paris. I’ve seen it in other people who have made the same one-day journey. It’s as if they’ve cut their European Travel teeth in the UK and take the next logical baby step and then they are head over heels. On future trips we'd eat much better (yes, better than the pressed sandwich), give proper attention to the art, see the hidden gems we'd passed on that one-day journey, take daytrips to the surrounding areas, but we'd never, ever lose the magic that causes that intake of breath like it did when I spotted Le Tour Eiffel off in the distance. For me, it stays magical, but just more familiar with time, like returning to visit an old friend. Reliably the same, reliably beautiful, reliably magical.

So while I’m looking forward to whatever new adventures lie ahead in Paris in three weeks’ time (Auvers, L’Orangerie, etc.), I am more curious to watch my sister and see if she falls in love too. I know Amsterdam will be a hard act to follow and it will always be her first love, but I think it’s safe to say that this is one instance in life where you can indeed fall in love more than once.

I have jetlag and I haven't left home

I don't know exactly why this has happened, but after the earlier-than usual switch to Daylight Savings (damn you once and for all, W!), I am left with the lingering effects of jetlag. Yes, jetlag I said!

All was well and good on Sunday, because, well, it was Sunday, and I could sleep until 8 or 9 and not feel the effects. I should have known it would be bad when I looked to my soundly sleeping cat at 5:00 p.m., the time when ordinarily he'd be steamrolling over me to have his dinner, and asked him "Do you want supper?" and he raised and lowered his head, heaved a sigh and went back to sleep. Little did I know that that would be me the next morning.

So when the alarm goes off now at 6:10 it's pitch black again. It had taken a couple months to working back to hearing birds and seeing some sun as I got out of bed. Now it's pitch black and my body wants to heave a sigh and roll back over. Even the cat looks at me from his 3/4 of the bed and says "What-choo-talking about Willis?" when I go to get up. Even to him, the most nocturnal of animals, this is nonsense.

And don't try to counter with the argument that the daylight at the end of the day is better. I haven't found that yet. Last night I went to teach my spinning class and staggered across the parking lot in a sleep-deprived haze. It's the same feeling I have after a 7 hour overnight flight and then the fight to make it through my first full day without sleep. A dull ache in the temples, nothing but fog behind my eyes. And yes, I led a class of 17 through some sort of aerobic workout last night, but not without stammering all over myself and suffering some lack of coordination moves.

So maybe the earlier change will save on heat and electricity in the long run, but until I adjust to this new time zone, I'm entitled to be miserable.