It's been a while... I was on strike (more on that later).
Saturday morning we woke up early to go biking in the Boulogne Forest (yes, the kids and I thought it was funny to call it the Bologna Forest, and yes, The Dad found zero humor in that).
We decided to get two tandems, as one drawback to the park is that there are motorways that crisscross fairly regularly. Aside from the safety factor for the kids, tandems are just cool. Or so I thought at the beginning when I pedaled along musing on how all was right in the world and I needed to figure out a lifestyle that enabled such excursions on a more consistent basis. The Boy was requesting that I ring the bell whenever possible, so I gently trilled it merrily through the forest of bologna. Yes, things were going well -- crisp air in our faces, enthusiastic humming and pedaling coming from behind me, beautiful surroundings. Things started going downhill, when things started going uphill, which was the same blasted time my partner realized that he was in charge of the gears in the back (being without gears myself, I assumed it was a cruiser). Within moments the output that was required of me was making me feel lightheaded and vomitous. I couldn't figure out what was going on, until I realized the humming and pedaling had stopped coming from behind, and instead I was hearing ah-ha's and click-click-clicking.
"Do you have gears back there?" Me
"Yes! Isn't it awesome that it gives me something to do in the backseat?" TB
"You're supposed to be pedaling. [gasp]" Me
"I will in a minute." TB
"What gear do you have it in? [weird gurgling sound]" Me
"Three. Now two. Now three!" TB
"Stop. Put it back where it was. [half whimper-half, murderous groan]" Me
"Okay. In a minute." TB
"Where it was!!! Now. I. Can't. Get. Up. This. Hill." Me
"Just a second. I know all about gears. Geez." TB
Fast forward just a few minutes -- past more family disfunction -- to the two of us standing by the side of the path next to a tandem bike with its chain hanging limply. Fortunately for us, while I was busy "explaining" to The Boy why you can't make motorcycle sounds and crank the gear shifter around, The Sister stopped and put the chain back on.
Bikes were returned, The Boy and I were friends again, and we were on the subway to meet one of our French friends at the Paris flea market -- Marche aux puces de Saint-Ouen. We had all been so looking forward to this, but I must say that we were feeling a bit droopy. End of the trip, end of a several mile bike ride... We rallied when we first got there -- and thought that everything looked awesome! -- but after a few minutes everything started looking similar-ish because of the sheer quantity. Not that we were looking for anything, but there was just a petite amount of the ennui tainting our adventure. During moments of clarity we knew that if we weren't so fatigued it would register how many potential treasures surrounded us. The Boy saw some Japanese Armor for sale, and was trying to calculate how much 25,000 euros would be in dollars (depressing math lesson for the day). He ended up getting an old toy police car that he and The Dad negotiated from 20 euros to 6. The Girl found some cool buttons for her button collection. The Dad found a record and acted incredulous that the rest of us didn't have a clue (a famous 1950's French crooner... the same guy that Disney based the candlestick on in Beauty and the Beast). I pawed through a pile of old pictures, and for four euros came away with these gems:
As tired as we were, we only had so much time left in Paris, so we dragged ourselves to and through some absolutely random neighborhood in the middle of nowhere to rent our car (it was the only Hertz location that would rent anything big enough for five people and luggage -- Europe is not always so accommodating to "large" families). After playing the car-rental game of sitting around for days and days while they type on their computers, we were on our way to Versailles.
It was too late to go inside (The Dad and I, having played that game, didn't want to, but there was a chance that The Sister would go... but the chance was snatched away from her by the car rental company's endless typing). Mostly, we were there to see the gardens and fountains.
The thing with Versailles is that the size is shocking. You look at a map, or models and think that you have a sense of its gigantic size, but it tricks you because the house looks to scale with the gardens, but it's almost inconceivable that the house is SO enormous, ergo the gardens are so enormous (or the gardens are so enormous, ergo the house is so enormous). Anyway. We missed one of the fountain displays (the fountains are gravity-fed, which is interesting) because the line to the toilet was also inconceivably enormous, but we did see one of the not-gravity-fed fountains that does a routine synchronized with music. We also saw people whizzing around on little golf carts that can be rented. I have to say that it kind of ruined the strolling-through-the-gardens feel of the place. But perhaps I was just pissy and jealous -- if somebody had handed me the keys to one I might have dumped my high garden-eperience standards.
The kids were sweet about the roaming about... we had a few history chats... a critical thinking discussion on Marie Antoinette (i.e. was she really in a position to "know better" or was she the product of her upbringing? What things are "we" allowing to happen? No right answers, just a way to get us all thinking...). The kids thought that there should be a cake shop there... you know, so we could all eat cake...
Cake sounded good, but not as good as bed...
