Life in the Affirmative

It is ten o’clock here in Saratov, we are packed and are leaving this wonderful city along the Volga River tomorrow.   While the pictures that accompany this last posting are of the friends who welcomed us into their lives, the text of this post is an open letter to my wife.   The reason for this is simple; it is her willingness to live life in the affirmative that found us in Saratov.

Honey,

Most who read this letter will have heard me tell the story of how it took me about fifteen minutes to fall in love with you on our first date.  Our friends and relatives will have heard me talk about how cool I thought it was to finally meet a woman with such inner confidence and outer beauty.  What nobody knows, not even you until now, is just how badly I underestimated you on that first date, because I had no premonition on that night as to how much you would teach me about living life in the affirmative.  I am not sure where you developed your ability to live so boldly and confidently, but I am sure glad to share my life with you in the affirmative.

What is life in the affirmative? To me, it is the willingness to say “yes” to life’s opportunities and to ignore those that would see you not pursue a life of learning, experience, opportunity and adventure. And it is your willingness to answer both the personal “could I” and the plural “could we” in the affirmative that has always stuck out in mind as to what is the essence of the Karen I love.  Since the day I met you, I have been constantly impressed by your willingness to stare down your doubts, make the bold move and take on the big challenge with a confidence that can only come from one comfortable with living life in affirmative.

While I am impressed by this on a personal level, I am more thankful for the example that your life in the affirmative sets for our sons.  Every day, our sons see their mother head out the door and into a world of uncertainty with a clarity of vision about how to approach life.  In the evening, our sons see a confident woman come home from work to discuss with them the day's adventures and how to develop life strategies that will allow them to make choices in the affirmative.   Our sons may not always like some of the choices you are teaching them make, but they are each well on their way to becoming the “man amongst men” we always speak of due to the example you set for them each day.  As your husband and their father, there is no greater gift you can give me or our sons then to help guide them to their own lives in the affirmative.

Outside of this willingness to say “yes,”  I am not really sure if we could have agreed  to come to Saratov.  It would have been easier to say “No, thank you,” but we chose the affirmative answer and we are forever the better as a result.  We have met amazing people, learned about a new culture and, most importantly, taught our children that there is world beyond their front door that is both different and worth experiencing.  It was for these very types of experiences that we said yes to Saratov in the first place and I believe that there will be another Saratov like moment in the future.  I can tell you now that I am all for the next Saratov, because to not do so would mean not living life in affirmative and I would never deny you that essential part of your being.

Love,

Brian

Random Observation of the Week:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”  There are no finer words ever written in the secular world, Mr. Jefferson.  My family and I cannot wait to come back to the country, warts and all, these words gave birth to on July 4, 1776.

Peanut Butter and Opera

It would be remissive of me to not start this post with a mention of the heartache I felt when I heard about the tragedy in Aurora.   Like many of my Sweeney relatives, I have wandered far and wide from the mountain vistas and blue skies of Colorado, but I have never once thought of any other place as home.  Colorado is a place of wonder and beauty, but it is most importantly a place that loves its neighbor.  Being so far away, I have taken heart in the knowledge that the families affected will be comforted and supported by the people and communities of my home. 

 

PEANUT BUTTER

Peanut butter what?  What does peanut butter have to with Russia?  Yes, I can hear these questions about why I have chosen to write about peanut butter.   In fact, I can even imagine that one might be wondering if I have lost it over here if all I can thing to write about in Russia is peanut butter.  Well, I have not lost it over here and I write about peanut butter because it has helped us bridge a gap I could not have imagined when we packed our first jars of Skippy.  

When we arrived here, we were stunned at the extent to which American pop culture has permeated life in Saratov.  On TV, there are direct knockoffs of “Everybody Loves Raymond,” “King of Queens,” “Who’s the Boss” and “Married with Children” (down to the wife’s big red hair and shoe salesman).  Half of all songs played on the radio here are in English and Russia’s MTV also does not play music videos.  One can buy dubbed versions of just about every movie I have ever heard of on the streets for about $4.00 and I am amazed at the popularity of “The Godfather,” “Rambo,” “Die Hard” and John Wayne movies on television.  In short, the level of American cultural penetration here meant we were going to be hard pressed to find anything new about America to introduce to our friends, because they had already heard of Elvis.

 (Side note on “westernization”: It is almost impossible to find a t-shirt with Russian language writing on it. After mentioning our desire for this type of shirt to a friend, she special ordered us t-shirts with Russian writing.  I am not kidding.)

In truth, I am not sure if Karen and I really noticed this pop culture phenomenon until we started making friends and receiving invites to their houses.  It was at this point that we really understood how much of our pop culture is here, because we found it almost impossible to share anything of our culture that our hosts did not already know about America.   As a result, we were welcomed into our friend’s homes to eat their traditional foods and to share in their culture with only a de rigueur box of chocolates in our hands.  As the invites mounted, Karen and I really started to worry that we were not doing enough to share our culture. 

Our first thoughts on how to rectify this lack of cross cultural sharing were stymied because we had neither the facilities, i.e. table settings and serving platters, to host our friends nor the ability to buy the ingredients to our traditional foods.   

We continued to be stymied for a couple of months, until one day I opened up our cabinet and saw the one thing Russians know almost nothing about and exists in just about every house in America has: peanut butter.  Our friends had shared pelmeni (Russian Ravioli), kouliche (Easter Cake), shashlik (pork bar-b-q), etc. and now we had something to share with them that came from the center of our American food culture.   We had had peanut butter for the whole time, but it is so part and parcel to our diet that it never even dawned us that it was exactly the type of thing we needed to share our culture.  It is so quintessentially American that I knew we now had something to share with our Russian friends that would be unique and might possibly taste good to them on top of it all.  

What did Russian’s think of George Washington Carver’s invention?  Some absolutely loved it, most thought it was interesting and one absolutely hated it.   While I must say that I cannot understand how anyone can dislike peanut butter, I must admit that I will not go with a yard of caviar and that is close to a sin over here.  Who would have though peanut butter would help us share something new from our culture in a land where they have already heard of everything else American.  The jars we packed for our lunches turned out to be the one piece of American culture that we could readily share with our friends.

OPERA

There is an old and oft used literary reference to hayseeds falling off the country boy as he heads into town for the first time in his life.  For centuries, historians have relied on the term philistine to describe those peoples or persons that are neither learned nor interested in the acquisition of knowledge about the world around.  While I hate to think that I am a barbarian or just fell off the plow truck, I think both are potentially accurate descriptions of me when it comes to the world’s “finer” music, opera in particular.

Think I might be being a little harsh on myself? Wait, I think philistine and country hayseed may infer too much knowledge, I was a veritable babe in the woods as I entered the Saratov Opera House with my lovely wife a couple of months ago.  Prior to our attending a one night only performance of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly in May, I had never voluntarily listened to any opera in my life.  None. Not once.  My musical taste starts at Merle Haggard heads through the Stones and ends somewhere about Echo and the Bunnymen with a dose of The Clash. The only opera I had ever heard was the music that always seems to accompany the grisly scenes in mob movies.  

It is out of this glaring ignorance of an entire genre of music that had me agreeing to go with Karen for a night of culture.  I must admit that I was looking forward to this evening of culture like l look forward to paying taxes and visiting the dentist on the same day.   And I must admit that I was a complete moron to have avoided opera, at least live opera, for the first forty years of my life.  It was spectacular.

When the opera was being performed, I was like Julia Roberts (minus the tears and good looks) in the scene from Pretty Woman.  I was mesmerized.  In general, I cannot sit still- I fidget to fidget -but when the performers were on stage I could barely move a muscle as I tried to follow the story as I understood it from Karen’s reading the crib notes from Wikipedia to me before the show.  It was a good thing Karen had Googled the story, because I could not the read the Russian subtitles provided by the opera house. In reality, I think the subtitles would have been a distraction from the action, because I only half understood what was going on and my eyes still never left the stage for a minute.

What made the discovery of opera even cooler was that Karen and I were out on a date doing something other than just having a meal.  When we came over here, Karen and I had both wanted to expand the idea of date night to actually involve some culture.  Our first attempt at culture was an evening of chamber music and it was painful at times.  I had expected the same from opera, but learned that I will take an evening at the opera anytime.

RANDOM OBSERVATION

When thanking a driver in a car behind them for a kindness on the road, Russians engage their hazard lights rather put a hand out of their window or waving in the back window.  First time I saw this, I was riding in a car going Russia fast and the driver engaged the hazards.  The driver must have seen my unease with hazards being engaged at speed, because they chuckled at my discomfort while they explained the custom.

Boats and Banya

In the melancholy that followed our return from vacation, I had started to think the wind pushing our adventure sail had started to die. My goodness, was I wrong!   What a spectacular last few weeks of adventure we have had in this city along Volga, but first I need to take a moment to explain a nuance of life here:

In the Soviet Era, there were many, many vacation “bases”  built along the Volga to allow the people to enjoy their holidays.  American’s can best visualize what these vacation bases looked like by thinking of a KOA Campground with the cabins and minus the motorhomes. At the end of the Soviet Era, all of these vacation bases that had once belonged to the people instead ended up as assets on the balance sheets of various formerly state owned companies.  Over the past twenty years, many of these former vacation bases have been bought by individuals or companies and turned into private retreats.

 BOATS, Part 1, The Really Fun Misadventure.    

Our friend Anna works for a company that owns one of these old vacation bases along the Volga River.  Her company’s owners have built their summer homes and some rental cabins at the old base.  The owners allow their employees to rent their cabins or to just come for a day trip to their private beach for free. If you ask me, private beach access might be one of the coolest job benefits I have ever heard of here or in America   This benefit of Anna’s is how we came to be at the beach with Anna, her kids Stepa and Marcia, her dad Alex, her sister Jula and Jula’s kids Paulina and Timor. 

Upon our arrival, we picked out a spot on the deserted beach and started in on the usual routine of the beach.  While Karen and the other ladies sat chit chatting, the kids headed for the water.  Zac immediately started exploring some reeds for any creatures he might discover.  After a short hunt,  Zac found a dead fish and brought it back to where we were all sitting.  While the ladies were less than enamored by the appearance of this poor fish, all of the boys started clamoring for a chance to hold and touch the poor creature.  After sometime, I managed to persuade Zac to throw the fish back and thought the fish tale was over.   Not so fast, Alex found the recently fish and brought it back and started the whole touch and feel episode again.  In other words, it was a typical day at the beach.

While we were eating lunch, which was a feast of fresh vegetables, bread and potatoes, the owner, his name is Ranad, of Anna’s company and the beach came over and introduced himself.   Ranad seemed a nice enough man, but we did not share a common language and I could only exchange pleasantries with him while helping Karen shepherd our boys politely through lunch.   Nothing in our brief exchange or the short time Ranad spent with Anna’s family prepared me for the kindness Ranad was about to bestow on Karen, the boys and I.  

About a half hour after lunch, this really cool looking boat pulled right up to the beach and out hopped Ranad.  After a brief discussion with Anna, Ranad had his grandson Timophee, Anna, Karen, the boys and I on this boat and we were heading out for the boys’ first boat ride ever.   This was just awesome!  We are getting a tour of some ancient wetlands on this super cool boat.  The only problem is that the seat I am sitting is a little wobbly, but Ranad said it would be fine if I did not rock back.  

Ranad was correct in his analysis of the chair, but I had Zac in my lap and his movements were hard to counterbalance.  I was just trying to shift our weight as Ranad was trying to turn into a very narrow channel when the chair gave way.  Zac, the chair and I fell to the floor as one, which distracted Ranad from his efforts to guide the boat into the narrow channel.  Needless to say, the boat missed the channel and tore into the reeds until the boat came to a dead stop.  Shipwrecked would be too strong a word, but the boat was not moving and we were in a pickle.   Fortunately, no one was hurt and Ranad was able to call in a tow.

While waiting for Ranad’s son(in-law?) to come tow us out, we learned that Patrick hates, and I mean HATES bugs.  The Russian version of horseflies (they do not bite, thank God) had been living peacefully until the boat moved into their patch of reeds and they were making their displeasure known to us.  Patrick hated these bugs so much that he chose the relative safety of going below deck on a 90 degree day: I say relative because Zac and  Timophee saw Patrick’s displeasure and took turns opening up hatches that might let bugs into Patrick’s safe haven.  I can still hear Patrick’s howls of displeasure at the open hatches being counterbalanced by Zac and Timophee’s giggles of mischievous glee. 

Once the rescue boat arrived, Ranad and I’s fun was just beginning, because we had to jump into the water and help dislodge the boat.  Once we dislodged the boat, the boat was pulled away while Ranad and I were left staring at each other and the disappearing boat.  Ranad took one look around, uttered the international sound of dismal, chuckled, pointed at himself and said “Sargent, Nicaragua.” I chuckled, pointed at myself, said “Corporal, USMC” (I know, not quite the same as Nicaragua) to convey this was not the first time in the field for me either.  We chuckled, shrugged, used a couple of hand signs and walked out of the reeds.  

As if the whole trip were not interesting enough, I was greeted in perfect English by Ranad’s son, “Jack,” as I was walking/swimming up to the rescue boat.  There I was waste deep in murky water, attempting to introduce myself in Russian when Jack said, “Come on, get out of the water…”  I have had a lot of weird moments in Russia, but Jack greeting me with perfect English in the middle of the Volga might be the most incongruous moment of them all.  Nevertheless, we made it back to shore and, because no one got hurt, the whole escapade became a good sea story.  

BANYAS

By now, most readers of this blog know of Alex.  Alex is the grandfather of Stepa, karate classmate of the boys, and we have become good friends despite the fact that Alex speaks no English and my spoken Russian is about 400 words max.   I can basically understand Alex if I am only trying for the basic idea, but I am quickly lost in translation if I try to follow him word for word.  

Last week, Alex invited me to go to a banya (like a Finnish sauna, but less hot) with him his oldest friend, Naom.   I was quite honored to be asked and I accepted with both joy and more than a little nervousness.  I was happy to receive this invitation because I understood how central the banya is to the Russia culture (the earliest historical reference is the year 1113)  and I was getting an opportunity to experience it first-hand.  I was a little nervous because I knew next to nothing of what to expect out of a banya.  Combine my blind ignorance with the fact that I was also meeting Alex’s oldest friend Naom, they have been friends for 47 years, and one can understand my being just a little bit apprehensive.  

When I accepted the invitation, I had assumed that we would be going to some kind of public banya; I must admit that I had visions of the banyas one reads about in spy novels.  Well, the banya I was taken to turned out to be private; not a private club, a private banya.  Alex’s friend Naom has done really well for himself in life and he has converted the basement of one of his buildings into a banya, complete with game room, full kitchen, cooling pool and full sized banya.  (Alex used to own an engineering firm before the financial collapse of 2007, and I learned later that evening that it was Alex’s firm that designed Naom’s banya.)

I am not usually one who is predisposed to feeling out of his element, but I felt distinctly out of place when we pulled up to Naom’s  non-descript building, went up to Naom’s office and then down to basement where the banya was located.   I was not feeling afraid, but I was so completely without a cultural reference point that I had only one choice of action and that was to follow Alex.  Fortunately, Alex seemed to understand that I was now swimming in the deep end of Russian culture and made a point to explain where we were and to guide me through each step of the banya ritual.

Alex first showed me each step of preparing the banya; he first set the temperature, taped birch branches together and set them to soak in the water that provides the humidity.  We then went to the table and ate the first of what would be four small helpings of fresh fruits, vegetables and ham and then returned to the banya for the first of four sittings.  Our first trip into the banya was just to get a good sweat before returning to eat, but on each successive trip into the banya one of us would use the birch branches to get our skin to really open up and release the toxins therein.  The person who used the branches would then leave the banya and head straight to the cooling pool and jump in; this very bracing experience also left me feeling as refreshed as I can ever remember (In winter time, Russians will jump into the snow or into cut out section of frozen rivers).

In hind site, I am thankful that Alex let me go through the branches and cooling pool first, because it allowed me to unwind enough to actually enjoy the conversation over food for the rest of the evening.   Alex speaks no English and Naom only knows some phrases, but we still managed to have conversations about Naom’s family, American politics in general and some pointed questions about the American Constitution.  One conversation was about law enforcement agencies in America and one of my hosts used several action movies, Rambo included, as reference points.   All in all, my first banya experience started out incredibly nerve wracking and ended up being a nice evening of cultural understanding.

 Boats, Part, The Floating Bar-B-Que

Apparently our first boating adventure had not dampened our enthusiasm for boats or the Volga, because we readily accepted an invitation from Alex to join him on his friend Naom’s boat for a tour of the Volga. In addition to his private banya, Naom, too, owns one of the old Soviet vacation bases and a boat; Naom’s boat is a pleasure cruiser with room for three full sized picnic tables in the back, a banya in the middle (I am not kidding), a sleeper cabin in the front and some else drives the boat while Naom mixes with his guests.  When we arrived with Alex for the trip, we found that Alex’s entire family was coming on the tour and we were going to bar-b-que.

As we were setting off from the dock,  Alex and his two son-in-laws, Anna’s husband Valeira and Jula’s husband Stas, immediately set about getting the coals going on the back of the boat.  As the boat headed out into the Volga, the eggplant and tomatoes were first put on the fire to get a smoky flavor prior to being cut up and mashed into vegetable patte that was to simply delicious.  Karen and I both were amazed to be bar-b-queing on a boat, but it appeared to be the most natural of things to our hosts.

After sailing into the Volga and being treated to waterfront vistas of both Saratov and its wild environs, the boat came to halt in some still water.  While the first wave pork kababs were placed on the grill, the men were all poured their first of many whiskey shots and toasts were given all around. Once the kebabs were on, the men all jumped into the river and we were able to swim in the Volga and work up an appetite.  We were joined one at a time by Patrick, Zac and Stepa, who each took a brief swim in the rather cold water.  Alex’s wife, Tatiana, and granddaughter, Paulina, also jumped in, but they swam over to some lily pads to pick the beautiful flowers growing in pads (Our Russian hosts told us that the existence of the flowers on the lily pads meant the water was clean and safe to swim in.) After our refreshing swims, it was time to eat the amazing food that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

When I write about the food seeming to appear out of nowhere, it is because I am used to the American habit of bringing pre-prepared food like potato salads and chip to a bar-b-que.  Here in Russia, the makings of dishes are brought and the food is prepared on site.  As a result of this distinct difference, the table was set with fruits, nuts and fresh vegetables (there was not a drop of mayonnaise to be found) that do not spoil as the various cooked courses make their way to the table.  By the time the boat went back to base, there had been two servings of pork kababs, a pot full of what looked like crawdads and mounds of fresh vegetables consumed.  If that amount of food had not been enough to give the six men on the boat a peaceful, easy feeling, then the bottle of whiskey finished did the trick (I have yet to see a shot turned down).  

All in all, our trip on the Volga was the type of day one dreams about getting a chance to do.   We saw the shores of the Volga change rapidly from tourist bases to wild wetlands.  We were able to see all of Saratov laid out for us to see.  And, most importantly, we got to spend a day of family and friends on the river that is central to their life in this beautiful region of the Volga.

Random Observation of the Week   

                                                       

Feeling a little guilty saying no to your child’s fifty-seventh request for a treat today?  Maybe this will assuage your guilt:  The next time your child smiles their pearly whites at you, thank God you can afford to provide them with enough calcium so their teeth do not rot from the inside out.  I have seen a couple of instances of children smiling at me with teeth that are turning black from the inside out by the base of their gums.  I have asked if this was due to bad hygiene and was told that it was due to their parents not being able to afford enough calcium in their diets.  I am not sure if this is medically correct, but I have been told this by separate people and told that it was far more common in when the ruble collapsed in 1997.  Whatever it is that causes this, it must be heartbreaking for the parents to see in their children.

Wanderings and Heartbreak

WANDERINGS

Wow!  Did we really pull this trip off?  When Karen and I started thinking about our trip to Europe, we had these fantastical ideas of what we would like to see and do with our boys.  The amazing thing, thanks to Karen’s masterful planning, is that our boys were able to see everything we had hoped they would see.  One caveat for those hoping to read about the Louvre and other boring museums:  This trip was for the boys to see and do things they know and will remember.  Karen and I will one day stroll down the Champs-Elysees, drinking good wine and peruse fine museums.  This was not that trip.

MOSCOW

Our visit to Moscow happened by pure chance.  We had already planned the bulk of our trip when the vagaries of Russian state holidays provided us with a opportunity to extend our vacation.  I have given up trying to figure out the reasoning behind the holiday system over here.  They get days off and then have to work “make up” Saturdays and I just cannot wrap my head around the whole system. Regardless of my systemic understanding, the system provided us a golden opportunity to see Moscow for a couple of days and we took it.

We traveled to Moscow on May 9, which Americans call VE (Victory  in Europe) Day and the Russian ‘s just call it Victory Day.  Those readers that remember my post about Saratov’s Victory Park will understand how big a day this is for the Russians and we found ourselves staring at the Kremlin and the entrance to Red Square on their highest national holiday.   This day turned out to be not the best for tourists, but it allowed us to see the Russians showing their patriotism on a level that parallels our Fourth of July celebrations.  It was particularly cool to see the aged warriors who won their war walking around in their finest uniforms dripping with medals.   It was just a cool day to be in Moscow.

The following days were spent looking at Christ the Redeemer, St. Basil’s and soaking up the scene inside Red Square.   Christ the Redeemer is a spectacular church that was lost to fire in 1931 and rebuilt only after the fall of the Soviet Union;  the collection of bejeweled religious iconography found inside the church are some of the most beautiful pieces of art I have ever seen.   St.  Basil’s is 500 years old and a majestically beautiful church that has watched over the Kremlin for  all of those 500 years.  St. Basil’s was the most moving thing I saw on our trip; it is magnificent in its grandeur, but  I could not help but think what a counterpoint to communism the elegant church must have made.  We would have loved to see more of Moscow, but time was short and it was off to England.  

Before we leave Moscow, there is one memory of Zac that Karen and I will never forget.  Zac loves puzzles and he had completed puzzles of St. Basil’s and of Christ the Redeemer.  To see that little boy’s eyes widen when he saw his puzzles come to life and to see him bounce on the balls of his feet as he excitedly said “MOMMMY, LOOOOKKK..” are memories that I will cherish for my lifetime.

LONDON

English!!! Glorious English!!!  When we had talked about our vacation, I had pulled for Greece and Karen flatly stated we are going to a place that speaks ENGLISH!  Man , is it a good thing I married such a smart woman, because we were all desperate to communicate in our native tongue after three months of Russian.  It actually shocked me the first couple of times I heard English; I had been preparing to say "excuse me" in Russian and then I would realize the person was speaking English.  Just GLORIOUS!

We stayed in London for a couple of days, zipping around on the Tube.  The first day we went to the London Zoo, excuse me, the Zoological Society of London.  It is the oldest zoo in the world and, as one might expect, it is magnificent.  I will save the reader an animal by animal description and will opt for one story:  One of the lions, a young one, had decided that a duck in its watering hole looked really tasty and put on quite a show of stalking for us.  Unfortunately for the lion, the lion did not really know how to hunt and the duck saw it and just swam away. Anyways, we were not able to see everything in the zoo even though we arrived when it opened and did not leave until they started ushering people out.  

The following day, we went to the London Eye, a huge Ferris Wheel that the boys know from an episode of Phineas and Ferb, and took a boat tour on the Thames.  While the Eye and the tour were cool, I could not help but notice how new London looked in comparison to other European cities.  London has been around since the Romans, but there is little evidence of this claim to antiquity in the city.   It was not until we made it to ancient Edinburgh, after a day in historic Paris, that I realized that the newness is due to the German Luftwaffe having obliterated the city in the Battle of Britain.  As much as London has to offer, it is not the type of city that one walks about with eyes up to look at the architecture.

PARIS

I must admit that I am the one who advocated for a quick trip to Paris and the Eiffel Tower.  I wanted to insert this trip into the itinerary, because I was too dumb to go up the Eiffel Tower when I had been to Paris twenty years ago.  I was twenty and thought it was cool that I took a Ferris Wheel equal in height to the tower.  I thought it was great that I spent less money on the Ferris Wheel  than it cost to climb the tower and I figured I would be back soon enough (again, I was twenty when I came to this conclusion).   Anyways, we planned a day trip to Paris from London and booked the tickets to the Eiffel Tower before I could channel my inner-Sweeney and come up with any more reasons not to pay to climb it.

 The day trip to Paris was made possible by the bullet train that runs from London to Paris; one way takes two hours or so and it is really painless by international travel standards.  We took a bus tour around Paris, went up the Eiffel Tower and saw Paris on a crystal clear day in May.   We thought we were going to have time for a stroll in the Tuilleries or to do some other sightseeing, but by the time we got up the tower it was time to head back to our train for London.

Outside of getting the boys up the Eiffel Tower, I was agnostic, at best, about going to Paris.  The last time I had been there, I had found the city to be dirty, rude and completely overrated in comparison to the other European cities I had visited.  This trip, I found Paris to be just spectacularly beautiful.  It was so nice, that I hope Karen and I do make it to the Champs-Elysees for a glass of wine and some quality museum time.

EDINBURGH

The reason for our trip to Edinburgh was to visit family, because my Aunt Lucy (dad’s sister), her husband, Todd, and daughter, Emily, all live there.   While we were looking forward to some quality family time, we really had no idea what to expect of the city itself.  What we found, at least what I found, is the place I want to live if I ever become independently wealthy.   Until Edinburgh, I had never been to a city and thought it was the place for me.  The city is just beautiful and has a nice mixture culture, history and, you guessed it, pubs.

While we were in Edinburgh, I turned forty and my Dad came over to share the day.  While it was great fun having a pint on my birthday, we went to Edinburgh Castle the following day and the sun was actually shining.    As a result of the sun making  a rare appearance in Scotland, we were treated to spectacular views from the walls of a castle that had been around as long as the town.   My dad even got treated to Zac climbing just a little too far out on one of the cannons defending the castle (when I saw Dad’s look as Zac did his thing, I could not help a “Welcome my world” comment”).  All in all, spending a sunny day climbing around an ancient castle in Scotland is not bad to mark forty years.

One final thought on my desire to live in Edinburgh should I win the lottery and Karen agrees.  After the glorious sunshine of our trip to the castle, we were treated to two days of weather even the Scots were complaining about.  While it was truly miserable weather, I still thought the place was just cool.

Free Family Advertising:  Lucy has a new book,  titled Mimi, coming out in February.  It should be available most anywhere books are bought.

HEARTBREAK

I do not think there is anything Karen and I could do to prepare ourselves for the heartbreak we felt when Zac asked if we were in America when we landed back in Russia.  All of us had really enjoyed being out and about, but Zac had really loved hearing English and had engaged in more random conversations than we had ever seen him engage in before.   I do not think I need to explain how Karen and I felt when we saw the look on Zac’s face as his hopes for being in America were dashed.   The young man will get his wish in six short weeks, but Mommy and Daddy felt so bad for him on that day.

Random Observation of the Week

Four of the world’s finest cities in nine days with two boys and a guy turning forty? No problem if Karen Ellmann is setting the schedule.