Christmas in Paris

This post should still be downloading into your browser, overflowing with photos of the magic that is Paris at Christmas. Images of the Champs Elysees lined with trees illuminated in white heralding the spirit of the season punctuated by the grand Arc de Triomphe. Scenes of la Tour Eiffel sparkling blue with twinkling stars. Images of quiet, charming streets in the seventh decorated by cheerful strings of carefully arranged lights hung overhead. Photos of winter trees whose limbs have lost their leaves against the shivering river Seine. Patisseries with rainbows of les buches de noel. The booths at the Christmas markets in St. Germain des Pres selling fresh, hot crepes au chocolat. Even scenes of Disneyland Paris with French-speaking Mickey's all decked out for the season.

Alas none of it was meant to be. The only images we take with us are the ones we keep in our heads!

Upon arrival at Gare du Nord on Christmas Eve we were immediately accosted by overcharging chauffeurs. The seasoned travelers that we are, we didn't fall for this tactic clearly aimed at gullible tourists who don't see the alternatives. Feeling pretty good about ourselves, with a few winks we headed for the long taxi queue with the other in-the-know crowd. At long last we found ourselves at the front of the queue. We managed to shoehorn all of our luggage with five people plus the driver in a rather small taxi. My first real test of my rusty French and we were off to our rental apartment. This was going to be great! Christmas in Paris! We arrived at our rental apartment. I was busy watching our taxi driver do fuzzy math, figuring out the total of our ride. We saved 75% off those rip-off soliciting drivers. Go us! After completing the transaction I then turned my attention to reading all the fine print included in the instructions of how to penetrate the many barriers leading to our apartment. The keys were mailed to us previously. I studied the document, made note of my surroundings as to not fall victim to pick-pocketing (all that seasoned traveler stuff is really paying off!), while Scott unloaded the car. Taxi pulls away and I've got the security code for the main entrance successfully entered. We make our way through the second door and then finally through the apartment door, like some sort of scavenger hunt. And we were winning! Go us! Everyone uses the loo and hey it's only 4:30, and Christmas in Paris is waiting! We rebutton the coats and pull the gloves back on ready for our first saunter through Paris at its holiday best. Oh, but we can't forget the photography gear! Let's see where did I set that down? Hmmm, where is it? Panic. More panic. Hallucinating. Breathe. Gone. Taxi. Gone. Breathe. Breathe.

I will spare you the other ugly details (including the many calls to Parisien taxi companies and lost and found bureaus where my rusty French was truly tested!), but suffice it to say I am obviously not grown up enough to own this kind of equipment. Yes, in my moment of distraction I left ALL the photography gear I own on the floor of that taxi. I am normally so protective of this bag, like it's my fourth child. 10K in photography equipment gone. All gone. What's particularly unfortunate is that this loss included a brand new macro lens I got for Christmas that I had only opened hours earlier. Not one single shot on that puppy and it's already gone.

It doesn't take many steps back to gain perspective. It's only stuff. Stuff is stuff. I know that. I have my family and friends. I am blessed. But at the moment I'm pretty sick about it. So I take time to grieve and will begin to rebuild, one lens at a time.

Happy Christmas!

We've been in the UK for just about five months now. It's hard to believe. A year ago we were quite content to stay in sunny, southern California for the rest of our lives. We had no clue. We sold our cars, rented our house, packed up half or stuff, stored the other half, hopped on a plane and crossed our fingers that this would be the right thing. We're still figuring a lot of things out, but one thing is sure: this experience is unifying our family in a way nothing else could. Even at times when we feel alone in this new, strange place, we are alone together!

11 Years

Our little corner of the world began 11 years ago today. That corner is constantly changing. We can't seem to keep the same address for more than two to three years, but this adventure of life has been so much more fulfilling, so much richer sharing it with the one you love. We celebrated this weekend with a fun night on the town. It was an evening of contrasts, and we were reminded just how cool date night can be in London!

We started off here


And drank these


Put on these


Did this, albeit very badly


We then enjoyed a fun dinner at this cool bowling/diner combo joint, and ate the best hamburger I've had to date in the UK!

Then we wandered around here, Covent Garden, to enjoy some festive Christmas cheer


Then we stopped to eat these


After we hopped on the tube and went here

Royal Albert Hall, where we had tickets to attend the London Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir

We were utterly blown away by the beauty and sheer scale of this venue. If only I had, had my wide angle on me . . .

Christmas Choral Concerts

Both Dallin and Madeleine participated in choral concerts at school this year. Madeleine's performance was a cute, politically correct concert that included a vareity of multi-faith pieces. Dallin's school concert was held in an airy central London church. Looking up into the stained glass, I had a moment, "wow, my kid is singing with his school choir in a church in London." The concert was filled with a few fun favorites we were familiar with as well as some British Christmas classics we were less acquainted with. "Merry Xmas Everybody" is quickly becoming a family favorite. Dallin's experience at his decidedly British school is definitely giving us access to more things authentically British!


St. Mary's Church, Dallin's concert venue


This, sadly, is the best shot I could get sitting way in the back of such a dimly lit church



Madeleine's concert, and once again my kid is in the back!

Dallin

It's hard to believe my first-born is halfway to adulthood. Dallin celebrated his 9th birthday this weekend. In lieu of party, he opted for an outing out with his family and choice of one friend. We spent the day visiting the London Aquarium and then had a fun birthday lunch at the Rain Forest Cafe.


Dallin and his friend out in front of the London Aquarium; we had planned on a a day at the zoo, but you can easily see why we went with plan B!


Singing happy birthday to Dallin at the Rain Forest Cafe




Dallin is becoming quite a beautiful writer, and I couldn't resist posting this short story he wrote at school this term. Well done Dallin!

OWEN'S ADVENTURE
By Dallin Ashton
9th October 2008

The midday sun blazed over the St. John's Wood train station. It was not bustling at this hour. People were reading books that made them sleep and have happy dreams. Meanwhile spiders hobbled across the top of the big clock and rats scattered across the dusty train tracks. The air was cool and windy as the squeaks of the tube train whistled into the hall.

As the train finally whistled in, Owen, a dreamy kid who traveled from the station daily, had his eyes closed. Around him was black, no even darker, ebony, it was the darkest colour ever. Nothingness! Owen screamed as he quickly opened his dilated pupils. As Owen looked into crimson eyes, a roar of red blazing fire made him jump and land lop-sided.

Owen squinted his eyes. He felt as if he was floating. He was floating, no flying! He quickly peeled his eyes open and realised he was kneeling in hot crumbled sand, three feet away from the thorniest bush he had ever seen. Out sprinted a dragon! The unusual dragon picked him up and took him into the prickly bush.

Suddenly the dragon landed on a ledge, but within seconds he fell off and flew, tumbling into a tunnel of darkness. Owen was more than a little freaked out because the dragon had two heads! He asked the dragon, "Where are you taking me?" The dragon did not answer.

Owen and Two Heads kept flying down the dark and spooky tunnel. Wind swooped past their faces as bats flapped and shrieked around Owen and Two Heads. The sharp claws of Two Heads let go. Owen was falling so quickly, it was like he was diving.

Suddenly he fell on a train. He was back! "Wow! What just happened?" exclaimed Owen. One thing was for sure, it felt good to be back! Owen sprinted happily to school.

Ritz Hotel

We were lucky enough to be invited to this other-worldly family holiday party at one of London's finest hotels thrown by a very generous deep-pocketed family at Madeleine's school. This party was truly out of this world. No expense spared and no detail overlooked. It was the stuff of dreams. It might come as a surprise that I didn't snap too many photos, but I didn't come armed with the right equipment for the lighting and frankly, for once I was happy to forget about photos and just take it all in before the spell was broken and we all turned back into pumpkins. But here are a few I did snap . . .

Abbey Road

There are regular Paul McCartney sightings right in our corner of town. I've had several friends who have seen him in places I go to nearly every day. My Beatle radar is switched on, but I have this feeling I'm not going to be so lucky. It is no surprise he is found lurking around these parts, because this is definitely Beatle country. We cross Abbey Road daily, nay multiple times daily. We live a mere two blocks from this famed thoroughfare, including the landmark studio where the Beatles made their records. Endless fans flock to this this music pilgrimage sight, many leaving their mark on the fan wall not knowing that every couple of months the wall is repainted for the next round of tourists. On more than one occasion I've nearly been witness to accidents as tourists aim to recapture the famous Abbey Road zebra crossing. Well, we decided it was finally time to put on our tourist cap and join in the fun . . .

Home for the Holidays

We've done our best to make this feel just like home, but no matter how many decorations we hang or how much nostalgic Christmas music we play we are decidedly not home for the holidays. Sometimes I wish I could click the heels of my dusty flip-flops and magically appear home, but as this is London (and not Oz) we are hoping to blend the happy holiday memories we cherish with any new festive traditions we might discover to find a new kind of home for the holidays.

Happy Christmas!

The Pumpkin Pie Caper

I was briefly detained in the loo yesterday morning when I hear the rapid pitter-patter of little feet dashing down the hall. This certainly wasn't the sound of random play, but rather that of urgent determination. Trevon definitely had something on his mind and was taking advantage of my momentary distraction almost as if he had been waiting all morning just for this very moment of opportunity. It wasn't but a moment later that I flew into the kitchen and was greeted by this . . .


Trevon massacring the last piece of Thanksgiving pie. Do you see the look of guilt?


This look quickly faded into joy


Which then turned to sheer exhilaration


And then became simple pleasure


Before ultimately claiming victory!

Gobble, Gobble

Thanksgiving in the land of our Revolutionary War rivals was, as you might expect, a little odd. Of course the nation from whence our country struggled to gain its independence doesn't much care about our nation's over four century's old pilgrim-Indian lovefest. So we were not surprised that neither Scott nor Dallin (who is at a British school) had any time off to revel in this most delicious of all American holidays. In response we made fun plans for an alternate celebration with friends at our flat. This year, we then declared, Thanksgiving was to be on a Saturday. Somehow still when true turkey day arrived we were left feeling rather empty. Melancholy filled our hearts knowing our families and friends were gathered together around their Thanksgiving feasts while Dallin was at school, Scott was at work and I made pasta. Sigh. We did in fact have a fun Thanksgiving Saturday substitute with friends here, and despite this funky British kitchen that I have yet to figure out and despite having to hunt down a few key ingredients not native to this land, the food tasted just like an authentic American Thanksgiving.

There was one difference. I don't think European turkeys will be winning any beauty contests. Looks like they could also do with a bit of a shave!



Trevon didn't have any problems digging in!