Istanbul, Turkey - Beyoglu & Cihangir - February 2016

I'm writing this final addition to our #shirleywinterwalkabout2016 from a proper computer (!) back in our new home in Tofte, MN. (I suppose this means my grammar and spelling should improve, but I'm not optimistic.) Writing about Turkey from the woods of northern Minnesota feels as foreign as many of the unique experiences we had during our two month tour of Europe (but lacking the excitement!). This has created a big barrier for me to sit down and reflect, hence the lapse in time. Not to mention, real life was eagerly waiting for us upon our return and we are now just finally catching our breath (and sleeping during the proper time frames). We got back about a month ago now, on February 16th.

I'm going to pick up where I left off from the post about Istanbul Old City. 

We slept in after our late night out with Nedim, tired and a little hung over, our ears still ringing from the music. 

We booked an Airbnb apartment across the Golden Horn from Sultanahmet (Old City) in the modern part of Istanbul. We took a cab since we weren't exactly sure where to go and it was a pretty long up-hill with our bags. Our host, Murat, agreed to explain to the cabby how to arrive since even taxi drivers don't know all of the city. The ride cost us about 20 lira ($6). Murat, was a young guy, very personable and one of the nicest hosts we had on the entire trip.

Murat had all of the windows open, which seemed odd considering it wasn't very warm out. He bid us adieu and suggested we close them. As we lounged around that afternoon, Clare not feeling well and napping, I started to notice that the apartment had a really dingy smell. Thinking we would just get used to it, I tried to ignore it. I left for the afternoon to check out our new location while Clare rested. When I returned, the odor was even more apparent after having been outside. I woke up in the middle of the night smelling the smell. You know it's a bad sign when you don't acclimate. In the morning, I killed two mosquitoes in the place. Zika virus wasn't in Turkey, but it was a little disconcerting especially since it was winter and we hadn't seen any bugs anywhere prior. Anyway, with Clare continuing to feel badly, I contacted our host and asked if we could move to one of his other listings he had mentioned. We ended up moving to an apartment around the corner that his friend owned.

We really didn't want to pack up and move again, not to mention it was pouring rain, but the prospect of staying in that dingy place for a week was frankly unacceptable.

It poured rain that whole day. Clare stayed in, really not feeling well. That evening, I went out alone to find take out. I walked along the famed Istiklal Street, a walking street that supposedly sees two million people a day. I walked up to Taksim Square and found a falafel joint. It was raining so hard, I still can't believe I opted not to wear my rain pants.

In the morning Clare continued to be sick. I stayed in with her until we could get a hold of her doctor back in the US to check in. After a reassuring chat, I headed to visit another hamam, Aga Hamami.

This place obviously catered more to tourists than the first hamam I visited, but it was still small and relatively inexpensive. The primary difference being that it was mixed gender, only segregated for the scrubbing and soaping. Oh, and, while the other place was full of old men, this place didn't have anyone over the age of 35. I relaxed and got another aggressive exfoliation and soap scrubbing. (We bought an exfoliating mitt at the market so we can continue the tradition of rubbing our skin off in our home sauna.)

I went out and got pizza alone for dinner and brought leftovers back to Clare. Then, in the middle of the night, it hit me. Whatever Clare was battling jumped her ship and climbed aboard mine. Already fighting for space in our double bed, me shoved up against the wall, we now started fighting for toilet time. This was not a welcomed "part of the experience."

The following day, Clare was beginning to rally and feel better while I was not. It was Sunday, though, and the only day we could go see a whirling dervish ceremony. With clenched butt cheeks, we cautiously headed down Istiklal Street to the Galata Mevlevi Lodge, near the famous Galata Tower.

The ceremony was held in a circular domed room, spectators sitting behind a railing outside of a wooden floor space. About 12 men filed in to the sound of traditional music, then knelt on section of sheepskin in a line along one edge of the space. A man who appeared to be the leader knelt on a black sheep skin in the middle of the room. After a series of prayers and bows, they got up and started the whirling portion.

In a somewhat organized manner, they twirled in place, slowly migrating around the circular space in a clockwise fashion. They spun around, arms in the air, for ten continuous minutes. Ten minutes. When they stopped they quickly huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, in small groups for stability. After a few minutes of rest, they did it again. They ended up twirling on about 4 occasions, each time for 5-10 minutes. It was an amazing display of resilience and focus.

The next time you're at a kids party and you have to spin around five times and then hit the pinata or the t-ball, be ashamed if you stumble or fall down. You are not worthy.

The next day we were both feeling better (I think the dervishes hypnotized it out of us), finally kicking the bug that plagued us for several days. (We were pretty darn lucky with our health on this trip, only having this one bad spell). So we headed back across the Golden Horn to do some shopping and to pick up our carpets.

Our first stop was for turkish delights, a cube shaped gelatinous treat that is sold everywhere. They come in a number of flavors including pomegranate, rose hip, and pistachio. (Pomegranates and pistachios are everywhere in turkey. Such a treat.) Baklava is also ubiquitous, but we are only bringing that back in memory and our waist lines. We bought several variety boxes of turkish delight.

Heading to Nedim's shop next took us straight through the grand bazaar and surrounding markets. We tried to skirt it, but the gravitational pull was too strong, so we wandered (got lost) looking at things for a while until we emerged on the other side. Nedim had our carpets all ready to go, and even threw in a large duffel bag for us to transport them back home.

I shouldered the 45 pound bag like a backpack and we walked back to our apartment, a few miles away, all up hill. I'm happy to announce that the bag held true and I only sustained minor bruising in my armpits.

That night we were able to go out for a good meal together again. We ate a place called Galata Kitchen that offered several vegetarian options. It was cute, homey and friendly and tasted great.

In the morning we boarded a ship for a full day cruise of the Bosphorous Strait. The Bosphorous separates the European continent from the Asian continent and connects the Black Sea with worlds oceans. Istanbul spans both sides of the Strait, which is about a quarter mile wide, and sits at its southern opening at the Sea of Marmara.

We bought round trip tickets (25 lira each, about $8) on the municipal ferry that calls all along the 19 mile stretch, with a 3 hour stop at the terminal development, just before pouring into the Black Sea. We started the cruise on the aft deck enjoying the city views as the ship pulled away from the Eminonu docks. A mob of selfie stick wielding people suddenly filled the deck and started throwing bread to the seagulls. The nasty sea rats ravenously flocked and squawked around the boat as the people cheered and eagerly snapped photos. We bailed and found seats along the edge of the boat, on the lower level, away from all other people, right on rail overlooking the water. Clare put it best, "people who feed seagulls are not my kind of people."

We were entertained by the busy boat traffic and all the development along the shore. We saw several large container ships and even two huge Russian war ships, probably fresh off a raid of Crimea.

We had a lunch of fried calamari, grilled fish and fried mussels at the final port of call. Bellies full with that sick feeling after eating too much fried shit, we hiked up the hill to an ancient castle ruin. There was a stunning view of the mouth of the bosphorous and the opening of the black sea. We watched as the pilot boat scurried back and forth from shore, picking up and dropping off pilots for the parade of large ships entering and exiting the strait.  A huge golden gate-esq extension bridge is under construction that will form yet another connection between the continents and certainly become a new artery of commerce.

The following day marked the beginning of the 8th and final week of our trip and our final change of accommodations. We decided to splurge a little bit and get a hotel. Perched on the hill in the hipster neighborhood of Cihangir (say cheeangesh), we had an amazing view from our balcony over the bustling Bosphorous. Cihangir is home to more kitties than people. They can be seen everywhere, lounging on cars and motorcycle seats, flocking to friendly looking people. One night, we happened across a group of three kitties looking in a basement window, a domestic parakeet on the other side of the screen. Kitty TV. The folks living in the 'hood put out food, water and shelter, making it the best street kitty living outside of Dickey Lake, Montana. My grandma Joan would approve.

That day we enjoyed lunch and dinner at funky hip places that offered many new concoctions not found in the touristy centers in Sultanamet.

We wandered down the hill to the port near our hotel to figure out the ferry for some upcoming adventures. We stopped at one of the open air tea houses along the Bosphorous to smoke a hookah (well, only I smoked) and take in the sights. The sun was shining and it was warm. We watched the boats and soaked it all in. Later that evening we went out for pizza, again at a great little place around the corner. We got dessert to go at one of the many sweets shops and headed back to our balcony. With baklava and beer, we watched the glow of the ferry boats scurry back and forth and the large shadows of the container ships float by.

The following morning we got a ferry over to the "Asian side" landing in the neighborhood of Kadikoy. (We had originally planned to stay in this area for about a week, but because we both got sick and lost a few days, we ultimately decided against it.) We were on a mission to do more shopping, this time for spices. We had read that the market in this neighborhood was very vibrant and frequented by locals to do their shopping. Being less touristy, the shopping experience was much more relaxed.

We immediately happened across the spice shop we were seeking. The two shop keepers were busy packaging bulk spices and basically ignored us until we asked questions. A very welcome change from the grand bazaar and spice market in old town. We bought a couple grams of really high quality Iranian saffron, a bunch of bulk cumin, oregano, mint, pomegranate flower tea and a few other odds and ends.

After lunch and more shopping, we took a really long walk in search of a once weekly market we heard about. We passed by wedding dress row, store after store for several blocks. Dresses displayed in windows three stories high. Unfortunately, after walking for about an hour and a half, it started raining and we couldn't find the market. We asked around, but our charades skills didn't prevail on this day. When we dead ended at a highway, we decided to give up and hale a cab.

Back down near the port, we cozied up out of the rain and had a mug of a traditional turkish winter drink, schlep. It's thick and milky, similar to egg nog, served pipping hot with powdered cinnamon on top.

You see a lot of barber shops in Istanbul, and I had been eyeing them curiously since we arrived. My hair was over my ears and my beard kept getting in my mouth so it was finally time for a trim. Our trip was going to be over in a couple of days, so now was the time. It was about 6pm (on Saturday) by the time we got around to going. The place was full of guys getting done up for the night. Turkish men are quite coiffed. Luckily, there was a spot open for me. Using only hand gestures, I communicated my request. They guy new what to do. I ended with a very stylish do, hairspray and all.

The next day, Clare was inspired to get her haircut. We visited the "hair mafia" salon where she got the full treatment. No english spoken here either, so the stylist called a friend to translate. They washed and cut her hair and then "threaded" her eyebrows. A technique where hair is removed by yanking it out with thread twirled between two hands and mouth of the technician.

 

It was Valentines day, so we went to dinner at a place on the top floor of building overlooking the bosphorous. The setting was beautiful. We could even see fireworks set off from one of the bridges below. The food, not so great for what we paid.

We got up bright and early the next day in order to catch a ferry to the Prince's islands out in the sea of marmara. Technically part of Istanbul, these islands are on a different wave length. There are no vehicles, for one, which is a dramatic change from the city proper. In the summer time, it is full of vacationers, but this time of year it was relatively laid back. Transportation on the islands consist of bicycles, electric motorcycles and horse-drawn carriages called phaetons.  We opted for bikes, renting from one of the many shops. We spent the day cruising the "big island"  Buyukada. It was sunny and upper sixties, making it feel like an island getaway ought to. We lunched on an open air terrace suspended over the sea. It was beautiful. We even spotted a submarine trolling about. It was a great last day in Istanbul. We took the last ferry back to town, crossing the sea in the dark, the expansive city lights sparkling along the horizon.

For our final dinner of the trip, we opted for a unique vegetarian place. We had been traveling for over 60 days and in Istanbul for 18. We were happy to eat something predictable that we knew wouldn't give us problems on our long trip home. That night we sat out on our balcony again, watching the ink black bosphorous lined by sparking lights as the boats moved about. We finished the audio book The Cartel, which we had been listening to during the whole trip. I highly recommend it!

The next morning we started the long trek home. A 12 hour flight from Istanbul to Toronto and then a long delay before our flight from Toronto to Thunder Bay. The night was capped with a 2.5 hour drive, the last 50 miles on dirt road, northern lights dancing in the sky. By the time we arrived home, 26 hours had elapsed and we hadn't slept.

It was an amazing trip, but it was hardly a vacation. It's hard work to be on the road for so long, constantly packing and unpacking, searching for a place to stay, a place to eat, trying to dodge second hand smoke, logistics. Especially when you're pregnant. We didn't take it easy. Clare had an abundance of energy, willingness and capability making her pregnancy a non-issue.  I'm inspired by and grateful for her spirit and perseverance.

In hindsight, Amsterdam was amazing, in large part due to great recommendations (thanks John and Kim!), but super expensive (glad we started there). We were underwhelmed by Prague and the Christmas markets - we were hoping for a white Christmas and something more unique (and more stuff to be open!) Slovenia was a pleasant surprise and a highlight (next time I would rent a car there allowing more autonomy). Bosnia was suprisingly beautiful, raw, with interesting culture and food. I'd like to explore it more, and I highly recommend visiting. Croatia was stunningly beautiful, but really touristy. This was a double edged sword, there were less crowds, but much of it was closed down making the food scene pretty bad. Istria was good, but otherwise it was really hard for us. Greece was everything we hoped it would be and we look forward to seeing other parts in the future. Istanbul was vibrant and bustling, intriguing, unique and beautiful. A little overwhelming for us country kids. We are grateful to have spent a lot of time there and really get a feel for the culture. Unfortunately, the situation in Syria and the corresponding conflict with Russia could make it a harder destination to visit in the future.

We are thankful for everyone back in the States that helped enable the trip, from watching our pets to providing great advice and encouragement. It was the perfect way for us to transition into our new life and work.

#Babysfirstbaguette - Paris, France - February 2017

I'm pretty sure that I'm not an aspiring "Mommy Blogger". However, you be the judge of the results. 

You know those price alerts spamming your inbox that last only one day and you have to travel during an inconvenient specific window? $450 round trip, direct: MSP → CDG. Done.

Now that #Shirleywinterwalkabout2017 was in the works, we waited until about a week before departure to plan. Booked an Airbnb in the center of Paris (1st Arrondissement) that had a washing machine and appeared to be somewhat baby friendly. We rented a "cot" (pack n' play) for Kit and had it delivered to the flat (European for "apartment") the day we arrived. 

We didn't pack much, relying on layers and the opportunity to do laundry at the flat. 
Our stuff partially filled two backpacking packs and a day pack. One space saver was leaving the cloth diapers at home. We arrived at this decision after many heated debates, ultimately deciding to use disposables because the flat only had a washing machine, not a dryer.

Our intention was to stay centrally located so we would be near attractions and restaurants that interested us and could easily return to the flat throughout the day for naps and rests as needed... we weren't really sure how Kit was going to do, so our ambitions were limited to taking in good food, wine, coffee and art. 

The journey started with a 5-hour drive from our place to the airport in Minneapolis. We stopped for lunch at our favorite Duluth restaurant, At Sarah's Table. Kit napped on the drive and everyone was in good spirits.

 As we checked in for the flight we again requested a bassinet for Kit (9 months old). (I requested that bassinet on no less than 4 prior occasions. To compete with budget airlines, Delta has created a new fare class, Basic Economy, that does not allow you to select your seats in advance. Because we obviously chose to save the 50 bucks, I decided to call Delta on several occasions to a) request the bassinet...again and b) to request seats along the edge of the 2-4-2 configured plane. I finally convinced them to reserve the seats for us, and I now thoroughly understand that the bassinet decision is made by the gate agents.)

When we got to the gate, we were informed by the agent that there were three babies on the plane, and the single bassinet was going to the youngest. Kit was second. Bummer.

But!

The flight was not full, so the agent offered us our own row of four seats to ourselves. I was a little sad to miss out on a window seat, but the extra space was worth the sacrifice, Clare assured me.

I made fast friends with the guy sitting across the aisle from me when he ordered a craft beer and a shot of whisky. I copied his order and we got to chatting. Turns out he was the owner of the Telluride Distilling Company and knew two Sawbill crew members who winter in Telluride. 

The flight was about 7 hours. Kit did great and I did great. No crying and slept a decent amount. Clare did pretty good, too, taking care of the baby and the overtired drunk lightweight. 

The plane landed at 7:30 am Paris time. We collected our bags, smiled brightly (but not a stupid fake Trump smile) for the immigration officer and made our way to the train depot below the airport. (Clare note: the immigration officer was very sweet when she found out she was the first one to stamp Kit's baby passport.)

We brought an umbrella stroller for Kit, but have never had her in a stroller before. Being a little unsure how it would go, we opted to carry her through the airport in the BabyBjorn (when I say "we" I mean Clare). It was a fairly long walk to get to the train depot through the massive Charles de Gaulle airport. I carried my backpacking pack on my back, Clare's on my front, the stroller folded and slung over my shoulder. Clare had a small pack on her back and Kit on her front.

A fortuitous and timely untied shoe lace had us stop after about 10 minutes of walking.  When we got going again, I was pushing the stroller with Clare's pack in it. Duh!

While we tend not to heavily plan our trips, we have learned that understanding how to get from where you land to where you need to go makes sense to do in advance. We knew what train we needed to take (RER B), so all we had to do was find tickets and where to board. We were at our stop half hour later and after a short wander through the streets, in to our apartment. We were met by our host, Valentine, who was a very friendly fellow.

We all napped while waiting for Kit's cot to be delivered. Afterwards, we went for lunch at La Fresque, a funky, authentic little place close-by that Valentine recommended. After lunch, we went for a walk, strolling across the Seine and finding a few groceries. Bed time came early this evening.

This was the hardest night for Kit. Not only was her internal clock thrown off, the apartment suffered from light pollution and different noises. (Kit is accustomed to absolute darkness and a silent Wilderness out her window, so it doesn't take much to adulterate her sleep situation.) We also didn't have our exercise ball to bounce her on. She ultimately slept, and so did we. The remainder of the week, we (unintentionally) relied on sleep deprivation to ensure an easy bed time routine.

The forecast called for rain the next few days, so we decided we would beat the weather by visiting museums. In the morning, we optimistically attempted to grab breakfast at a popular joint on the way to the Louvre. Turns out we weren't very committed, so decided to grab a croissant and cappuccino to go instead of waiting in line outside in the rain. When we got to the Louvre, we faced another long line - the sign said two hours from where we stood, so our commitment was again overcome.

Plan B took us to one of Paris' many covered walking malls. Because it was relatively early, most places were closed, so we did some window shopping and worked up our appetites.

Rue Montorgueil is lined with restaurants and shops filled with culinary delights. We cozied up to one of the many sidewalk cafes, under a sprawling canopy complete with overhead space heaters. Paris is very dedicated to sidewalk sitting, as this was the middle of winter.  

Moments later we had a bottle of rosé and a plate of foie gras with fresh bread and jam. (I know, we should have been drinking sweet wine with the fois gras, but it slipped our minds!) We followed the appetizer with rich risotto and a salad topped with a giant disk of fried cheese, garnished with fried potatoe slices. A shot of espresso and we were off. 

Next stops included bakery (baguette) and cheese shop (aged gouda) before heading back to the flat to relax. (Side note: I always pronounce gouda "gooda" because I'm a North American and self-conscious about saying "howda". Well, I figured anonymous in Paris was a good opportunity to let a "howda" fly, and the cheese lady came back at me "gooda"? ahhh!)

We relaxed back at the flat, napping, hanging out, and then gorging on bread. Fortified by carbs, we decided to visit the arc de triomph that evening. The rain had abated and we were on a roll. 

We navigated the metro directly to the arc, passed through the metal detector, left the stroller at the gate and climbed the stairs to the top. We enjoyed amazing views of the Eiffel Tower, and the bustle below. The famous Champs Eulysees, along with 5 other main roads, intersect at the base of the arc in a giant controlled chaos roundabout. 

We strolled down Champs Eulysees, people watching, and window shopping. We finally ended up back in our neighborhood around 9:30 pm. It being the beginning of the trip, we optimistically went out to dinner at la Fresque. Kit was a little restless, so we opted to sit outside under the deserted space heaters, much to the surprise of the restaurant staff. The extra space to juggle Kit was worth the lack of warmth.

Sunday morning took us to Museo d'Orsay, an art museum housed in a cavernous former train station. Again, there was a line, but we were spotted by a staff member and were fast tracked to the front due to the stroller status. Once we were passed the metal detectors, we realized that it was free admission day! The first Sunday of each month, many Paris museums offer free admittance. (Had we known, we probably wouldn't have gone in order to avoid the crowds, but we were happy to save the cash!)

Our coats and backpack were checked into the cloakerie then we hoofed it up to the fifth floor, me holding the stroller handles, Clare holding the front, Kit grunting encouragement. We had been told that the little cafe up there was decent with a charming atmosphere situated behind the large exterior clock. A little peckish, we headed that way. The waiter was a dick, the only time we had that experience on the trip. 

The museum had a variety of Van Gogh’s and Monet’s along with a rich sculpture collection. Notable was one of three "The Bedroom" paintings by Van Gogh (the other two are in Amsterdam and Chicago) and a replica of the Statue of Liberty (by the original sculptor.) 

Next, it was off to eclair genie for some seriously delicious (expensive!) artisanal eclairs. They were equally appealing to the eye as they were the tongue. Another baguette and cheese acquisition and it was back to the flat for a rest and to let Kit move around. 

That evening, we packaged up, jumped on the metro and headed out for some Udon. Listed in the Michelin guide and recommended by friends, Sanukiya was our destination. It is a hole in the wall, primarily with counter seating. No reservations, and the line was about an hour long when we arrived. Despite some light mist that came and went, we stuck it out. When we finally made it to the front of the line and were called in, whisked to our counter seats, we shoved the folded-up stroller and our stuff underneath. 

Our strategy was to pass Kit back and forth every several bites. Holding a grabby baby and eating hot slurpy soup are not particularly compatible. The staff helped a lot in keeping her happy, constantly waving and smiling at her over our shoulder. The food was great too. 

In the morning, we got breakfast at le pain quotidian (a Belgian coffee, bakery chain introduced to us in Amsterdam) then went for our redemption round at the Louvre. On this day, there was absolutely no line, so we immediately entered the iconic glass pyramid situated in the courtyard of the U-shaped museum and dropped down into the massive foyer. Again, coats and bag to the cloakerie and into the maze of 300 masterpieces (among thousands of pieces.) 

We went straight to the main attraction. Making our way up several stone stairways, through room after room with art covered walls we arrived at the famed Mona Lisa. Predictably, there was a large crowd huddled around the small painting, solitary mounted on a large stone wall. Having seen several famous paintings now, it never fails that the crowd of admirers’ clamber to take pictures of the painting and not necessarily with them in it. They nudge you out so they can get their iPhone up there for a great view. Don't these people realize that there are a million photos of these paintings available online and they don't need to waste their moment with the original by annoying everyone with their self-important need for a shitty cellphone picture of it???????

As I mentioned, the Louvre boasts 300 masterpieces so there was no shortage of spectacular pieces to take in. I particularly enjoy the Renaissance era paintings for their epic size, detail and endurance of time. I like to imagine the journey the painting has been on over the hundreds of years from the time the artist was messy in its creation to its mounting on this wall.

Sometimes the really popular attractions are popular for a reason. The Louvre is amazing and I would recommend it and if I'm in Paris again with free time, I might even go back.

A quick stop at a cheese shop to re-supply and a bottle of wine and it was back to the flat to chill for the afternoon.

That evening, we went to Pirouette, a Michelin guide place right around the corner and recommended by our host. We arrived right at the 7pm opening time without a reservation. The restaurant was slow as we walked in with baby in the stroller. They gave us a look over and hesitantly agreed they had a table available. There was space for the stroller to sit next to the table so Kit could hang out there. 

We opted for the 3-course prix fixe menu. Kit was not thrilled with our choice, so we tried to jolly her as we waited for the various courses. Her first trick was to grab my phone and throw it on the floor. Then, she nearly swiped my full crystal wine glass. When our entrees came, she settled into her stroller as I fed her a mysterious orange puree (probably sweet potatoes +) with the butt end of my knife.  

This seemed to ease her anxiety, so she decided it was a good time to take her first poop since we left home. Now Clare and I became quite antsy as we still were waiting on our dessert course and we knew we had a potential disaster on our hands. Clare ate her dessert very quickly and then whisked Kit back to the flat leaving me there alone to finish mine and the wine, next to the empty stroller. (Clare note: At the start of the fancy meal Dan said to Kit "The three worst things you could do would be scream, knock something over, and throw something." After doing all three, she pooped. "That was the fourth thing, I just didn't even want to say it." Despite the quadruple threat, this was a delicious and hilarious meal all around.)

The morning brought us a new vigor. The weather was nice and we were eager to leave the museum scene behind and hit the streets. We headed to the Le Marais neighborhood, home to hip and trendy shopping, restaurants and vibes. Our first stop was a window for falafel sandwiches. Next, we window shopped and popped into concept stores and second hand shops including Merci, a highly diverse ala ikea but boutique multilevel place. We stocked up on chocolate and caramels at chocolatier Jacque Genin. On our journey, we were surprised to see Minnesota companies so well represented - Red Wing Shoes, Minnetonka Moccasins, and Epicurean utensils. 

That night, we headed back to Rue Montrogueil for savory crepes and beer after the fondue place had a long wait. We also received another lesson that late night dinners are not the most enjoyable with a tired baby. We decided that we should be visiting the restaurants that interest us for a late lunch.

With this new M.O. the next morning we headed out of the city center to a highly regarded Swiss fondue place for lunch. It was spacious and not crowded. And because it was a 45-minute adventure to get there, Kit was sound asleep in her stroller most of the meal.

We opted for the "raclette" over the fondue. Raclette is basically half of a cheese wheel skewered on a stand with a heating element positioned close to the cut edge. As the cheese melts, you scrape the runny goo off the wheel with a special knife onto your plate you have prepared with boiled potatoes, charcuterie, bread and pickles. As we worked through this meal, I regretted to realize that my fondness for melted cheese appeared to have limits. Needless to say, we did not eat all 5 pounds of cheese (nor does anybody, according to the waiter). I expect to have a redemption round with this dish since my sister has newly moved to Switzerland. I promise to order the mildest cheese next time in order to maximize consumption. Kit didn't care for it. Much to learn. 

Back in the city center, we popped into the Notre Dame. I regret to say we didn't observe Quasimodo, but we were wowed by the magnificent stained glass. It is an impressive building, indeed, but I couldn't help having my disdain for the catholic church bubble to the surface as we wondered through. I could only imagine the unholy things that have taken place there.

That late afternoon, we made our way up the many steps to the Sacre Coeur, another famous catholic church, perched on the highest point in Paris. Armed with a bottle of champagne and a box of macaroons, we took in the sunset overlooking the city, admiring the Eiffel tower once again. 

Dinner that evening was bread (and somehow) cheese and wine back at the apartment. 

The next morning, we hoisted the stroller over the turnstiles, carried it down the stairs, rode the escalator into the metro station, minded the gap, and boarded heading out of the city center. We were in search of our new favorite souvenir, one we discovered in Istanbul last winter. Clare had made an appointment, so the gals at the salon were waiting for us. After growing out her hair during pregnancy and Kit's first year, it was time to for a change. Clare has worn a pixie cut the whole time I’ve known her, and I was excited for her to return to that style.

Kit and I crawled around the salon while they cut and styled Clare's hair. It turned out great and she is as hot as ever. 

Armed with a recommendation from a US expat also at the salon, we headed back to Le Marais for lunch. Given our luck, the place was closed for a week for maintenance, so we hit a well-known creperie in the neighborhood. We devoured the savory morsels alongside a carafe of hard cider. Obviously, we left room for chocolate covered crepes for dessert.

We picked up a bottle of olive oil and a jar of fois gras on our way back to the apartment. 

After our afternoon routine of nap, cheese, bread, wine, crawl around, we tempted fate with another late dinner. After having amazing Indonesian food in Amsterdam last year, we thought we'd give the Paris version a shot. We both ordered a "rice table" a series of small plates. It was OK, but nothing special. When we settled up the bill, the owner or manager asked us if we had ever had Indonesian before. We replied that we had in Amsterdam, and she simply returned a knowing look. 

Our trip was winding down, so we got up earlyish to take advantage of our last full day. I ventured out to grab us croissants and fruit for breakfast, then we metro-ed to the Paris Catacombs. We stood in line for about 30 minutes, but made little progress, so we bailed. 

We got ice cream for lunch and then went wine shopping. We popped into a wine store we had passed by numerous times over the week. The attendant got us into 4 bottles, two Bordeaux’s, a white and a rose. It was only like $40.

Clare dropped Kit and I off at the apartment and then headed out solo to do some more shopping. 

Upon her return, we packed our bags. They were full, now, after all of our yummy acquisitions. 

Feeling like we were not quite done with Paris, at about 6pm, we headed back out to visit the Pompidou Modern Art Center. It was just down the street from the apartment, so we walked passed the striking building daily. All of the HVAC ducts and piping for the 6-story building are on the exterior, painted blue and red. It looks like a giant transformer. 

The museum stays open til 10 on weekends, and since it was Friday we were in luck. There were hardly any other people there, so we got right in. 

There was a special Cy Twombly exhibit on the top floor, so we took the escalator, housed in a tube on the exterior of the building, up to the top, enjoying the view. The exhibit was bizarre and captivating. One of my favorite parts of the trip.

We then meandered through the remaining floors and the displays of Picasso, Jackson Pollock and many other creators of mind bending art. Kit was a trooper, riding in her stroller for a while, then in the Baby Bjorn on my chest where she napped as we admired the eclectic art. 

To cap the night, it was only fitting that we visit our favorite little restaurant, La Fresque one last time. We drank a bottle of wine, ate foie gras and other French delights. They even put a candle on our dessert for Kit. Although it wasn't her birthday (she actually turned 9 months while on the trip) it was a cute gesture. 

We had to rise early in the morning and head back to the airport. We took the train, doing the reverse of our arrival. 

The plane ride was 9.5 hours long plus an additional hour prior to takeoff. It was a full flight, so no extra space. Tack on the 5-hour drive from Minneapolis and we were home. (Clare note: Nobody cried!)

It was a fantastic trip. Traveling with our infant really didn't change things much from how Clare and I would have done things alone. The only real hardship was getting through the late dinner times and juggling Kit while out and about since she couldn't walk. It was a success and we are looking forward to our next family trip.