Mona Lisa’s Smile

The museums of Paris showcase some of the world’s most creative and irreplaceable works of art. They guard most of them with the sort of twine you’d use to string up a badminton net, strung at ankle height about a foot from the wall. The level of trust startles you. You walk up to paintings daubed before Shakespeare ever penned a word, realizing you could easily run your fingers or a jelly donut across them. Continue reading

Meeting Paris

I don’t know why I feared the French. Mon dieu, they’re lovely. They may not be sweet-tea-syrupy, y’all-come-back-now-y’hear Southerners, but neither do they sniff with distaste when Americans walk near. As we walk into shops, exhibits, or restaurants, we hand each other a bonjour and a smile. We sprinkle merci and au revoir liberally, fall into English for the rest, and have received kindness and grace at nearly every turn. Laura and Tina are already looking at real estate here. Continue reading

Europe 2022: Travel Day

Last night, my son Jake asked when we were leaving for the airport. “8:30,” I said. He asked, “What time’s your flight? Noon?” I admitted that yes, we were flying out at noon, and muttered a few defenses about international flight and checking in and making sure everything was squared away. He laughed at my anxieties. At 4:17 this morning, I awoke. Doom-scrolling kept me in bed until 6:00, when I gave up on more sleep. Continue reading

Culture Nudge

In Europe, “Fast service is considered rude service,” per Rick Steves1. In France, “It’s often frustrating to get even minor issues resolved,” claims blogger Diane2. Before Karen and Chad got ugly with customer service in America, Americans got ugly in Europe. Life moves at different paces, or so I’ve read. Different continents. Different cultures. We have learned that we should expect life in Europe to be different. We haven’t arrived in Europe yet, and haven’t experienced any culture shock . Continue reading

Not Our First Rodeo

We’ve traveled together before, the four of us. Three years ago, we flew to Las Vegas to celebrate a chronological milestone for Laura. Since Laura and I share a birth year, they tacked me on as a celebrant. Neither Laura nor I seem to care much for being feted, but we like parties and people so can handle the price of puffing out a few candles. I inherited my aversion to the spotlight from my mother — I recall a surprise birthday party at Olive Garden her church friends threw. Continue reading