Thank Heaven for Russian Grandmothers

This morning we slept until almost nine which is odd for all of us. We had breakfast in the main restaurant of Peter I. I wanted to get a pedicure (2,000 rubles) but there wasn’t enough time. We walked the child around town until it was time to head out to the subway.

And we not only found the subway but navigated it back to the train station.

We bought our tickets and headed back to the airport where I pointed randomly to some exotic juice for the child and what appeared as a latte with sesame seeds on it. It turned out to be a PEANUT BUTTER LATTE. Why they put sesame seeds on it, I don’t know. BUT DID YOU HEAR THAT, HUSBAND??? Peanut butter latte! PEANUT BUTTER LATTE. I had tried again to give the child 500 rubles spending money and this time she bought the cutest little baby nesting doll key chain for 280 rubles.

And I drank a delicious peanut butter latte.

Did I mention the peanut butter latte?

We flew to Kazan via Aeroflot. The only “event” of our flight was the fact that we all refused to eat the salmon and pickle sandwich on pumperknickel. Okay, so child ate some of it.

We  managed to find the airport express train into Kazan, a bargain at only 120 rubles for the three of us. (The Moscow airport train costs 470 rubles for one of us.) The girl at the ticket counter assured us it was only a five to ten minute walk from the station to our hotel, Courtyard Marriott at the Kremlin.

Except we had no clue how to get out of the train station, let alone find our hotel.

Luckily, a Russian grandmotherly type who spoke no English looked at our map, escorted us out and found us a taxi.

Kazan has some amazing architecture but I’ll get into that in the morning. We decided to go to a kebab place for dinner, writing down the Russian street names. We couldn’t find it. Ended up at a decent place with various foods… but here’s the great part, our waitress spoke English!

The city at night is amazing with its colors and domes against the night sky. More about that tomorrow.

 

Kachapuri

During our last visit to Moscow, we ate at Kachapuri, twice, and fell in love. We took my daughter there tonight for a feast of pumpkin soup, tarragon lemonade, lamb stew, a special local cheese cubed and breaded, fried zucchini, and the biggest chunk of real fish I’ve ever seen. And a beer for me. Oh, and I almost forgot… Two kachapuri.

Coffee and St. Basil’s

It is so wet in Moscow today.

We have been drenched to the bone several times already. Sigh.

So after our morning adventure, we decided on a cup of coffee and found a delightful shop with good looking pastry and the word that we recognized as Russian for coffee.

We speak a total of five words of Russian yet someone managed to order coffee and juice and cookies and a delicious poppyseed loaf. And a chocolate muffin cupcake thing.

After that it was more struggling with the rain… And dear daughter losing the hotel room key and the 500 rubles spending money I gave her.

IMG_3968Of course, I took a picture of her in the Moscow streets with her inside out umbrella.

And St. Basil’s was delightful. Gorgeous architecture. Art students drawing in the halls. Ancient coins and tools. Great music. Various examples of metal work and religious art.

 

 

Monday brings Crying Clouds to Moscow

Upon waking, thankfully after a good night’s sleep as the second night is usually when jet lag holds M and I hostage. My daughter slept through the night even though she’s never experiences the rigors of international travel before.

The breakfast at the restaurant was full so the maitre d’ sent us to the VIP lounge on the sixth floor. It gave us a wonderful view of the neighborhood below us. I hadn’t brought my phone so no photos. Sad face.

I had a taste of the pancakes and cheese cake pancake things, a couple broiled sausages, porridge, an aloe vera mango drink, two cappucinos and a bottle of water. For dessert, I had a chocolate muffin with these chocolate crispy balls on top.

Daughter says breakfast had a few quirks. She ate her weight in sausages and bacon, had a couple potato wedges and a little danish. I gave her a watermelon yogurt drink and suggested she try the caviar, but she did not. She didn’t like any of the pancakes or similar items.

We headed into the streets, a downpour out there. We walked down to Red Square but St. Basil’s doesn’t open until one.

We ended up taking a walk and visiting the RYM (I’m not taking the time to use the cyrillic alphabet) shopping mall. That basically became a voyage of escalators and stairs. That’s what the child wanted to do. I gave her 500 rubles spending money.

Throughout the mall, the displays featured a tribute to Russian athletes, of the current and Soviet Union days.

Stopped in the hotel room to dry out. Off to more adventures soon.

 

 

 

Goodbye, Paris. Hello, Moscow.

Our traveling companion M took us on a walk through Barbès where my daughter made some French/Algerian friends in one of the shops. The people there tried to get her to speech French and Arabic and gave her a piece of candy. She noted the difference between standard touristy Paris and the so-called immigrant presence in the outer districts, seeing Africans and Arabs. I use the term so-called immigrants because of how the French consider even second generation citizens “immigrants.”

We walked up to Sacre Ceour. Lil Miss didn’t realize it was on the top of a hill. She just thought it was tall. But she was a trooper walking up the hill. And M showed her the Eiffel Tower in the distance.We wandered half way down the hill and she spotted the funicular. We had a metro ticket for the day so we actually walked back UP to Sacre Ceour and rode the funicular down.

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Funicular to Sacre Couer

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View from Sacre Coeur

Dinner was at Le Magenta, another place where I have eaten before. I ordered a two course meal for each of us, with Lil Miss trying to overcome her fear of using French words. I suggested the restaurant based on past experience and as soon as she saw they served escargot she was in.  She ordered six escargot in a bourgogne sauce. In the photo, she looks a tad intimidated but in reality she was merely focused on getting those snails out of their shells. I asked her why she liked them and she said it was because she loved getting them out of their shells. I suppose she’s like a cat and needs to play with her food.

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She also had a duck thigh which came artfully arranged on potato wedges and slivers of tomatoes that resembled flower petals.

The walk back to the hotel was exhausting, not because it was far but because of the jet lag and the nine miles we had walked. Lil Miss showered, collapsed into bed. In the morning, we were on the RER early returning to CDG-Roissy.

In the Air France lounge, Lil Miss made an amazing discovery. 1. She LIKES croissants. She has insisted for years that she doesn’t like plain croissant. I have countered, for years, that it’s because she hasn’t tasted one in France.

She ate five or six plain croissants and two pain au chocolat. She also learned how to read French jam labels, though she thought the “orange” was orange marmalade and it turned out to be bitter orange. An adjective makes a big difference.

IMG_3928.JPGThe plane from Paris to Moscow was on an Airbus A318, a big change from the Boeing 777. I discovered this morning a lovely note from the TSA that apparently gave my bag a check before it left the States. Not that I noticed.

We navigated the Moscow airport with no problem and child kept trying to compliment the female customs agent on her pretty eye makeup. Overall, she’s a good kid but we’re working on NOT spurting out every thought in her head to the entire universe.

We even navigated the Moscow subway. The majestic tunnels, architecture and details in the stations. Every train looks completely different. Some old, some new. Very colorful.

We had Russian-style beef dumplings with a butter and sour cream sauce for dinner in a little restaurant off Red Square where to Lil Miss’s delight they had American music videos playing. Calvin Harris and the Disciples: “How Deep is Your Love?”

Child compared Moscow to an urban New York feel. Paris seems smaller and offers more recreation. She thought Moscow was more exotic while Paris felt more like an American town.

And the best so far–

“All I know about Russia is what I see on CNN and they don’t have nice things to say.”

That’s my baby. Now when you go back to school, set them straight.

 

 

Arrival in Paris

My daughter was fascinated by every stage in the airports. Luggage, security, the lounge, the jetway, the plane. She loved take-off. She loved landing. She loved airplane food.


But Paris didn’t get quite the reaction I hoped for. She yelled in her boldest American voice, “It’s just like ‘Merica only better decorated.” And that the people carry themselves “so dignified.”


The two hours sleep she got on the plane and the one nap in the hotel had started to wear off… We headed down to the patisserie around the corner where we had pastry and café crême. Well, pain au raisin and pain au chocolat and hot chocolate for the traveler.

Then off to what she wanted to see–

I.M. Pei’s Pyramids at the Louvre.


We walked from Pont Neuf to Musée Orsay along the Seine and the took #7 train from the Louvre to Gare de L’Est and meandered back to the hotel across the street from Gare de Nord.

Passport Panic

Normally before vacation, I pack and unpack. I rehearse exotic languages. I google and read books. 

Not this time.

This time my 12-year-old daughter and I, with my traveling companion, will head to Paris for the day Saturday and then Russia for a week.

Today we had a lil “come to Jesus” meeting about her room. And she was told to clean it before we started packing. My plan was to get her packed (after seven years of summer camp, she got this) and take her for a one mile or so walk around the neighborhood as training for navigating airports and subway stations.

She organized her bags like a trooper. And then I asked her to pull our travel paperwork. Money, passports, notarized documents from her father saying she could travel with me, vaccination records…

“Mommy, your passport isn’t here.”

What?!?!

We checked my purse, the car, ripped the drawers out of furniture. I checked under the bed. I checked lunch boxes. 

I had it out to use it as identification when I needed fingerprints last week, for my position as a graduate assistant at West Chester University. I called the fingerprint office.

After an hour of ransacking my house, my friend reminds me that we stopped at the grocery store 15 miles from my house so she could buy sesame oil.

I call them. A nice young man named Jeff tells me they have a passport and he thinks it’s mine. 

I drive out.

It is.

Back-handed compliment

So… 

An older man came to the cafe today and bought a pizza from me. He wasn’t a particularly attractive older man but he obviously found himself witty.

He paid for a $5.61 lunch with $20.61. I automatically said, “$15 is your change.”

I typed it into the register and as I grabbed his bills, he said, 

“I’m proud of you.”

I ignored him.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m proud of you?” he asked.

“I believe I know.”

“You made change without using the register.”

Yeah, and I also count all the cash sales for the entire store. 

“I counted $22,000 this morning,” I said.

He left.

He meant it as a compliment. But it stung. It stung because he would have never said it to a person his age or to a man.

He said it to me because I look younger than my forty-plus years. I’m cute and I’m petite. And I work retail.

And I’m a woman.

So therefore it must be surprising that I can do math.

Never mind that I can speak more than one language. Or that I have two bachelors degrees and am working on a master’s in world history. Or that I used to run a newsroom. Or that I’ve traveled to (and fallen on) four of the seven continents.

Sigh.

A Day in Asbury Park

My daughter asked to go to the beach for her birthday outing. So as a family, we decided on Asbury Park, one of several Jersey Shore points that host Volkksport walks. Last year, my daughter and I did a similar day trip to Barnegat.
We didn’t arrive until close to noon since we didn’t alter the morning routine and then we hit traffic. It’s an easy 90-minute drive from my home to Asbury Park. Their on-street metered parking was extremely reasonable and easy-to-use. 


We first went to the Twisted Tree Cafe, keeper of the Volkksport “walk box” where I had iced dirty chai, child had iced chai, and I also bought a very, very scrumptious vegan ginger cookie. (The total for two chains and two bottles of water was $13.70 and the cookie was $1.50 which I found amusing since six hours of parking cost me $12. But the chai was so good the child kept asking to go back for more and was willing to spend all of her birthday money on chai. So, if that’s not an endorsement I don’t know what is.)


The only complaint I have was that for some reason the café smelled so strongly of onions that my eyes burned. My family noticed it too.
But before we went on our walk, we had to do some potential shopping. You see, there was a paranormal and curiosities shop next to the cafe and a store called Fetish across the street. My husband bought a glass with a ouija board on it at Paranormal. The owner of that shop keeps her merchandise so beautiful and organized it’s a joy to walk through. She has each of her crystals nicely labeled in mason jars. She refers to it as her apothecary system. 

Fetish had some gorgeous clothes, jewelry, collars and lingerie. I fell in love with some brown cowboy boots with laces up the side. Functioning laces. As someone who wore cowboy boots for several years, they enticed me because of my attraction to cowboy-booty and my fascination of things that lace and tie. 


From there we started the volkksport walk with the hope to do the 10K. It was lobster fest at Asbury Park today and some other bridge festival too. The walk is an out-and-back on the boardwalk. Sadly, we made it about a half-mile from the turn-around point on the 10K before we were all a little cranky. And we missed the drawbridge!


But my husband bought me a floppy sun hat. And I would have had a $5 tarot card reading but the lady looked really unapproachable. 


We had massive sandwiches at Vintage Subs: roast beef, salami, turkey and capicola with provolone, oil, vinegar and oregano.
Then, my daughter got to swim in the ocean and I read half a Cosmo magazine. Life is good.


My husband had to drag her from the water (perhaps not literally) and in a quest for water, they somehow managed to score a free full size pizza from a vendor at one of the festivals. 
She picked what appears to be a mussel from the beach and it isn’t dead. It keeps cracking open its shell and doing something. She grabbed it at low tide and now, out of guilt, tossed it in a tupperware container of water. 

Forward events happening 

I’ve been meaning to post something for a while, even had a list of potential topics (such as my thoughts on medical dramas on television, nothing deep or philosophical). But I didn’t.

I especially thought it on Saturday when my daughter texted me photos from her Girl Scout trip into NewYork City. Between her and my friend Gayle, a chaperone on the trip who updated Instagram regularly, I got an idea what it must be like to see my social media travel posts. And I liked it.


And then I found out that I received a three-credit graduate assistantship from West Chester University for fall which heightens the sense that I really am working towards my master’s.

And with that news, I overlooked the textbook list the professor emailed for our summer class that starts at the end of the month. The class is something about nationalism and democracy in nineteenth century Europe.

Required Textbooks:

1) 19-Century Europe: A Cultural History, Hannu Salmi (978-0-7456-4360-1)

2) Schnitzler’s Century: The Making of Middle-Class Culture 1815-1914, Peter Gay (978-0-3933-2363-4)

3) Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Benedict Anderson (ISBN 978-1-8446-7086-4)

4) Nations and Nationalism, Ernest Gellner (ISBN 978-0-8014-7500-9)

5) Peasants into Frenchmen, Eugen Weber (ISBN 978-0-8047-1013-8)

6)Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe (ISBN 978-0-3854-7454-2)

This gets me ridiculously excited because I base all my concepts of what it means to be French post-nationalism on Weber. I should have this book memorized. Now I have an excuse to buy a copy.

And my ideas of community come from Benedict Anderson. How can they not?

And the lit major in me is glad to see Chinua Achebe on the list…

I am trembling.