Well, That Went By Quickly - by Jenni

Today was our last day in Paris. There's nothing to say that wouldn't sound like a cliche. It has, indeed, seemed like a blink of an eye. After a year of dreaming and months of planning, we have one more abbreviated night in this lovely place and then it's off to the airport (taxi arrives at 5:20 AM, and I'm tired just thinking about it).

We slept in, since we had to wait for Louis to let us know if we were going to stay here tonight or relocate to the airport hotel. He texted me about 10:00 with the all-clear: the protests are over and we will proceed as planned tomorrow morning. I slept well last night and my throat no longer hurts. I still feel tired and a little achy but much better. Ready for more adventures.

This was the warmest day yet - high 80s, and starting to get a little muggy. That's why we planned for the Day of Dad. Emma gave David the Day of Dad as a Chanukah present last winter. She promised that he could take her to a science museum and he could explain anything he wanted, and she would listen attentively and patiently. So today we headed for the air-conditioned haven of the Cite des Science et Industries.

A small part of one of the five floors. I can see why they call it the City of Science.

Emma was as good as her word.

I took advantage of the many benches and comfy chairs from which one can watch all kinds of interesting short movies. This museum had by far the most comprehensive multilingual documentation of any place we visited, and that helped hold Emma's interest. There are two fast-food cafes, a Burger King and an actual restaurant. We ate at one of the cafes and went back to the exhibits after lunch.

Skeletons of a dog and a cat.

Me, represented by cells. Or something. I didn't really understand this one.

Even the most patient teenager eventually reaches her limit.

We took the Metro to the bridge right near the Ile St Louis and continued our investigation into Parisian ice cream with another stop at Berthillon. Emma had vanilla and chocolate ice cream and raspberry sorbet. I had salted caramel, gingerbread and chocolate ice cream. David had chocolate and raspberry sorbet. We were all happy. Conclusion: Berthillon is better than Amorino, by a nose. Or a tastebud.

We came back to the apartment hot and tired at about 4:30 and I opened FB to see all the posts about the Supreme Court marriage equality decision. Yay!

We changed our clothes and finished packing the big suitcases. This apartment is on the top floor of a quiet residential building and they don't want any trouble with the neighbors - the kind of trouble one might have if one banged big suitcases around at 5:00 AM on a summer Saturday. The driver who will pick us up tomorrow morning came by this evening and took the three big suitcases. We'll manage our carry-ons all by ourselves.

We headed out to dinner at a local restaurant recommended by the apartment agent, the wonderful Louis (the same man who fed us ambrosial foie gras last week. He's a chef). The Ambassade d'Auvergne has apparently been a family favorite for several generations. We had a 7:30 reservation and were the first arrivals - only tourists eat this early (and indeed everyone else in the place was English-speaking). I started with a melon soup - fresh honeydew in a gingered mint syrup that bore no releationship to canned fruit cup. David had a charcuterie plate that he shared with Emma, and there was an amuse-bouche of housemade pate that was heavenly. Emma got adventurous and ordered sausage, also clearly housemade, and I had duck, which was tender and perfectly cooked. Emma and I had a side of cheesy mashed potatoes - the chef brought the copper pot out into the dining room to demonstrate the awesome cheesiness. They were as yummy as you'd think. David had dourade (fish which is plentiful in local restaurants), also perfectly cooked. I had chocolate mousse for dessert. Oh, my. David ordered sorbet that turned out to have two scoops of ice cream and Emma held out for Amorino, so we stopped on the way back to the apartment. It's our last night.

It's our last night....and I should go to bed to allow this cold to continue to improve. I have to get up very soon, anyway.

I'm glad I'll have these posts (and the hundreds of digital photos on our camera that I haven't actually reviewed yet) to remember the trip.

Not everything went as we expected, or hoped, because it never does. Emma didn't want to lug her big camera around everywhere, and was disappointed with the apartment wifi, so you only got one vlog.  There are many things in Paris we didn't see. David kept saying "We're not checking things off a list. We're here to have fun". And so we did. Two weeks is a long time for a social 15 year old to be stuck with her parents. She put up with us with grace (mostly). I feel as if we all know each other better. I'm glad we came and I'm glad we waited until Emma was 15 to take a major family vacation. 

Au revoir, Paris!

An Early Night - by Jenni

At least in comparison to last night. I tried to convince myself that the sore throat I woke up was just a passing inconvenience due to the cool breeze, or something. No luck. As the day went on the sore throat got worse and I developed this overwhelming need to close my eyes and lie down.

We slept late and, after our usual breakfast, headed out to the Orangerie. We'd planned to take the Metro but Emma campaigned for the BatoBus, which is certainly prettier. Also slower. We had a leisurely trip down the Seine to the Champs d'Elysee stop (and no, we didn't see or hear anything about the Uber protests). From there it was a short walk around the Place de la Concorde and into the museum, where there was no line at all. I wonder if that was due to the traffic convulsions from the protest. We didn't complain, in any case.

The Orangerie has been renovated since my last visit. No worries - Monet's masterworks are still in residence.

I shouldn't have tried. I couldn't resist.

Downstairs, there's the Walter-Guillaume collection, started by an influential Paris art dealer in the early 20th century and continued by his widow after her marriage to "an industrialist". What do industrialists do, anyway? 

I spent a long time at the wall of Renoir canvases. Visually stunning. I hadn't realized how domestic his paintings are - children playing, piano lessons, a mother and her small child working with bread dough. In this context, even the still life paintings seem to show a moment in time in the artist's kitchen, rather than an intellectual study. I could have looked at that gallery for days. 

There are some interesting early-ish Picassos - not yet abstract or Cubist. Very figural and somewhat Expressionist. There were several very large female figures. It's been a long time since I've looked at a collection of Picasso canvases in person. I've come to think of him as a political figure, as a symbol of 20th-century art, and as a misogynist. The scale and size and sheer beauty of the women in his paintings took my breath away. I remembered Picasso's fame and forgot his art. Now I wish we had time for the Picasso museum...next trip!

The other part of the collection that held my interest was the room of Utrillo canvases. My mother loved Utrillo, and my father loved Berlioz. This is for them.

The House of Berlioz, Maurice Utrillo

By the time we finished walking through the museum (including a temporary exhibition of an early 20th-century Italian sculptor), it was after 1:00. We were hot, tired and hungry. Today was the warmest day of our trip so far - mid-80s. Emma wanted pasta carbonara for lunch and I wanted to visit the Cluny Museum, so we headed back to the Latin Quarter on the BatoBus and returned to the restaurant near the Sorbonne where we had lunch the first day. 

Then we walked down the hill to the Cluny Museum, which occupies the site of a Greco/Roman bathhouse dating from the 2nd or 3rd century of the common era. The museum houses medieval and ancient art and artifacts from all over Paris, including several pieces from the early days of Notre Dame and some stained glass from St Chappelle. 

Heads of the Kings of Judah, from the 13th century of the common era, Notre Dame.

We really wanted to see the baths. The scale of history outside the US is overwhelming to me. We stood in the Frigidarium, dated from the 2nd century. I can't wrap my head around that.

We left the Cluny Museum and walked back to le Marais for ice cream. By this time I had to acknowledge that I didn't feel well. I thought we'd cut our day short, and then I realized we got back to the apartment at 4:30 after visiting two museums and eating lunch. A full day. We had takeout here (foccaccia pizza for Emma and me, shawarma for David).

While we haven't seen any of the protests, the agent for the apartment, the inestimable Louis, is concerned that the resulting chaos may interfere with our departure plans. We have an early flight on Saturday morning, and our original plan was that the large luggage would be picked up tomorrow and the driver would come for us at 5:20 AM on Saturday. We now have just-in-case reservations at an airport hotel and Louis will let us know tomorrow if we need them.

On that note, I'm taking my cough and sore throat to bed. And yes, I do know (thanks to good friends) that pharmacists in France can give medical advice. and I will consult someone tomorrow if I think I need medication to tolerate the trip home.

Bonne nuit. Think calming thoughts for the Parisian taxi drivers.

How The Other Half Lives, XVIIieme Century Style - by Jenni

When we started to plan this trip last winter, we told Emma to do some research and tell us what she wanted to see in Paris. She said "SHOPPING". We said "And what else?" She just looked at us. A few weeks later, she texted me one afternoon and said "When we go to Paris, can we go to Versi?" I texted back "We'll see", figuring "Versi" was a store. Then I went to Google and typed in "Versi Paris" and Google said "Do you mean VERSAILLES"? Ah-hah! Google knows my daughter better than I do.

Rick Steves and at least one person on ParentNet suggested the guided tour as a way of skipping the (long long) line to get in. Rick Steves also suggests going to Versailles on Thursday. Too many people must be reading Rick Steves, because the Thursday tours were sold out. It's good to be flexible. We went today. We walked about 20 minutes to the train station, and of course we walked past the boulangerie so we could pick up our pains chocolat and our croissants. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. 30 minutes on the train took us to the Versailles station, and a short walk brought us to this view.

It just gets better from here.

We checked in for our tour and had about 45 minutes to wait so we wandered out to the garden. The weather was gorgeous - we have been amazingly lucky so far and today was a jewel. Sunny, mid-70s and low humidity with a bit of a breeze. We all fell in love with the gardens immediately.

"Did they own all that?" "They owned the whole country, sweetie". "And this was their backyard?"

The guided tour took us through the king's private apartments. They start the English tours every half hours, alternating by 15 minutes with the French tours. That makes for a lot of tours and a lot of people and if one guide runs a little late...you have a tour traffic jam. Our guide was a charming young woman who coped very well with the resulting chaos and kept us moving as best she could. She explained the court ettiquette and the reason for the private apartments. One of the first rooms we saw is the Chambre des Chiens (room of the dogs), so-called because that was where they kept the dogs and where the king's footmen stayed. I think the dogs had a better life than the footmen.

Much of the original art and furniture was removed at the time of the Revolution. Some magnificent pieces remain, including a clock that provided the official time for the entire country for at least a hundred years. Louis XV was apparently quite a student of the sciences, especially astronomy. The clock has an orrery (a working model of planetary orbits) on the top, and it's mounted in front of a mirror so that the king and his guests could appreciate the movement through the clear glass back of the clock. I don't have a picture of it - couldn't do it justice on the phone.

I do have a picture of the writing desk. The desk is, of course, exquisite.

Many of the rooms were altered by subsequent kings, including the library, which started life as a game room. We admired the books and globes and then left through the secret door. I love secret doors.

After the tour of the private apartments, we were able to go directly into the publicly accessible spaces without waiting online. Definitely worth the price of the tour to skip the very very long line we saw at the gates when we arrived. The consequence of the long line, of course, is that the public spaces are so crowded that you can barely move around. By this time we were all hot and tired, so we didn't linger to admire artwork or take any pictures except for this one in the Hall of Mirrors.

We finally left the building at 12:30 and headed back to the gardens. The gardens of Versailles cover about 2000 acres. We were not going to walk the whole thing. No matter what, we weren't going to see the whole thing. Rick Steves (there's that name again) suggests renting a golf cart. He also points out that while the rules say only adults over 24 can drive the carts, there are long stretches of path where no one is looking that closely....so Emma was determined to get us into a golf cart. She was so determined that she didn't even want to stop for lunch. We were suprised how short a wait there was and by 1:00 we were golf-carting our way down the hill to a lovely little restaurant called La Petit Venise. I don't know why there's an Italian restaurant on the grounds of Versailles. I don't really care. It was good food and we sat outside in a courtyard and enoyed ourselves.

Emma and I were amused by the name of the limonade.

From there, we drove to the Petit Trianon, which started out as the home of Madame Pompadour and was subsequently Marie Antoinette's favorite residence. In the garden is the temple of love, build by Louis XVI for Marie Antoinette. It is, as you can see, quite restrained, like everything else they did. 

The pools and streams surround the Petit Trianon are more naturalistic than the manicured and symmetrical topiaries and canals and fountains of the rest of the grounds. There were also fewer people and it was very peaceful.

And after we left the Trianon, Emma got her chance behind the wheel.

She did fine. Her initial anxiety gave way to complete elation. This might have been a tactical error, since she was already obsessed with driving. Oh, well. She had fun.

See? Happy girl. This is the Grand Canal, where you can rent rowboats and take a pique-nique along as well.

And here we are near the top of the hill, close to the end of the golf cart tour. Those of you who know my mother will note the gilt frogs in the fountain. We turned in the cart and walked back to the station and came back to Paris, dusty and footsore and very very happy. 

On our morning walk to the train, Emma spotted a store she thought would be a good source of presents for her friend Caleb, so we stopped there on the way back, along with half of Paris - it was the first day of the summer sale. Emma, of course, was right. She found a shirt and sweater that work well together and was very pleased with her purchases.

We came home, cooled off, had hors d'ouevres here in the apartment, and went out to dinner at a brasserie around the corner. Emma had steak, David had goose and I had duck. We found another Amorino's right nearby and finished our day with ice cream and sorbet. 

Only two days more...hard to believe. Time to put my sore feet to bed and rest up for tomorrow's adventures. Bonne nuit!

What Goes Up - by Jenni

It's 10:50 and I'm trying to remember how the day started...oh, right. Pain chocolat, croissants and fruit. Of course.

We made plans for lunch with an old and new friend (more on that later) and Emma made it clear she wasn't done with her shopping, so we decided to walk over to the Luxembourg Gardens, where we were meeting Bev, and pay more attention to the shops this time. We didn't find anything inspiring so we sat in the garden and watched the children with sailboats.

Adorable, n'est ci pas?

We met Bev at the garden entrance and she knew us right away. Good thing I've been posting so many pictures! Bev was one of the members of the CompuServe Women's Forum (originally Women's Wire) about 20 years ago, when I found my first online community. A few stalwarts have migrated from there to to a Delphi Forum and now to FB. These women have a special place in my life. I haven't met all of them in person yet - someday! 

Bev lives about 30 km outside of Paris with her husband, two donkeys and an unspecified number of cats. It was great to meet her in person after all these years. The couscous was delicious and the talk was even better.

We planned to visit the Cluny Museum after lunch, and found that it's closed on Tuesdays. Emma suggsted that this gave us more time to shop. We walked up to L'Opera and looked at the shops in that area, and then went over to Printemps, where Emma went into raptures at the decor of the building.

Unfortunately, she wasn't nearly as excited by the clothes. We did find a store full of cellphone cases and eventually took ourselves back at the Opera and a store called Mango, where she had more success with clothing.

We then took the Metro back to our neighborhood to change for dinner. Someone (Anne Gauthier? Susana MacLean? Maria Wilson?) told us that if we made reservations for a meal at the Eiffel Tower restaurant, we could skip the lines for lift tickets. We had dinner at 58 Tour Eiffel. We did indeed skip the line for the elevator at first. More about that later.

We weren't in time to get a reservation for a "view table". Pro tip: they're all view tables. 

OK, you can't see the view in that shot, but he's pretty cute.

The food was excellent and the experience was really outstanding, including the cruise-ship-style photographer who came around to the tables. We bought four pictures. I know it's amazingly touristy. It was the Eiffel Tower. We were all in.

slightly blurry phone copy of one of the pictures. Of course we bought it.

Have I ever mentioned that I have a fear of heights? Well, I do. When your kid says "I want to go up the Eiffel Tower", though, you go up the Eiffel Tower.

Eeek. Those are my feet on the left and Emma's at the bottom of the photo, looking down through the glass at the people on the plaza below.

Pro tip #2: Meals at the first floor restaurant do not automatically include lift tickets above the first floor. You can purchase tickets for the summit on the second floor, but you can't purchase tickets for the second floor on the first floor. Too complicated? I'll make it simple. We had to climb the stairs from the first floor to the second floor. That's somewhere around 350 steps. 

My feet hurt. What you can't see in the shot above is that Emma wore four-inch wedges. "It's worth the pain", she said.

The view from the second floor was even more compelling than the first. 

Pro tip #3: Download the Eiffel Tower app so you know what you're looking at.

Once we made it to the second floor, we queued up and waited...and waited...to purchase tickets for the top. There's not much space up there, and they don't sell you tickets until there's room. We finally made it onto the lift and all the way up...

Emma said "The cameras don't do it justice". She was right.

Didn't stop me from trying.

Luckily, they didn't check tickets on the way down. The lift systems are separate - there's a funicular that runs up the legs of the tower to the second floor, and then an elevator up the center to the top. More queuing, but eventually we made it back to ground level.

All told it was a five-hour adventure into the heart of tourist-land and it was totally worth it. 

Tomorrow: Versailles! A demain.

It's not how you start....

...it's how you finish.

Today did not start well. Emma woke up feeling better, and that didn't last. She went back to bed, woozy and tired, and we figured we'd have another quiet day. David went over to the cyber cafe to print out our tickets for tonight's concert and tomorrow's dinner, and I hung out here, sorted through Email and did a load of laundry. Very exciting.

By early afternoon, Emma felt well enough to leave the apartment and - more importantly - she was annoyed at being cooped up. We decided to head to L'Orangerie, the museum of Impressionist art in the Tuileries. We got as far as the nearest Metro station when Emma decided her stomach wasn't quite up to a subway ride, so we walked. It was gray, cool and cloudy but not acutally raining.

The Louvre was jammed, of course. The Tuileries Garden was gorgeous, of course. They have lots and lots of grass and they appear to be experimenting with alternate approaches to controlling the growth.

We arrived at the Orangerie and discovered that everything we've been told about lines at Paris museums is true. I intended to purchase Museum Passes at the airport yesterday; that plan came undone when Emma got sick. I figured we'd just wait on one line and then buy the passes when we bought our admissions. We waited half an hour and had at least another half hour to go, which wouldn't have left us much time in the museum, and rushing through one of the world's great collections of Impressionist art seemed like a bad idea.

We stepped out of line and headed back along the Rue de Rivoli past a serious collection of tourist traps. The rain finally arrived as we stepped under the arched promenade and we took refuge in a sidewalk cafe that clearly also catered to tourists. We didn't care. We were dry and warm and the food was fine.

By then Emma had definitely perked up. We could tell because her sarcasm returned. She also agreed to ride the Metro rather than walk through the pouring rain. Trying to find a cab in the rain at rush hour makes Paris look a lot like Manhattan. We surfaced on the Ile de la Cite, where we walked over to St Chappelle, hoping we could get in early for the 7:00 concert. Nope (and when we did get inside, I realized that they had been trying to get all the chairs set up. Of course). Back to the sidewalk cafe, where we had drinks and a snack. Next door to the cafe was a Tabac. Rick Steves says that some tabacs sell tickets and museum passes, so we looked in - and sure enough, they did. We are now in possession of three Paris Museum Passes, good for the rest of the week. And yes, I do know that Emma may be eligible for free admission to some of the museums. I also know that we'll have to wait on the regular line in order to take advantage of that. Hence the three passes.

The organizers of the concert took pity of us and allowed us to wait in the courtyard, out of rain, until we could go in to the chapel for the concert. 

I can't do it justice, either with photos or with words. It is magnificent. 

We ordered tickets online with no regard for the performers or the program - we just wanted to hear music in that amazing space. We got very, very lucky. The program featured some of our favorite music, including Pachelbel's Canon, which was our wedding processional. The players were Les Solistes Francais. According to the program, they "distinguish themselves first and foremost by their singular sound and infectious passion to share with others their music and 'joie de vivre'." They dressed in white instead of black and they looked like they were having a lot of fun. They also sounded incredible. It was a treat.

When we emerged, the clouds were leaving town and blue sky was visible. We walked back to our own neighborhood and had a light dinner at a cafe near the Stravinsky fountain, just behind the Centre Pompidou. 

Each of the 16 pieces of sculpture in the fountain is inspired by one of Stravinsky's musical works. I can't figure out how to post video, so I can't share the full experience. It's quite something.

So here we are at the end of another day, much more content than I would have predicted at the outset. It's actually dark because it's almost 11:00 PM, and it's time to head to bed. More adventures await us on the morrow! Bonne nuit!

Oh, the bread!

My turn to add a little content :)  There are many ways in which the pieces of Europe on our itinerary have been notably similar to various places I have inhabited or spent a lot of time in back in the US. These days, retail is so global that there are many familiar stores, including a strong presence of 7-11 in Stockholm, not to mention the US clothing stores all over the Marais and surrounding areas.  Much to Emma's surprise, and sometimnes dismay, some of the less entrancing aspects of home are here, too.  Subway entrances and ubrban stairways sometime stink of urine, just as they do in New York City.  Inevtiable litter blows in the street and sidewalks are gritty and grungy. And there is graffiti everywhere, perhaps even more than at home (much like my experiences in Italy).  Of course there are differences, too.  There are amazingly many cafes, where watching passers-by almost seems like a sporting event with grandstand seating. And culture and arts have pride of place that is not so often found back home. 

But, one thing that has continued to surprise me is the bread.  Every piece of bread I have encountered, even the slightly stale baguette slices that they put down on the table in every little cafe here in Paris, have a richness of flavor that is very hard to come by in the US.  The flavor of Paris is distinct - slightly sour, but not assertive, like it is in San Francisco, and powerfully yeasty.  There are variations - pain complet (whole grain bread) and demi-complet - but they all seem to have a uniquely Parisian taste. 

And then there was Sweden.  This is the bread of my genes, and my genes have apparently not forgotten.  There were some lovely white breads, again somewhat sour, but not as yeasty as in Paris, but my choice of the last few days was ubiquitous brown rye breads, with subtle notes of cardamom and other Scandinavian spices.  Rich and moist and full of grainy flavors, some slightly sour, but most with a subtle sweetness.  I enjoyed them for both breakfast and lunch in several settings.  Yum!  And then this morning in Stockholm, the Story Hotel SignalFabirken put out a rich, dark, seeded whole grain bread with the distinct sweetness of molasses - oh my!  Apparently known as kavring, it was very dense, very rich, and very, very good.  I'm sure it would have been outstanding with gravlax or the smoked/cured meats that are a Swedish breakfast staple, but it was amazing all by itself, with a little butter.  

So as I sat reflecting on the train to the airport about what was my most prominent impression of the trip so far, loaves of wonderful fragrant bread popped into my mind and would not be dislodged.  So there you have it - not pain perdu, but pain souvenu.

Saturday in Stockholm - by Jenni

Pro tip: if caffeine keeps you awake in the US, it will also keep you awake in Sweden. Not much sleep for me last night, thanks to yesterday's fika. Yawn.

We took a midmorning train from Kristinehamn and arrived at our Stockholm hotel about 2:00 PM. My sister-in-law warned us that everything shuts down in Stockholm the day after Midsommer, and she was (of course) correct. The restaurant in the hotel was closed; luckily, a decent pub was open down the street and we finally ate lunch there. All of our tempers were frayed. Food helped, at least for a while.

We headed back downtown to see the waterfront. By that time, the rain had stopped and the clouds were moving out to sea. 

I don't think it could be any prettier. Oh, wait. Maybe just one thing:

There. That's better.

We wanted to see some of the Stockholm archipelago from the water and we planned to take the hop on/hop off tour, similar to the BatoBus in Paris, but we missed the boat. Literally. I considered and rejected the ferry to one of the near islands - I forgot my scopolamine patch and there was that storm that just went out to sea - so we settled on a tour of the canals and bridges. It was lovely, and Emma enjoyed the British accent on the English-language audioguide. 

Family selfie by the sea.

Dinner plans were undone by the closed-for-Midsommer signs, so we ate at a forgettable wanna-be French cafe and saved the evening with ice cream before getting back on the Metro and returning to the hotel.

In Stockholm, the Metro stations often have specially commissioned artwork. The stop by the hardor was fascinating.

All sorts of statuary and bits of columns made to look like Classical ruins, with Roman numerals carved into the walls. A little Googling tells me that the pieces are remnants of buildings that were torn down during redevelopment of Stockholm in the 1950s and 60s, and that the station was moved several blocks away from its orginal location due to the Elm Conflict of 1971. I'll let you read about that on your own.

Yawn. No fika today, so I hope to sleep better tonight and avoid the fatigue-and-anxiety induced temper tantrum that disrupted dinner (I was the tantrumer, not Emma). If we have time and energy we may do a bit more Stockholm sightseeing before we head back to Paris tomorrow afternoon. Emma's looking forward to resuming French breakfasts.

Godnatt.

Glad Midsommer! - by Jenni

Selfie in Sweden.

And a full view of The Jacket

We are now 1000 miles further from home, and home has followed us, in the form of news reports, anguished FB posts and inches (OK, kilobytes) of columns written about the racist terrorism in Charleston, SC. I don't have anything profound to say; I can't express my grief and anger in words. Here in Sweden at this time of year, there isn't any real darkness. In the US....well, I'll leave the metaphor to you. I had to acknoweldge the tragedy at home before saying any more about our adventures abroad.

Deep breath.

When I remember the Swedish countryside, I will think of lupines.

photo credit to David

We used to have lupines in our garden, and I've always loved them. I love them even more now that I've seen them growing over the hillsides and ditches and roadbanks and in the yards everywhere. Emma used to have a picture book about a woman who planted lupines the make the world more beautiful. I've been thinking of Mrs. Rumphius all day (and of Meg Tuttle, who gave us the book).

We arrived here (Kristinehamn, two hours west of Stockholm by train) after a long day of travel through what is clearly the Swedish equivalent of the day before Thanksgiving. Imagine Grand Central or Union Station or your local equivalent on that Wednesday, with the added fun of not understanding any of the annoucements or signs, and that's what it was like in the Central Terminal of the Stockholm Train Station yesterday. Luckily, the train ticketing machines have English screens and helpful attendants and we found our way to a warm welcome from Gunilla and Leif.

Gunilla is my sister-in-law's mother (Joe's wife Susanne is Swedish). She and Leif live just outside of Kristinehamn and they have been excellent hosts. They have fed us traditional Swedish food, toured us around this gorgeous area, and explained the traditions of Midsommer.

Kristinehamn sits on the edge of Lake Vänern, a popular summer tourist destination. I can see why.

The lake is huge and magnificent and full of sailboats and motorboats and fishing boats. The shores have little cottages and huge elegant homes and campsites. And flowers - so many flowers. Flowers are very important in Midsommer. The legend says that if a young girl picks seven kinds of flowers and sleeps with them under her pillow, she will dream of the man she is going to marry.

Emma didn't pick any flowers.

Gunilla and Leif picked us up today at the hotel in Kristinehamn and took us to see the lake and some local historic sites (mostly closed for the holiday) and then we visited Jacqueline.

Emma for scale. She's 5'4".

In the mid-1960s, Pablo Picasso was experimenting with large-scale sculptures using concrete, and a local Swedish artist convinced him that Kristinehamn was the perfect place for one of his pieces. Picasso agreed, and this tribute to the artist's wife was dedicated 50 years ago.

We had a preview of coming attractions near the statue.

Traditional Swedish dress varies by region, county and even town. Gunilla says you're not supposed to pick the one you like best, but rather choose one that you have some family connection with.

After we visited Jacqueline, we had ice cream. Leif has a sweet tooth and Emma was a perfect excuse for a treat. The ice cream was good - not as good as Paris. Then again, it was ice cream. We drove around and looked at more of the lake - always gorgeous.

Then we stopped for a fika - coffee and snack. The weather has been unusually rainy and we took our raincoats and umbrella with us into the field for the traditional Midsommer rites.

This is a very awkward picture of the Midsommer pole. It should look like this

picture taken from a Swedish tourism site

There was a procession of townspeople in traditional dress, followed by a strenous and somewhat terrifying pole-raising. I was too entranced to take any pictures (plus it was drizzling). Then there was folk dancing around the pole. I'll have to do some reading about accordions, or accordion-like instruments, which seem to show up in folk music across many different cultures. There were two accordions and a few fiddles accompanying the dancers.

The dancers, apparently members of the local folk-dancing society, performed four or five different dances and then left to raise Midsommer poles in other towns, and the field was suddenly full of children and their grownups dancing in loosely organized circles to melodies that all sounded vaguely familiar. I swear, one was a dead ringer for "Itsy-Bitsy Spider".  I'll have to do some reading about the history of accordions, which seem to show up in folk music across of lot of different cultures. The dancers were accompanied by two accordions and several fiddles. They ran in, they ran out, they went one way then the other. They hopped and skipped and sang along and at one point they all fell down and laughed uproariously. Leif said "It's 3:30 and everywhere in Sweden, everyone is dancing". Emma said "We don't have anything like that in America. There's nothing we do all together, not even Thanksgiving".

We left there just ahead of the end of the dancing - beating the traffic is a cross-cultural experience - and went back to Leif and Gunilla's "the old way". The dirt road through the forest left us with no doubts about why they usually drive the new way; it also gave us gorgeous views of the lake and lots of familiar-but-different birds. We saw deer and Emma caught a glimpse of a fox's tail. We didn't see any elk (I think we might call them moose) or bears (phew) or beavers.

Dinner was traditional Midsommer food.

note Midsommer pole on the table.

"Traditional Midsommer food" includes several different kinds of herring, salmon two ways (gravlax and poached fresh salmon), potatoes, schnapps and strawberries.

Then we rolled back to the hotel...

and said good night. It's currently 11:30 PM and it's twilight. 

Good night.