A Pilgrim’s Digression

I’ve almost completely stopped going to Starbucks for my breakfast. I began inching away from it more than a month ago, when I started going to a less expensive coffee shop that was even a little closer to work. Firehook is a Washington chain, so I feel like I’m contributing to the local economy by buying there.

I haven’t even visited Firehook since returning to work this week, however. I’ve been buying coffee, scrambled eggs, and bacon from the cafeteria and eating at my desk. We also have a cappuccino bar in our cafeteria, so I can even get my peppermint mochas there. If I get a medium Starbucks House blend coffee, it only costs $1.25. Eggs and bacon are $2.49. That’s a decent breakfast. If I splurge and have the girl at the cappuccino bar make me a peppermint mocha, I pay $3.20 for that. I don’t buy more than one mocha per week, but in my opinion they are better than Starbucks mochas. Starbucks mochas taste like hot chocolate—which is a good taste—but I prefer only a hint of chocolate; I like a mocha with more of a cappuccino flavor.

Rambling on, this time of year I always begin thinking about where I’d like to go on vacation in the summer. More and more lately, I’ve been inclining towards someplace French. Back in the summer we had a yard sale, and we sold a piece of luggage that we had taken to Paris back in 2000. As I was inspecting it prior to putting it out for sale, I found a scarf I had bought in Paris but hadn’t seen since. I’ve been wearing that scarf these past few days, as the weather has turned colder. It makes me nostalgic.

Last week marked five years since we last visited France. It’s rather hard to believe. It’s even harder to believe that our first trip to Paris was in November 1998. The in-flight movie on the voyage over was the X-Files movie. So much time has passed. So much has changed. Those were the years B.B. (Before Brendan), which honestly seems like another life. He did go with us to Paris in 2000, but he rode in a first class womb while his mother and I rode in coach.

Brendan will be five in summer 2006. I’m wondering if we’re finally ready for our first lengthy summer vacation as a family. We’ve never flown with a child before. I remember on that first trip back in 1998, I was such a snob towards poor parents with children. On the return flight, there was a young man travelling with a baby about a year-old. The kid cried and fussed a lot, and the father was noisy, too, trying to soothe it; and the flight attendants annoyed me by devoting so much attention to this man and his screaming, annoying brat. The return flight was not pleasant, and I thanked God and contraception that I did not have a mewling little rug monkey to hinder me in the enjoyment of my life.

Now, of course, I feel some sympathy for that baby, as well as his father. An eight hour flight is tedious for adults. How much more so for children? I think Brendan might do well, however. For one thing, flying for the first time is exciting. Flying for the second or third time can be enjoyable, too. I love it, personally. I love the airline food. I love the service generally. I love the anticipation of going on vacation.

The only thing I dislike is how nasty the bathrooms get at the end of a trans-Atlantic flight. Ugh.

Furthermore, we’ve been on some long drives with Brendan. There isn’t a huge difference between six and eight hours. And in a car, he is much more restricted in what he can do and how he can move.

But is Paris a good destination for a couple with kids? There isn’t much in Paris to hold a five year old’s interest, though I’m sure Brendan would enjoy riding the Metro and playing in the Luxembourg gardens.

I also worry whether we would enjoy Paris with a five year old. I recall one evening in the Louvre, I observed two Americans and their three children, and I don’t think any of them were enjoying themselves. The children were a boy and a girl of approximately six and five respectively and an infant in a too-big stroller. The parents looked tired and harried as they tried to appreciate the art while scolding their equally tired and unappreciative children. The two older children squabbled and picked on each other while protesting that they were bored and wanted to leave. The baby squalled and fussed. The parents looked glum and cranky as well.

That’s what I fear. I often feel like I never have enough time to appreciate a museum, even without a child in tow. With a child along, am I going to feel even more rushed? Will having Brendan with us in the Louvre or the Musée d’Orsay sap all the enjoyment out of being there?

Hard to tell. Visiting museums in Washington with Brendan has been enjoyable, depending on the museum. The Museum of Natural History and the Air and Space Museum were hits with Brendan. The National Gallery was a big yawn, and Lynn ended up taking him out, allowing me to appreciate the art on my own. That is not an ideal situation. Neither of us wants to go all the way to Paris only to take turns babysitting our kid while the other partner visits the museums alone. I always end up feeling grumpy after such situations anyway, because I want to enjoy these places with my family rather than alone, and I feel guilty, too, because my wife is babysitting while I’m ostensibly having fun.

At five years old, though, Brendan might be perfectly fine in the Louvre. The museum is always so crowded, even in winter, it’s often difficult to enjoy the art anyway. The Mona Lisa is almost inaccessible, the crowds are so thick in the gallery where it is housed.

And given that we’ve already seen the primary tourist attractions twice now, there is always the chance that taking a child along will prompt us to find some different things to do and see. We have never seen the Luxembourg Gardens, for example, or rode the giant Ferris Wheel. Of course, we’ve always visited Paris in the dead of winter; not a good time to be at the top of a giant Ferris Wheel. Even half-way up the Eiffel Tower, the wind is like knife blades on your skin on a cold November day.

So Paris sounds great, and I am inclining towards persuading my wife to go. Of course, Quebec is French, and it’s also closer, so that’s an option, too. My wife has talked for the past couple years of desiring to visit Ireland and England. When she taught in France in 1994-1995, she spent her vacations in England, and she still talks about how much she liked that country.

There are many places we may ramble off to. All that is certain is that this year I want to take a real family vacation. We’ve been doing our own separate vacations for the past few summers, simply because it’s easier than trying to travel with a child. We need to get past that reluctance to endure a certain amount of inconvenience. Maybe we’ll even find it isn’t all that inconvenient after all.