Homeward Bound

 Our last day in Paris started early, at the brasserie across from Notre Dame, sipping drinks at the counter with the men who were preparing to get to work, repairing the city streets or driving trucks.  Then we made sure we stepped on the spot at the very center of the city, for good luck.

 We left our bags in the apartment (it took 5 minutes to pack, since we only brought a couple of outfits) and set out for a full day in Paris, trying to to think about the reality that we would have to leave for the airport by 7:00.  Boo hoo!

 Look at Scott, sneaking "back stage" to be in the pictures!

 Magnolia trees were blooming everywhere.

 What are the strings for?

All these pictures were just part of our master plan, to enjoy the setting wherever we were, and to take our time there.  The only sad part was that our regular patisserie was closed on Mondays.  Oh, the horror!!!!

 We made up for it later, on our way to Luxembourg Gardens.  But first, we went back to the Tuileries to take in the Louvre and environs one last time.  We had time to study the buildings and to notice that each section is vastly different, each Louie having added his own wing to the palace in his own time.  We noticed a lot of things we had never noticed before.  And we snoozed in the green chairs.

I posted this picture on Instagram with the caption,
"So bummed to be leaving Paris."  It was true!!

There is a nice bathroom at the corner of the garden, but you have to pay to use it.  Ruby had the bright idea to go in to the Orangerie Museum instead, since she and Golda could get in for free.  Scott used the pay bathroom, but I also get into the museum for free, not on purpose, but I asked to go in to look for my daughters, they were taking so long, and the docent, a young man with bleached white hair, let me.  I used the restroom and took a quick, illicit peek at the Renoirs before exiting to find the girls outside.  Turns out, the reason they had taken so long was similar to mine:  taking one last peek at some paintings.  I couldn't love these girls more!

Incidentally, I had one of my famous crying moments when I remarked to the girls and Scott how wonderful I thought it was that students could get into all the museums free, and concerts for a reduced price.  I started bawling when I thought about how France wants its young people to be educated and edified by the arts.  So much so that they give all these opportunities to students for free.  All this for free, if you care!  It gets me all choked up.

 Later, as we were eating our paninis and pastries at the Luxembourg gardens, we - or at least I - started to get restless.  We only had a few more hours, and even though we were in this idyllic setting, there were parts of the city that we had left unexplored.  The others were nice enough to indulge me in one last sprint across the city, with two Metro transfers, to see Pere Lachaisse Cemetery, where many famous people are buried.  We didn't have enough time to search for all their graves, but we did follow the other Americans who were holding their phones in front of them, leading them to Jim Morrison's grave.  Unimpressive, but iconic...kinda like the Mona Lisa.  And since we didn't see that this trip, Jim Morrison's grave became our Mona Lisa.  Check that off the list.  (If you go to Pere LAchaisse, get off at the Gambetta Metro stop instead of the Pere Lachaisse stop.  That gets you to the top of the cemetery, and to a much more interesting neighborhood.  When you enter the cemetery, a lot of the famous graves are to your left, along the far perimeter.  Take a picture of the cemetery map to guide you.  It's not easy to find certain graves.)  There are no signs.

 I have never seen inside of a crypt.  It was interesting and spooky, complete with cobwebs and neglected altars.

 One last chocolate chaud at Une Dimanche a Paris, this time without getting locked in the bathroom!

 One last crepe at Mich Sandwich, which rhymes in French, by the way.  Meesh Sandweesh!

 We felt like we were pushing it time-wise to get to the airport, but we had plenty of time.  Our cabbie for the ride to Orly was from Cote d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast).  When we aid we were from Utah, he asked if we were Mormon.  Then he said, "That's OK!  In Cote d'Ivoire, we like to have four wives!"  Oh geez, when will our ancient polygamist past be forgotten!?  But our guy was serious in his acceptance of us, and told us that Christians, Muslims and those who practice animism, live in harmony in Ivory Coast.  He invited us to drive there with him from France next year.  He said he and his buddies send their wives (one each, because they can't afford more!) and children home to Ivory Coast by plane, then they drive together to save money on airfare.  He said, if they are very strong, they can make the drive in a week, southwest through Spain, across the Strait of Gibraltar, and around the western edge of Africa to their homeland for a much-anticipated and all-too-rare visit home.  Then they come back to France, where they speak the language because of French colonialism in their homeland, to earn a living by long hours in cabs or, for the less established, selling Eiffel Tower keychains to fortunates like myself.  His main goal, of course, was to make sure his children are educated and in a position to enjoy an easier life than his.

Man, I wish we could take him up on that road trip offer!

 So after a brief flight, we found ourselves back at the Generator Hostel in Copenhagen, for a solid night's sleep before the next, very long leg of the trip.  Our room was so comfortable!  We slept in until 8.  We walked with our bags to the canal, where we turned our faces to the sun, which had been elusive last week during our time in Copenhagen.  He sat along the canal trying to absorb the wonderful thought, "I am in Copenhagen.  I am here in Copenhagen."  Then we reluctantly went to the airport.

With an 11-hour flight ahead of us, and no food service on that flight, we made sure to grab something to eat.  In our time in Denmark, we hadn't tried the ubiquitous hot dogs that are available everywhere, so that's what I got.  It was good, if pedestrian.  The buns are like wonder bread.  The Danes do not do bread like the French, that's for sure!  But the hot dog was wrapped in bacon and topped with mayo and fried onions, so who cares about the bun!

 Going home is sad.

 Really sad.

 The flight was comfortable, but I didn't sleep as much as I should have.  We got to Los Angeles at 5:00 in the afternoon, with no choice but to drive home.  We saw the drive as part of the adventure, and were excited to be on our way home to our precious kids.  The first couple of hours were grueling, though, because I was super-sleepy.  Scott, there was no way he could drive.  He would have fallen asleep instantly.  I kept myself awake fine in the L. A. traffic, but once things slowed down, I had to pull over for a mini-nap twice.  I feared we would never make it home, with all the 15-minute breaks!  After we stopped at In-n-Out burger in Barstow, where I slept in the car, I felt more confident.  Scott stayed awake quite a bit to entertain me, while the girls slept.  The drive ended up only taking 11 hours, which is pretty good, all things considered.   Our mantra was that the drive was totally worth the cheap tickets, and it was!  I was fine for most of the way.  I'm just ultra careful about driving drowsy.  Too much is at stake to take chances.  I'm vigilant.

We pulled in the driveway at 7:10 AM, and Golda bolted inside to take a shower.  We woke up the kids, who were so happy to see us, and turned right around to take Golda to school at 7:30.  Ruby had seminary at 8, Scott left for work, I got the other kids to school, and real life swooped in with a vengeance.  But you know what?  I was happy about it.  We were lucky to have gone on this trip, and we were even luckier to come home safely, to find that everything at home was fine.  Our prayers were answered, that we would all be safely together again, so I didn't actually have a thing to complain about.  Since we hardly took any clothes on the trip, the laundry was done by 9, and it was time to play with those angelic little babies I had missed so much.

Jetlag, whatever.  People who get to travel don't get to complain.  Wednesday, our forst day back, was a day of celebration and reflection.  It was a good day!