That Time We Visited Versailles

Palace of Versailles

We visited Paris on our honeymoon nine years ago. In our two days there, we explored the Louvre and Musee d’Orsay, ate lobster and creme brulee with champagne at midnight in the rain and watched Tour de France racers ride up and down Champs-Elysees for hours.

I have since wished that we’d had time to visit the luxurious palace of Versailles, in case we never had a chance to return. Our family road trip this spring seemed like a fine time to check that box, especially given that it was on our way out of Paris to Normandy. I pre-booked and printed tickets in England before our trip.

We stayed in a somewhat-finished, budget rental in a southern suburb during our time in Paris (I suppose our fees helped cover refinishing the bare concrete spiral staircase; thanks anyway, AirBnB). We ate our first family meal at a Hippopotamus in a run-down shopping mall food court. Visiting one of the world’s finest palaces seemed like the perfect way to put some sparkle on our otherwise lackluster stay.

Under the Hood

We bounced and bumbled our 1998 4Runner over the cobbled stones of the parking lot. We all exited the vehicle into the mist and… the car horn started blaring. Nonstop. Thankfully my husband had the sense to remove the fuse. Perhaps we should have taken it as a warning?

Waiting in Versailles

The line at the entrance was huge. A kind employee saw us holding our little guy and told us we could skip to the front of the line with a baby. The gate attendant was a bit miffed that our guy was actually a toddler, but they let us in anyway. Thank goodness! We had walked all the way up there and had no interest in retreating to the back of the line.

We knew the audio tour would be pointless with the kids to chase around, so we skipped that line to get to business. Then we kept our tinies from wriggling out of our arms or getting stepped on or screaming too very loudly as we pushed our way through the crowds in bedrooms and halls of the very beautiful palace. Pictures were NOT to be had that day.

Just a note: metal frame carriers and strollers aren’t permitted. It’s just too hot of a spot and there are too many tourists. We tried carrying Bertie in the Beco Gemini, but he was not at all interested. Defiant, I might say. I bought some Ladurée macarons to feel better about it.

Versailles Gardens

We took off to the gardens. Beautiful, lovely, yes, SO big…then Walden had to pee. Then everyone was hungry and we grabbed a baguette with cheese from the snack bar next to the restaurant next to the toilets and then the drizzle came and we decided we’d had enough. It was time to go to Normandy.

In short: Versailles is lovely! I think. Wish I could have seen more.

Up for Air

Gah! Has it really been 2 weeks since my last post?! It seems our new routine doesn’t facilitate blogging. Perhaps we’ll get there? For now, another one of those all-over-the-place-what’s-going-on posts.

Splash Pad

Walden has started Montessori preschool and loves it. I also love it, because it makes him happy and because it’s 3 hours of each day that I have in relative peace. At least, Bertie is pretty content to do whatever at that time of day. He can be a great shopping companion and is capable of entertaining himself for a bit while I accomplish things. Walden is in this brilliant stage where he’s figuring out letters/words/language. He can read a few words. He can write a few words. He loves playing “what starts with the letter…” games. But, FOR THE LOVE, the child cannot go three seconds without some kind of conversation, and usually that conversation starts with, “MOM!”

Mama's Love

Also, Bertie is 18 months old right now. I started a tribute post but couldn’t get photos in order before his nose turned into a snot faucet. He does this super-cute hands-out “ehahEWWW?” (“where are you?”) thing. He still barely eats anything but toast.

My 34th birthday was last week. I was surprised with an amazingly delicious Publix cake with fudge frosting. It was meant to be shared with my husband’s flight, but… we were surprised with the arrival of our household goods well before we expected them: on my birthday! It meant we missed the flight’s icebreaker social, but I’d kinda rather have a proper bed to sleep in and meet them another day.

I got a beauty of a new bike for my birthday, too. I ride it to the pool behind Walden on his big boy bike and my husband, who pulls Bertie in a bike trailer. Riding home with my suit dripping through my clothes makes me feel like a teenager. It’s great.


About that routine. It’s great to have one. We alternate days for being home with the kids while the other works out. I like morning walks, and I’m still getting a handle on the schedule for showering/dressing/eating/getting out the door. We’re thinking of throwing toddler swim lessons in the mix next month. Maybe a preschool soccer skills camp. I think I’ll find myself feeling jealous of my husband for having legit, mind-bending homework each night. ‘Cuz I’m a nerd like that.

I have a little confession about being a stay-at-home mom. My oldest doesn’t nap, and hasn’t napped in a year. The youngest naps in the afternoon, after lunch, after preschool pick up. That means I spend all day, every day, with one or two awake kids. Sometimes it really feels like I’m playing hooky from life to be with them. They are both at very fun ages. They’re also lucky that they’re cute and mostly sweet at the times when I would say they’re at challenging ages. But the bottom line is this: when I don’t start my day before them, I get no time – NONE – to myself until the chores are all done in the evening. Usually there are three of us within the same two square feet of the house. I get to pee with either one climbing in my lap or the other banging on the door, yelling for me. I share everything I eat. I make animal noises the entire car ride back from school.  I’ve wiped butts for nearly 4 years now. It’s just… a lot of activity for someone who likes to retreat into a bit of quiet and solitude.

I have plans to brush up my resume and get myself back into the workforce (part time, ideally).

Receiving our household goods was such a relief. So much so that I’m not at wit’s end that our car isn’t entirely accounted for. At least, it didn’t arrive this week as expected. (It’s not just us.) The new (to us) Forester feels like an old friend, and I thank her daily for her outstanding safety features as I contend with Alabama drivers.


The sunsets over the fishing pond behind our house really are magnificent. The food is good. The A/C works really well. I’ve met some pretty cool people. Really, there’s nothing to complain about (except the missing car, I suppose). Life is good.

5 (minus 1) Things to Do in Paris with Little Kids

The first friend Walden made at his new school was a boy who recently returned from a trip to Paris. Not that they talked about their experiences in Paris while playing pretend blasters, but having been to Paris was cool enough for the teachers to share that tidbit with me.

Five Things to Do in Paris with Little Kids

Visiting Paris with two small children was far from romantic in the traditional sense (as in, there was no eating lobster with champagne and creme brulee at midnight), but it was a great time. Paris is a lovely city, full of remarkable architecture and charm at nearly every turn.

Our time in Paris in May was fairly child-oriented. Having already toured the Louvre and Musee d’Orsay on our honeymoon, we chose to structure our days to make the visit fun for them. We planned walks around areas we wanted to see during times when they needed to rest. It was exhausting but nice.

1. Luxembourg Gardens

Jardin du Luxembourg

This beautiful park is a classic. We didn’t sail boats or inspect all of the statues, but we did very thoroughly explore its magnificent play ground. There is a (small, worthy) fee to enter. Totally worth it.

2. Ice Cream Under the Eiffel Tower

Ice cream under Eiffel Tower

Truth be told, we visited Paris mostly to show Walden the Eiffel Tower. He learned of it in a Justin Time episode and thought it would be SO COOL to go there. Then he got a giant chocolate ice cream cone and it really was the best.

3. La Cite des Enfants

Cite des Enfants

It’s a bit of a train ride to the city’s Science & Industry Museum, but if you’re looking for something super-exciting for the kids, it’s worthwhile. Cité des Enfants is a turbo-charged, concentrated children’s museum-style play area inside the Science Museum. Tickets are available for 90-minute time slots. While having a set ending time might be good for some families’ extraction plans, we had to drag (DRAAAAG) a screaming Walden away when the time was up. Water play, role play, construction play; play with gravity and sound and light; there was so much to do and it was all SO FUN.

4. Lock Bridge

Paris Love Locks Pont des Arts Bridge

Talk about good timing (for us, at least). For years lovebirds from around the world have inscribed their names onto padlocks and attached them to the Pont des Arts footbridge before throwing the key into the Seine. Sadly, SO MANY locks have been placed on the bridge that the weight caused the railing to collapse in June. Now the city will remove grills from bridges that are adorned with these “love locks” to prevent a fatal accident from a future collapse (though they aren’t banning the act of placing them there in the first place). It was quite the sight when we had the chance, and Walden enjoyed finding the quirky locks in the collection.

5. Nutella Crepes

Nutella Crepes

I mean come on. You’re in Paris. Why not? We found fast and friendly-enough service at Les Deux Palais, not far from Notre Dame, for our afternoon pick-me-up. What a treat!

Have you been to Paris with small children? What did you love to do?

Sweet Home

We’re in Alabama!

Alabama Collage

Actually, we’ve been here for a week. The kids and I stayed a few extra days in Indiana before my mom drove us down last Monday. My husband had to check in before we’d had our fill of fun on the lake, family and friends, and, well, we still don’t have our household goods. That valiant man braved IKEA – in Atlanta – solo so that we’d have some of the furniture we need. Better yet: he got us set up with Internet access! Gold star husband, right there.

The past week has been hectic. Well, as hectic as running to Target and/or the grocery store every day can be. Don’t get me started on my four-slot toaster quest. Moving into a house with just some big suitcases still manages to require a lot of extra stuff.

Walden and my husband both started school today, so we’re at the brink of a routine, which we all seem to need desperately. The kids will be thrilled that it seems to involve a trip to the neighborhood splash pad every afternoon after Bertie’s nap, because SUNSHINE ALL THE TIME (mostly).

Seriously. The sun SHINES in America, y’all. (It took me two days to dust that one off from my southern collegiate girl archives.) During practical hours, too. We don’t have 4:30 am sunrises or 10:30 pm sunsets over here, though the sun sets beautifully over the pond in our back yard each evening. We do have light golden tans already, and my children are never happier than when they are splashing around in water in the sunshine.

We live in a gated community, which is still surreal. Covenants, HOA’s, the whole shebang. Our house is so nice and clean and matching that I had a mild panic attack when we arrived. There are so many places to put things…and so many surfaces that will need to be cleaned. Everything works and is so functionally normal that I feel a bit off balance. We even have an attached two-car garage. A garbage disposal and a pantry. Closets! And a mailbox, with a red flag and everything! There aren’t any weird doors to nowhere, or missing pieces of trim, or strangely-placed light fixtures to nail us in the head. It’s quite pleasant, really.

Readjusting to driving culture is difficult. I like our new (to us) Forester; I don’t like having to drive it to get everywhere. Our neighborhood is flanked by big churches. A CVS is about a half mile up the road from the entrance, but there isn’t a sidewalk to get there. Just beyond that you’ll find every kind of opportunity to spend your money on anything you could imagine. Food, especially. There are an obscene number of sit-down and quick service restaurants within a five minute drive (including Panera, Five Guys, and Chipotle, as well as local faves Chicken Salad Chick and Zaxby’s). Dunkin’ Donuts is on the way. Target is five minutes away, too. There’s the same outdoor shopping mall that every small American city has. Wal-Mart, Home Depot. Movie theaters. It could be any place (that has a 10% sales tax on everything, including groceries).

The people have been spectacularly warm and friendly. They are also spectacularly bad drivers.

I finally tried sweet tea. I’m pretty sure a tooth fell out. I’ll be sticking to unsweet.

The temperature reached 95 today. Thank goodness for air conditioning and Dunkin’s 99¢ iced coffees from 3-6 pm. I’m over sleeping on an air mattress, but it sure beats the camping pad and sleeping bag we tried out for a few nights.

Getting settled in will be a relief. Other families in our program have been amazingly supportive and helpful, but we’re still getting used to this new life. I’m looking forward to our short time here, particularly the time after our furniture arrives and we can comfortably welcome people into our home.

In the mean time, I may be caught daydreaming about our time in Europe. More posts are to come from our big road trip (the one from England to Spain, not the one from nearly-Canada to nearly the Gulf of Mexico), once I can sneak in some time to add photos to the drafts. However, it’s time to fold the laundry in my gorgeous, miraculous and wonderful new dryer.

A Weekend in Wales

We snuck in a last minute trip over the Fourth of July to make the most of our last weekend in the UK.

We booked a “secluded log cabin” along Snowdonia National Park and drove the boys to Wales.

Barmouth Beach

We took the kids to the beach at Barmouth in the rain the day we arrived, because, well, we had to do something. They loved it. Unfortunately we parents turned our backs for 20 seconds and found our little guys sitting in a chilly beach puddle, smiling at us with that “heh-heh, I know I’m not supposed to do this” look. Our lovely trip to the seaside was cut a bit short. As we left town we said, “I’m sure it’s lovely in the summer!” then remembered the date.

Driving through Snowdonia

Thankfully the rain cleared over night and our morning mountain view was bathed in sunshine! It set the mood for a great day. We drove through the terrifyingly tight winding roads of the southern portion of the park. It was the stone walls, see, they were built right up to the road. That we didn’t scrape one with our sideview is nothing short of a miracle.

View from Snowdon

We rode a steam train up Snowdon. Woolly sheep mostly ignored us as we chuffed to the highest point in England and Wales. The boys enjoyed waving at the hikers, whose trek to the top *may* have required as much exertion as keeping both of them happy for the two hour round trip.

Barmouth Beach

We went back to the beach and played in the sun and sand. You really can’t beat that.

Johnny Trashed

As we walked across a level crossing in search of dinner, we heard a Johnny Cash song ringing through the streets. Weird enough hearing country music in Britain; weirder still that Wales speaks its own language. Walden danced. Then we found ourselves a delicious dinner (with loads of VEGETABLES, thank goodness) at The Captain’s Table.

We didn’t have internet at the cabin. We did have a 1988 edition of Trivial Pursuit, made in the UK, of course. We didn’t have the stamina to finish it. The first pie piece was won on a question that asked about what the weather in London was like on a day the Queen took the throne or something. (Raining. I mean, honestly.)

Aside from the dead baby rabbit next to our doorstep after missing our turn approximately 14 times, it was a perfect weekend. Make the getaway if you get the chance!


And We’re Back

Boys in MN

Helloooooo America!

OK, so we’ve been here nearly a week already. But Hello anyway. The general rule of thumb for overcoming jet lag is that it takes one day per time zone to adjust, so we’re just now coming out of that zombie-like state that comes with transatlantic travel.

Our 18-hour travel day went as well as can be expected. Bertie fell asleep for an hour on takeoff from London. Walden fell asleep for about 30 minutes en route. We crashed the USO at O’Hare and were able to fly standby on an earlier flight to Minneapolis. There weren’t any irrecoverable meltdowns and all of our luggage arrived with us. An overall win in my book, with bonus points for hopefully being our last departure from Heathrow until the boys are big enough to carry their own bags onto the plane.

Minnesota summer is unbeatable. The weather has been incredibly mild, which has helped us acclimate gently to summer-like temps. We’ve visited the Minnesota Children’s Museum, mostly to unleash our jet lagged children on the Thomas & Friends’ Explore the Rails exhibit. We visited the Minnesota Zoo. Play grounds, parks, cousins, Legos (SO MANY LEGOS), bike rides, walks along the creek, burgers, bagels, farmer’s markets, Target…and lots of iced coffee.

We’ve set up new phones, we’ve found a car. We’ve made plans for a date night, an REI shopping trip and a Twins game, and I’m excited that one of my sisters-in-law is taking me to a show tonight. Time is flying!

Next week we visit my family in Indiana and hopefully consume our weight in fresh, delicious sweet corn. Then we’re off to Alabama to wait for our stuff to arrive and send the big guys to school. We’re so fortunate that we’re able to load up on most of our family after being overseas for three years.

Also, summer in the Midwest should be on everyone’s bucket list. Have you been?

The Final Countdown

Whelp, our stuff is packed in crates somewhere out there and we’re officially living out of suitcases. I appreciate any and all wishes for our household to arrive in Alabama in fewer than 3 months (unlike last time)!

This post is pretty scatterbrained. We’ve had a very busy few weeks, full of preparation for the move, last minute sight-seeing and keeping the kids happy. I regret that I wasn’t more dedicated to posting when we arrived in England. (Or since. Sigh.) So with that I’m just dumping it all right here before it’s forgotten in the hot, hot glorious sun of American summer. Anyway, I’m sitting in a dark hotel room in London while Albert naps. I’d nap too, except for that lunch time latte. (Sleep hasn’t been abundant these days).

With it being summer in Britain, stuff is actually going on and happening. It all gets concentrated in the June-August timeframe. Then you’re left grumbling about the rain and slugs and cold for the rest of the year.

Sports Day

Walden had his first foot race at his school “sports day.” He said, “Are you going to watch me win, Mom?” I guess he doesn’t count the kid who won as part of the competition?

Boulogne sur Mer

I took a day bus trip to France with a friend. Boulogne-sur-Mer. Heard of it? No? I’ll tell you about it one of these days.

The Berts

Bertie’s front molars are all here!

Country Show Collage

We took the boys to the West Suffolk Game & Country Show. It rained (SURPRISE), but we got to see our first Punch & Judy Puppet Show. It was performed in a classic 1860’s style with wooden puppets made in 1934. Call me a modern woman, but I wasn’t crazy about the domestic violence/child abuse/cop beating perpetrated by Mr. Punch. Just sayin’. HOW is it OK for this show to be performed?

There was a steam traction engine parade. I don’t know what we’re going to do for fun when we live somewhere that doesn’t have loads of steam relics to entertain my husband and preschooler. (Maybe we should buy this place?)

Wales Collage

We went to Wales over the weekend of the 4th. It was fantastic and I’ll tell you all about it, too. One hint: there was a steam train (SURPRISE). Also: 1988 UK-produced Trivial Pursuit.


Walden’s teachers made a good-bye card, with a blue steam locomotive on the front. (See what I mean?) Honestly, receiving that was the most emotional part of this move. At least with my friends from the squadron we really mean it when we say, “See you later.”

Our landlord thanked us for taking such good care of our house. It’s funny, because I’m a horrible house keeper, but I get some satisfaction in knowing that I can fake it well enough.

And finally, temporary lodging is surprisingly more luxurious than when we first arrived three years ago. Don’t get me wrong; nothing has changed. It’s just that… air conditioning! A dryer! A garbage disposal! Never mind that it’s as large as the space we actually used in our house. I no longer have to brave A1101 to get to the commissary.

Tomorrow we fly. I’ve reminded myself of my own advice for making a transatlantic flight with a 17-month-old. We’re lucky that Walden is an A+ traveler/iPad-player and we don’t have to sweat entertaining him on a plane. (The Chuggington game I downloaded yesterday is a sure-fire win. I can only hope he’s always so easy to please.) Best of all, there are grandparents waiting for them at the finish line.

Lyon, France

We stopped in Lyon en route from Barcelona to Paris.

The winds tried their best to blow us off course “vent violent!,” but I refused to allow anything to sway my opinion that the south of France is gorgeous. The Pyrenees! The Mediterranean! Vineyards galore! Plus, we were headed to The Gastronomic Capital of France (I had heard).

After quite the faff of unloading our carful of stuff at the hotel and finding parking for our 4Runner in the old town, we hustled out the door to dinner with the boys. Restaurants don’t open until 7, which is a problem when your kids go to bed in the 7-8 timeframe, but maybe not if you’ve jumped a time zone?

Yeah. No. Have I mentioned that my kids suck at napping in the car?

Our request for a tasty family-friendly restaurant was met with a scoff. You just don’t do Lyonnaise dining with small children. So much for the bouchon meal that enticed me through the entire drive. Our hotel attendant suggested Hippopotamus, a chain grill restaurant found in France. We scoffed at the idea.

We zipped up, crossed the Rhône and sauntered through some magnificent plazas as we followed our nose to Rue Mercière. GoodNESS it smelled delicious there!

Since dinner at a bouchon was out, I was determined to eat a quenelle, a kind of fish dumpling served in a rich cream sauce.

We picked a restaurant with a children’s menu. It was sea-themed and called something like The Wench. We ordered a kir to toast our grand adventure and our first proper dinner on the town. Bertie kicked mine off the table. The glass shattered to bits. My champagne bled everywhere. My husband inhaled his beef carpaccio first course. Then we waited, which is Parentese for “kept our children from smashing more things/pulling pictures off the walls.” For what felt like an eternity.

My quenelle was totally worth all of the drama. SO GOOD. Everyone should have ordered one. Side note: every kids meal in France seemed to be a hamburger – “steak haché,” like, a patty, no bun – and fries. We learned that Albert loves (LOVES) French fries. Walden doesn’t want to see another bunless hamburger ever. I was disappointed that my youngest refused (fiercely) a bit of crème brûlée. Ingrate.

So. Dinner was delicious chaos (at least for me, and somehow Walden didn’t fall asleep in his ice cream) and we decided that dining out in the evening in the future will require simple one-course meals.

Lyon, France

The next morning we drove up Fourvière Hill to see the great basilica of Notre-Dame that keeps watch over Lyon. We meant to find the funicular train station at the bottom, but there was absolutely no useful information anywhere about it. Also, our French sucks. The kids fell asleep by the time we reach the hilltop basilica parking lot, so I just hopped out and took a photo of the city.

The view was stunning. (Though I might say that about every view over a city?) Really, though. There’s something magical about having a bird’s eye view in peace, overlooking a beautiful city without the interference of the bustle below. To step out of it and enjoy the bigger design, the entire effect that a place has on its landscape.

As we drove down past the Roman amphitheaters (which we could see from the car and that was better than waking up the kids), I decided that yes, yes I do want to visit Lyon again. With much older children or a babysitter. Or maybe no kids. Definitely with a big appetite.


Motoring Down A1101


There’s a road – yes, one – that connects my town to my husband’s base. Americans aren’t allowed to pass other drivers on this road, unless the driver is a farmer in a tractor driving slower than 30 mph. (In the fall, you want to pass them so you can avoid being pelted with root vegetables that bounce over their too-full wagons.) I’ve declared several times that locals must purposely drive 40 mph in the national speed limit zones when they see an American spec vehicle in the rearview.


Most of my peers think I’m a lunatic for driving that road instead of taking a convoluted route around it via the highway. Maybe I am; maybe they’re just haunted by the tragic tale we all heard at driver’s orientation, of the family whose van slipped off the icy road into a full irrigation ditch (on the other side of base, mind you). I certainly can’t argue with them when the fog is so thick you can eat it and/or you can’t see quite see the giant white “get over, fool!” arrows painted on the road.

There is no shoulder, by the way.

It’s a bit windy, full of fast-but-not-so-fast-just-yet-ok-NOW-NO-no-30! speed limit variations. You pass through thatched-roof stone-walled towns with perfectly British names like Hengrave, Flempton and Icklingham, where the old buildings are so close to the road that double decker buses always cross the center line. Despite the inevitability of a car parked in the road or the shocking number of cyclists without helmets, I can’t bring myself to pull over for photos. I just don’t have it in me.

Luke of Lackford has fresh eggs and hand-cut flowers for sale nearly every day. I’ve stopped twice to deposit my pound-coin in the open wooden box for a bright (if buggy) bouquet that’s best suited for a mason jar.

After grazing hedgerows with your side view mirror, you pass pastures of sheep, sometimes horses, sometimes cows, sometimes goats. If you’re lucky, you’ll drive behind another American or a BusinessPerson who has no interest in impeding your progress. Then you can fly over the small hills in the straight-ish segment for that floating stomach effect. Whee! But when you hit the shady tunnel of forest, you know you’re approaching your doom: Five Ways.

Let me start by saying that I like roundabouts. Conceptually. I prefer them to piddly four-way stops and often useless stoplights that interfere with your getting from here to there. There’s something about the constant state of motion and the twirl of cars shooting off in all directions that appeals to my sensibility. However, there are times and places when roundabouts have no place in this world. Next to other roundabouts, for one. Most of all: at the intersection of A11 and A1101 and A1065, where I find myself at a standstill for far too long far too often. Five Ways surely exists as some sort of practical joke, a big F.U. to the Americans who are otherwise so graciously hosted in the region. The English have the technology to build a tunnel UNDER the North Sea, but they can’t figure out how to avoid this clusterf*ck of everyone’s commuting nightmare? Does. Not. Compute.

[Actually, there's a massive construction project underway that, I think, is supposed to remedy this situation. We won't be here long enough to know.]

ANYhow, Five Ways is unavoidable no matter how you slice it (except for back in the day before the massive construction project, when you could risk your life zig-zag darting across the A11 on B1112, which closed about a month before my second son was due). As such, I prefer my quintessentially British scenic route most days. I’m a bit of a sentimental sap like that.


Montserrat, Spain

I’m going to make a confession: we’re not very good city tourists. While I do get a charge from a day in a creative and energetic metropolitan area, I’m much more comfortable next to the sea, a lake, or the mountains, surrounded by trees or plains or dunes. My husband would agree.

The trouble is other tourists. The lines, the bustle, the rudeness that comes with long days of battling for the best view or for entrance to the world’s great sights. It’s all a lot to endure with two small children to look after, too.

Monastery at Montserrat

We were looking forward to a drive up Montserrat from Barcelona. However, we didn’t expect to be stopped for an hour behind a long line of traffic just a mile or two from the legendary mountain-top monastery.

Driving to Montserrat

(It looks a bit like the mountain is giving us the finger, no?)

Not visiting the abbey wasn’t an option after committing so much time to it. We turned around to take the cogwheel train up instead.

Train to Montserrat

It felt quite crowded for a Wednesday. (It wasn’t until our disappointing dinner that we realized it was Labor Day in Spain.) We used up a good hour waiting in line/eating at the cafeteria when we finally reached the monestary. By the time we finished, the kids were totally spent. My husband took them to a playground while I looked around.

View from Montserrat

Entrance to Montserrat Cathedral

Montserrat Altar

The monastery was founded more than 1,000 years ago and is an important cultural site. And that’s about all I had time for. The kids were such a horrid mess of exhaustion from the previous days (in Barcelona and on the road) that we decided to skip a ride to the summit on the funicular train and head back for a low-key, relaxing evening.

This day trip was sandwiched between our first day in the city as a family and the day I toured Barcelona by myself. Quite frankly, at this point we were convinced our grand road trip to Spain was a complete disaster. There might have been a moment later in the night when I decided to embrace all of the ridiculousness and consider it part of the adventure.

After three days in the Barcelona area, we headed to on to Lyon, France. We were ready for a new variety of ridiculousness.