Leon cleans his room

After we threaten Leon with an eviction notice, he got to work and eight hours and two extra large 50lb plastic garbage bags later, the re-arranged spotless room was ready for H&G cover. As a side benefit, he found about $40 in loose change and another $50 in lost gift certificates. We are now accepting bets on how long the new order will last.

Newport, RI

Last weekend, pumped by parent's stories of great white beaches, awesome seafood and quaint picturesque villages of Rhode Island, we decided that it's time to check it out ourselves. Maybe because it is just next door, somehow we never spent any time there (besides a couple of bike races). And because it was just a short ride away, we decided not to plan much in advance and just "wing it". The forecast was so-so - periods of rain and thunder - even more reasons, we thought, not to plan, expecting half deserted town with hoteliers and restaurateurs fighting each other for our business.

We got out of the house late on Saturday and immediately found ourselves sitting on I-95 packed with beach-headed losers in their minivans full of kids, dogs, bikes, boats and other recreational gear.

When we finally made it to Newport, the town was crawling with tourists and their cars. It was hot, humid and stuffy. Tired from a much longer than expected trip, we decided to cool off at some authentic seafood place. We were picturing a whole string of such establishments by the water. After another hour spent now in local traffic, we found no such place anywhere. The much hyped beach greeted us with signs warning of bacterial contamination. The smell of the air and the color of the foam corroborated the signs.

Oh well, we thought, let's find a hotel. There gotta be some food there, right? Deserted town it was not. The only decent place we could book for the night was a ridiculously overpriced "Captain Quarters" suite at Hyatt on the Goat Island.

The hotel looked great from afar. A red brick building on a little island connected to the main land by an elegant bridge. Our waterfront room promised great views off the private balcony. The waterfront view we had. Except that under our balcony, next to the water, we found not a beach, as one would expect, but a coral of garbage containers, A/C unit for the entire hotel and an exhaust from the kitchen. The hotel was hosting a wedding event and we could tell the progression of the celebration from the smell - meaty aromas of main course turning to whiffs of coffee and confections.

We finally got to the water in the hotel's pool. To get to the pool we had to parade in our swimming trunks in front of the well dressed wedding reception, but we didn't care. The fun was back and weekend started to look good again. Until the overjoyous and overexcited Max gaged on the pool salt water and threw up. He and Leon jumped out of the pool at once and watched, laughing, my spastic attempts to get "this shit out". Good thing it was getting dark and there was no one else there. We left the pool re-assuring each other than the filters would "most definitely" clean it up by the morning. We visited the pool next day. The filters must've be off that night...

We started Sunday with a proper room-service breakfast, which we then worked off on the Cliff Walk - a footpath by the old world mansions. Thick and unkept vegetation and hot and humid air reminded me of Volga cliffs in August (sans mansions, of course). We visited "The Breakers" - quite impressive in its opulence and so perfectly preserved.

Giving up on trying to find a beach in Newport, we crossed to the next island - Jamestown, known to Leon and me from the bike races. There, we found an okay beach, built a sand castle and played in the waves with Max, while Leon looped the island on his bike.

In the evening, we went to the lighthouse were we sat with other wave watchers mesmerized by huge waves crashing on the rocks. After some dinner (eh...) and famous local ice cream (double eh...), we headed home. The return trip was uneventful and quick.

It wasn't the most perfectly engineered weekend, but looking back, it was good to get away from the house. We were absent for a little over a day, but coming back felt like returning from a much longer vacation...

See more pictures here

It's a Mac!

Sorry, PC.

Last week, Leon, tail between legs, fessed up that his old beat up Thinkpad is pretty much no more. Fed up with cantankerous Vista, we decided to switch sides and we got him a Macbook...

My Thinkpad tried to protest my placing the order by blue screening (how typical!), but we got it through and few days later, it arrived. Yeah, take this Lenovo, which took 6 weeks to deliver...

Get well soon, Alex!

Кулинар 2

Over this summer, Leon fully mastered the art of making a proper Grilled Cheese (hot pan, butter, bread, secret mix of three cheeses).

In an interview with our food critic, Leon said that he was inspired by Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Now, he is getting ready for the next culinary challenge - perfect French Toast.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

Team "Starbucks"

For the past two weeks, in the evenings, Max and I teamed up biking / running to Westport downtown, joining there Irene, N.B. and occasionally Leon for a Starbuck.

Alas, all good things come the end and with N.B. going home last weekend, our team rides ended.

Also, after well-caffeinated Max couldn't get asleep one night, we imposed a 5PM curfew on "grown up" drinks for him.

Nine

Max's birthday this year fell on Sunday and we celebrated it with a large friends&family gathering. It was pouring rain up to the moment where people start arriving so we had to move the festivities indoor, but it worked out just fine. Max got tons of new Legos and stayed up late, well past midnight, churning out the assembled toys like a little factory. All it was left by the morning was a pile of empty carton boxes and clear plastic bags.

Cats and Dogs Days of Summer

Very weird summer this year - one day of sun - three days of rain. On another hand - the grass and leaves are thick and green and fresh, and air is wonderfully fragrant, like it is still May.

Great Parenting

By mistake instead of decaf got Max a regular strength Starbucks mocha. So, later that night, I ended up keeping Max (he couldn't sleep) company until three in the morning at what point I collapsed right on the floor in his room. Serves me right.

XX

Celebrated the 20th anniversary with an impromptu gourmet BBQ gathering. Apparently, plenty of butter, rosemary and thyme makes any last-minute grill stuff gourmet...

In the living room, N.B. put out a gallery of our wedding pictures - huge b&w photos of some very serious looking underage kids getting married. On rare occasions when we show these pictures to Americans and they ask how could it be legal to get married that young, we say that it was ok because we were brother and sister.

Perfect Children

A parent dream - Max and Leon relaxing between a string quarter practice and golf lessons...

Happy Birthday, Mom!!!

The secret is out - Rachel told us that you're 34. Happy Birthday!!

*******************

Happy Birthday, Marina!!

We love you just the way you are!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo


P.S. Good luck with the new office!

Кулинар!

On Sunday evening we got together with parents and N.B. and celebrated the occasion with grilled 5-minute salmon (see below) and burgers.

5-minute salmon (credit and all complains for the recipe go to Krause)

1. season Salmon filet to taste (don't you hate this portion - to taste! what if I don't have any?)
2. wrap each filet in foil
3. place wrapped pieces on a very hot grill, cover the grill (or don't, it's irrelevant)
   
4. count until 600 (Mississippically)
5. Done

It actually works!

Hurricane Slava

Perfectly engineered intersection of a number of bodies moving from different directions at subsonic speed had occurred precisely as planned at a certain door at a certain JFK terminal reuniting us with our dear friend Slava Krause who I haven't seen for more than 16 years (Irene saw him in '97). But it was like we parted yesterday. We spent three days and nights non stop catching up on the past and sight seeing the local surroundings and New York. The weather, thankfully, cooperated.

Here is a link to slideshow - all the good pics are from Slava's camera. He has a great photographer eye making even the office buildings look interesting. He was quite fascinated by all the skyscrapers, but he was quick to dismiss Central Park - you should come and see Peterhof, he said...

Energized and pumped by this meet and by our wonderful vacation in France, we are already thinking of new adventures together on either side of the Atlantic.

Waiting for Godot

On Friday, Irene and Leon went to see Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" on Broadway, with Nathan Lane, John Goodman and others. "The show(!) sucked", said Leon, who finished the book earlier in the year, "but performance was great"... Irene account was not much different.

Speaking of waiting, yesterday, Irene did a third in a week run to the airport where she picked up N.B.

Back Home

The trip back home was flawlessly uneventful. The usual after vacation blues didn't come this time as we were full of anticipation of our upcoming meeting with Slava Krause, scheduled to land at JFK on the way from a convention in Las Vegas at about the same time as us.

Dad picked us all up (thanks again!) and we were quick on the way home until, of course, we got stuck on the Belt.

Slideshow

Here is a link to the complete slideshow of our France vacation.

TDF Stage II

The second stage of the tour, from a couple of breakaway riders to the main pack, flew by us in a couple of minutes, but the whole spectacle started about an hour earlier. First came a sponsor caravan - plastered in ads, commercial-blasting vehicles with costumed characters throwing some promotional items into the crowd. After that came a long line of official and VIP vehicles. Then, after some pause, we heard thumping noise of TV helicopter and saw the blinking lights of the main motorcade. It sure looked more impressive than Obama's inaguration. Lots and lots of police cars and motorcycles with sirens on, swiping the entire road curb-to-curb, scaring off the spectators creating a safe bubble for the riders behind. The breakaway group zipped by next followed by a couple of team cars. Another few minute pause, another helicopter, even more police and then finally the main pack followed by scores of team cars, emergency vehicles, some stray left behind riders and finally more police. The moment the last official vehicle passed, the road workers on trucks dismantled and picked up the metal barriers and few minutes later the road was open to traffic and life went back to normal.

On Transport and Transportation

Another day - another bike trek to Monaco. Piece of cake. Though I started getting a bit dizzy from all this little stupid cryptic road signs. Blue signs, green signs, white signs, yellow signs. Little car. Little truck. Black bicycle. Blue bicycle. Little person. Red person. Big little person and small little person. Big little person and small little person crossed. White circle double-crossed. Arrows pointing to the skyward. Arrows pointing downward. This fucking charade almost got us killed when thoroughly confused and disoriented by this iconography we ended up in a tunnel leading to a highway. After that we gave up the sign language and went by the sun and stars.

For the non-American readers - of all the rich pallet of international road signs, U.S. uses only two (stop and yield). The rest is written in pidgin English and well hidden by local vegetation.

First stage of TDF was the 15.5km time trial loop through hills of Monaco. It was quite packed, especially at the port and by the casino. Following the route, we crossed the entire country in search for the perfect spectator spot, got lost in all this carved into the mountain streets, got stopped and warned for erratic riding by local police, finally settling on a place squeezed between starting and finishing approaches.

Leon got busy running between both lanes, cheering each athlete by name in the athlete's native language ("allez, allez" for French nationals, "go, go" for the English-speaking and "давай-давай" for the Russians). I was stunned by his not only remembering the names of each of 180 riders but also by recognizing their low profile flying by at 45mph. To me, they all looked the same: woosh-helmet-ass-woosh.... I told Leon that I am really impressed by his mental prowess hinting that perhaps he could direct a fraction of this power to the studies. "Duh, Dad", said Leon, "the name is written on the support car following the guy..."

Irene and Max arrived by bus later in the day. We watched the end of the stage together and then had some dinner at the port. On the way home, we split up again - Leon and I rode and Irene and Max supposed to take the bus. Because of the street closures, by the time they got to the bus stop, it was too late and the service stopped. It was late and getting dark. Leon and I were away, happily pedalling home. Some nice lady helped them to find the train station. Irene had a 20E bill and an old-fashioned U.S. credit card (magnetic strip only) which the automatic ticket machines at the station refused to accept. Max had one American dollar. The train announcements were in French. Somehow, they managed to get on the right train, and, unable to buy tickets (the machine did not take the bills), rode it for free. Not to tempt the fate further, they took the cab from the station and the driver happily charged them the remaining 20E, thus restoring the justice and fairness in transportation.

Best Swim

Only when we thought that it could not possibly get any better, Irene said that we must go see Cap Ferrat - a semi-secluded place of rich and famous on a cape halfway between Nice and Monaco. But of course - rich and famous and us are like milk and honey, or, better put, honey and flies, where they go - we must follow. Irene and Max went on a bus and Leon and I followed on the bikes. The place was quaint and nearly empty, green, pastel colored villas and cobblestone streets spiraling down to the port. We went to the beach where we had lunch and then bought for a couple of hours a little place under the sun. I have to give it to Irene, swimming-wise, this was the best I've had so far. Sorry Aruba, Bermuda, California, Florida, Eilat, Long Island, Maryland, New Jersey, Volga and Norwalk YMCA, where it's either too hot or too cold, too windy or too stale, too choppy or too flat... At Cap Ferrat, they've got the all the controls right.

At night, among the DVDs left for us in the appartment, Max chose "Love Actually" and watched it with us dutifully closing his eyes through some inappropriate scenes. This was a gross miscalculation on my part - the game "let's Max choose what to watch" was a crude manipulation engineered to have Max select "Casino Royale" or "Raging Bull" (among other available titles). Oops.

The Apartment

Лихой толпой Ляховецкие кочуют по Ницце. Yesterday we moved to another apartment (we couldn't find a single rental to cover our entire stay). The new place is also on the Promenade, about half a mile closer to the center of town. The distance not large enough to justify a cab or even a bus, so we had to carry all our belonging ourselves. Our attempts to mount our luggage on the bikes the donkey style didn't exactly work but got us quite exhausted.

The night before the move, we did some laundry in the apartment washing machine - an ancient Bosch with some creaking knobs. The machine huffed and puffed and finally, well after midnight it came to stop. But it kept the door locked. An experimentation with all permutations of knob positions took about an hour and didn't deliver any results. Another hour killed searching for the manual on the Internet proved equally fruitless. I need to add here, that we traveled "light" this time, meaning that we took much less cloth than usual, thinking that we would just "do laundry". In other words, the evil washing machine had inside most of our wardrobe. Out of time and options, I started to contemplate a cross-town trek for emergency cloth shopping half naked, when the machine suddenly decided to unlock itself. Later, I found out that the machine has some built-in safety timer that unlocks the door a few minutes after it is turned off. Apparently, every time I moved the knob, the timer got reset, so the more I touched it the longer it kept our stuff. Wicked. The joyous reunification with our thoroughly washed belongings was quickly subdued by the thought that we now have to carry 15 pounds of wet cloth to the new place.

But the move was worth it. The new apartment was even bigger and more beautiful than previous. A wrap-around terrace big enough to host a party, huge rooms, high ceilings, numerous bathrooms, air conditioning and a new washing machine. Ah, la bella vita!
After our hostess left, excitingly, we explored the rooms, the aged but well made solid wood furniture, various paintings and vases, old fashioned bathroom appliances, cavernous closets and utility spaces. Then we remembered that we left Leon outside in the sun guarding the bikes (our hostess said that bikes in the flat are no-no, so we waited until she leaves to sneak them in). This time we had only six flights of stairs, though high ceilings more than compensated for the difference.

Lance!

In the afternoon, Leon and I rode to Monaco to see Tour de France opening (or team presentation) ceremony.

We made the 14 miles trip in about 45 minutes on a local road going up and down, around and through the mountains and seaside villages. At times the road was quite packed with traffic and the air was full of exhaust fumes. One of the French paradoxes - the bus schedule informs you how many carbohydrates your trip is going to burn, they recycle religiously and drive these little itsy-bitsy cars and noisy mopeds, but the pollution even on a seaside local road is more pronounced than during the peak hour on the Times Square. Still - everything around is so picture perfect and the drivers are gracious and patient and you ready to forgive them this little collective B.O.

Otherwise, the ride was not very demanding - the slopes are not as steep and turns not as treacherous than, say, California route 101 and despite the bikes being so heavy they needed to be pedaled going downhill, we managed to keep a decent pace (well, not according to Leon, but I'm happy with self).

In Monaco, the bike porn was everywhere. Leon, salivating, was going from one team bus to another, eating bikes with his eyes, taking pictures and filling me on all the technical details of the latest and greatest... Electronic gear shifting anyone? Coming to your stores soon...

We sat through the 2.5 hour opening ceremony - free seats, friendly ushers (they watched our bikes for us), and some crazy Australian girls seating next to us screaming loudly every time an Australian name was announced. I hoped they would start tearing their cloth off, but somehow it didn't happen. The Prince of Monaco read some speech, then each of the twenty teams was called to stage and each person individually presented. Breaks for commercial were filled by some bad and loud singer. But of course, everyone was waiting for Lance. His team (Kazakhstan Astana - why Kazakhstan? because they actually can) was presented second to last. Once Lance got off stage the party went down the hill and we rode back home.

(On the picture, to the left of Lance is new tour favorite Alberto Contador)

Bicycle Thief - cont'd

Beaming like an A+ student delivering a challenging assignment, we walked into the bike shop this morning carrying our police report papers. The clerk said "ok, senk you, and now I take your deposit". Then the following conversation ensued.

• Me: you take?
• Clerk: I take
• Me: the deposite? (trying to pronounce it with French accent on the last syllable)
• Clerk: the deposite
• Me: all?
• Clerk: all
• Me: what about insurance?
• Clerk: no insurance - you check (pointing to the rental agreement) - no insurance
• Me: why did you send me to the police station?
• Clerk: it's the leaw (law)
• Me (thinking): fuck you
• Clerk (thinking): fuck you
• Clerk (suddenly smiling): oh! you go to kert!
• Me: kert?
• Another Clerk: court, justice
• Me (thinking): fuck you
• Another Clerk (thinking): you velcome

Evidently, one of the papers given to us at the police station was some sort of a claim that we could file with the local court (in person, of course). The form states how much damage I request from the perpetrator. The paper also has a separate line for compensation for troubles (pain and suffering, I guess). It was fun watching the two clerks discussing how much I should ask for that. After few minutes they came to agreement that I should ask for 20 (twenty) euros. Take this, tort reform!

Now, more than ever determined to get to stupid Monaco no matter what, I rented two more bikes. While filling the new contract form, savvy me (yes, you can teach an old dog one new trick), asked for the insurance. Clerk said, oh, no, it is not possible... We offer no insurance...

Oh well... But riding, no, gliding, on the bike along the coast, under the azure sky, in the bright but not too hot sun with fragrant and cool sea breeze all around is so heavenly that it makes all past troubles well worth it.

Until, of course, you come home and have to drag the heavy duty 20 kilo monster to the 7th floor, so that we can have a nice... phew... and... relaxing... breakfast.... Oh, and did I mention, it is two 20 kilo bikes now?

Bicycle Thief

Max woke up in a great mood anticipating the promised toy. Half-heartly, he tried talk me into taking a cab instead of walking to the store across town. He said that he doesn't fill "amped" just yet that early in the morning. No deal, I said and Max quickly agreed to walking. After we got him his toy, we went to the beach. Ah, what did we know... While we were joyously bathing gaping at topless ladies on the beach, Leon's bike, double locked to the fence of our building got snatched. The thief left behind professionally cut lock cables so that we could have a proper closure and didn't think that somebody just mistaken our bike for theirs.

We went back to the shop thinking that our deposit (230E) is gone but they insisted that we go to the police station and file the report. 30 minutes it would take, they said. 30 minutes French ass. It took three hours before our number was called by which time I started to understand French laughing and rolling eyes in sync with other patiently waiting citizens of French republic. 20 more minutes of officer pecking on the keyboard and I was let go with a stack of papers with numerous seals and signatures. Will see what it does to my deposit.

As for the topless ladies - well, in the name of heterosexuality, most of them should never ever be allowed to be in public uncovered (is this sexist?).

On the way home we saw police building barricades around the road under our very windows. It says that on July 5th, it will be closed for traffic for Tour de France. So, may be after all, we don't have to bike to Monaco... The Tour is coming to us. I'm renting out our balcony for 230E. Any takers?

How to make Max smile

The morning started with a now traditional trip to a neighborhood boulangerie (булочная) for a baguette and then a breakfast, at home, of bread, eggs, cheese and ham. The bread and these eggs (huge, flavorful, deep yellow - one egg is truly a big breakfast) is something special and so far (my opinion) is the only basic food way better here than what we have back home. Cheeses and ham - not easy, but you can find. This bread and eggs - not really. Stew Leonard's and Fairway don't come close.

This time, I worked up some courage, and in addition to the baguette asked for the thing pictured here. Turns out it is a meringue (бизе) loaf with some cotton candy-like filling. Not really that good. Looks better on the picture then it tastes. Have no idea what it is called in French, but never mind anyway.

It was getting hot and we went to the plage (пляж). The beaches here are covered with pebbles but it was not crowded and the water was very very warm. Still, the beach bunnies Leon, Max and I are not. We left Irene there and headed to the city to finally get Leon a bike.

Naturally, when we got to the right bike shop, it was 12:05, which is when all French people go back home for lunch. The store was padlocked until 2. By now, hardened by long walks in Paris, the mere mile and a half under the blistering sun was nothing. After the lunch, determined to get the bike no matter what, I ran back to the shop. I was ready to pay the asking price and was happy that the asking price was quite low - 14E/day. In fact, renting the bike was the only relatively cheap thing during the trip, I think. Less than the price of a Chef Salad in your friendly bistro (tea is extra plus add like 20% in taxes). Of course it was not the bike Leon wanted - the road (racing) bikes were all rented out and all we could get is a heavy hybrid (did I mention we live on the 7th floor with such a tiny elevator it fits only a person and a baguette?). Dragging 50lb bike up the stairs brought back some well suppressed unhappy memories.

A swim in the sea restored our good moods and we happily made Max a triple-pinky-cross-my-heart-promise that tomorrow is going to be all about him and we are going to wake up bright and early and go to the end of the Earth to get him some Legos even if it involves buying raw plastic granules and manufacturing the toy ourselves on the hot pebbles.

See Max smiling in the picture? The simple and naive times where all you had to do to make child smile is to promise him some "птичка" are so over. A new dirty trick that so far works without a hitch on our open-minded boy is to use a certain keyword that trips his circuits and makes him smile uncontrollably even in the middle of the most hopeless tantrum. This certain keyword is "penis". Works especially good when whispered by the older brother in combination with any adjective or superlative. Try it at home. It is fun.

Nice

The trip to Nice took only 5 hours door-to-door and was uneventful other than a confiscated can of Nutella at the security (I swear I read somewhere that for travel inside France the no-liquids restrictions do not apply), but free gourmet sandwiches served on board of our one hour flight more than compensated for the bust.

Large top floor 2 bedroom seafront apartment, french door terrace, two bathrooms, huge living room, and wonderful sea breeze throughout. Of course, the moment we set out, clouds covered the sky and it started to drizzle. We stopped by the bike shop and yes, the last roadbikes were just rented out. Still - the air is warm, sea - beautiful, and Max, so far, reasonably content.

We hid from the rain at a bistro - same place where we had our "last supper" in November. Then we crossed the town to a supermarket which we used back then. There were great many other shops, but for some reason, "we" wanted to go to that particular one. In the supermarket, the line was long and I swear I heard more Russian then French. All the Russian speaking in the store seemingly gravitated to the same route: колбаса - сыр - помидоры - яйца. Just to be different, I also picked up a case of strawberries and some whipped cream. A bit later, at the register, Leon carefully packed the strawberries at the bottom of the bag and just to make sure it stays put, he placed a 16-can pack of coke on top.

The way back was long and the plastic bags were heavy (in addition to coke, Leon also picked up a gallon of orange juice). All of that - the line in the store, Russian language spoken in the shop and on the streets, the heavy bags and long schlep home brought back some memories. But not for long. Max wanted some food and we quickly surrendered and bought him Le Big Mac et Frites.

Back home, we relaxed on the balcony stealing fries from Max's and having Compote a la Fresh Strawberries.

Sunday

We slept late, had some peaceful lazy breakfast at home and set out to finish off the last of Paris obligatory attractions - Bastille and such.

Just to warm up, we lost Irene while boarding the train. Miraculously, we met at the next station and arrived at Bastille otherwise intact. From there, we followed a guidebook to Carnavalet - a small but excellent museum of history of Paris. Obscure but full of great paintings and other artifacts spanning the city's entire art history it was especially good for two reasons: it was free and empty. The room attendants were visibly bored, so the view of Max in his hat greatly entertained them. One of the attendants thought that Max was wearing the "Michael Jackson" hat in the memory of the late pop-idol. The guy turned some music on his cell phone and taught Max the moonwalk, the hand and other Jackson's classics. In return, Max showed him some provocative hip and pelvis moves. We pretended that the kid was not ours.

After the museum, the book directed us through "Jews and Gays" quarters (first the Jews, then the Gays). Some world-famous shaurma and falafel stand in the Jewish quarter had a 50-people deep line. It felt good than neither of us liked none of this food. But it made Max remember that he hadn't eaten in a couple of hours, so soon thereafter we stopped for lunch.

Strategizing what to do next, Leon suggested that we should rent bikes (the municipal bike rent stands are all over the city, but you need some preregistered card). We found only one bike shop on the other side of the city, went there and saw the last two bikes rented by people walking into the place right in front of us. Poor Leon - it was like he knew it was going to happen - he tried to speed us up all alone. We didn't even give Leon a luxury of saying "I told you so", because Max started to get cranky again and we had to hassle to get him into a shade and give him some soda.

While Leon and I were in a rush to take care of Max we lost Irene again. Another $5 transatlantic call reunited the family. And Max wanted to pee again. This time, after considerable walking around, we found no bathroom and had to surrender and park for lunch-and-pee at a bistro.

From there, we took a metro to La Defense - Paris business district with Grand Arch and some outdoor Jazz Festival in progress. I liked its clean and wide open space and streamlined modern design. But clean wide open spaces means more walking, which was not how Max envisioned the evening. Back on the metro to a dirty and crowded Champs-Elysees, picked up a burger and some provisions for breakfast and came back home.

Tomorrow morning we are departing Paris for Nice.

Pacifying Max, contn'd

Continuing from yesterday...

Art leads to ... yes, more food. On the way from Pompidou to Louvre, Max got very cranky, so we had to stop for more food. Lunch #3, I think. This bought us just enough good will for a 5 minute walk to Tuileries with its traditional mile-long summer kids carnival (rides and all). We did see Louvre but only as a backdrop to Max's joyous jumps on a trampouline (see picture).
After that he started to whine about going with him on other rides until Leon relented (but not without calling Max a b***g d***e a***e (with my full formal approval) and went with him into some labyrinth of physical challenges. Evidently unlike American half-hearted handicaped-friendly attractions, this one was not for wusses. Max got his ego handed back to him when we had to evacuate him through the fence (the last challenge involved puffs of compressed air and violently shaking ground). But little did we know that meanwhile he had prepared the next challenge for us. We were about done with a mile-long walk through Tuileries, when he said that he wanted to pee. Badly. Long story short - looking for the bathroom involved criss-crossing Tuileries four times, a heated, laced with trilingual profanities dispute with a maitre'd of a nearby restaurant, losing Irene, a $5 call to her cell to find her, and, finally, oh joy, a 40 cents peeeeeeee.
While Max, Leon and I were running through the park, Irene was courted by some local gigolo (well, I think he was a gigolo), which she enjoyed very much - I felt quite a bit of hesitation in her answering the phone and re-unification with the family. After the pee emergency, to cool off we went on a boat ride along Seine (uneventful) and finished the day with a midnight dinner at some third-rate Chinese restaurant not far from home.