A few days ago, I was driving the Boy home from soccer practice.
"Are you going to get a soccer jersey in France?" I asked. "Maybe one from Paris St. Germain?"
"Maybe," he said.
"I don't know what their jerseys look like," I said, so he googled it and showed me at a stoplight.
"When I google 'Paris S,' it came up with 'Paris St. Germain,' 'Paris Shooting,' and 'Paris Syndrome,'" he said. Jesus, I thought.
"What's Paris Syndrome?" I asked.
"What happens to tourists who are excited to go to Paris and then are extremely disappointed," he said. Egads. That is not what I need the Boy to look up. This will be our first big urban vacation as a family. Normally we go to places where there are mountains, beaches and/or hiking. I am a little nervous of how he'll think of Paris. He isn't a city Boy.
Fast forward to yesterday.
"I am looking forward to going to Vancouver," Jack said yesterday morning before we got in the car to drive to Paris. He was the only one.
Vancouver is a short hop and a jump from Seattle, and wow--all of a sudden you are plopped into the middle of a cosmopolitan town.* There are great mountain views, great water views, great parks, great restaurants and great shopping. Yay! It is awesome. When I first came here when Claire Adele was in first grade, I couldn't believe I had missed out on this city my whole life. When we first moved to Seattle in 2004, I was afraid of the hassle of the border crossing, just as I was afraid that I didn't know how to ride a ferry to the San Juan Islands. In both cases, I got over it when I was invited by friends to go both places.
I digress. We are in Vancouver. The kids have lost count of how many times we have been here, which is kind of cool.
Yesterday morning, Jack said he was looking forward to our brief trip to Vancouver before we head to Paris. He was the only one. He worked all weekend and overnight Wednesday, so I was doing most of the pre-trip planning and packing. It was bizarre to pack for the drive to Vancouver and then the flight to Paris. This kids didn't know what to put in their backpacks. I brought a million books, knowing I'll leave half of them in the car at the Vancouver airport.
Why are we in Vancouver if we are going to Paris? Because it was significantly cheaper to fly out of Van to Paris than from Seattle. The Canadian dollar is super weak, and I am assuming fewer Canadians want to take international trips when their currency is in the toilet.
"But Lauren, even if it is cheaper, there is a cost," said my friend Sangita who is spending three weeks in Germany this summer. She is right. Let's say we are saving x dollars on the flight to Paris from Vancouver. We are spending x times 75% to go to Vancouver for three nights--two nights before we leave and one night after, plus the long drive between Vancouver and Seattle, which can be as short as three hours or as long as five if you stop for lunch, have a long wait at the border, and traffic in both cities. Which sucks when it is bad. Which is exactly what happened yesterday.
The challenge with car trips is that there is no precise departure time--it is squishy, which I kind of hate. No one is motivated to get their butt in gear like when we travel by plane. We planned to leave "around ten," which meant we left at 10:45. The night before we left, the Boy realized he only had three pairs of underwear that fit. When I heard that, I was actually surprised he had any underwear that fit given that he has grown six inches taller since the last time he got new undies. So Jack and the Boy ran to the mall and were there when it opened yesterday morning. Nevermind we could have bought underwear in Van or Paris--they ran the errand before we left. When Jack got back, he realized he had to finish his notes from call on Wednesday night. Argh. Were we ever going to leave?
We finally did leave. We stopped for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Bellingham (which was awesome, by the way) and the kids practiced their French during lunch. I was getting ready to say, "Nous sommes quatre," to the hostess and "Merci" to the waitress, but I didn't because they spoke English.
After lunch, we hit border patrol and had to wait for forty-five minutes, to then get stuck in stop and go weekend traffic into Vancouver. The Boy had said previously said he was worried I would embarrass him, and I couldn't figure out why. Then we were stuck in traffic, and Jack and I started bickering. He was going to make a left turn on a red, and I panicked. In Seattle, everyone runs reds. At best, it is annoying and at worst it is dangerous. The light turns green and you have to check to see who is flying like a bat out of hell through the red. When I drive in Canada, I try very hard not to be a jackass so they don't look at my license plate and think "stupid American."
"See!" yelled the Boy. "Don't embarrass me in France! Just talk quietly." He had a point.
We finally got to the hotel after being stuck in downtown gridlock. I was pissed. Why didn't we just fly direct to France from Seattle and skip this hassle? We could have taken a forty-five minute train to SeaTac from our house and been in Paris the next morning. But no. We had to come here.
When we got to the hotel, everyone was exhausted. The Boy was pissy, and he discovered he forgot his jacket and toothbrush, even though he was up at 6:30 a.m. poking around the house, looking at his phone half the time. Maybe if he got off his phone for a bit, he would have remembered his fucking toothbrush and jacket. So Jack, Claire Adele and I went to get the Boy a toothbrush and the rest of us coffee. Fortunately, he was old enough to leave alone in the hotel. I was happy to leave him behind. My head was throbbing.
We got back, and gave the Boy a sandwich we bought for him at Starbucks. Miraculously, his hanger went away. The Boy, Jack and I went to the pool while Claire Adele stayed in the room and checked her 850 text messages she missed during the five hour car ride to Van. Seriously. Social media for a teenager is like being a middle manager in a large corporation--she can't keep up with the group chats for her clubs and sports teams. I feel sorry for her. This is what she has to look forward to for the rest of her life. In our hotel room, there are pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the rose window from Notre Dame. The Boy found it curious that there were pictures of Paris in our hotel room in Vancouver.
In the pool, I finally relaxed. For the first time, I was glad we made the stop in Van. The Boy and Jack played ping pong on the patio and I talked a woman from England who was trying to prevent her seven year old son from cannonballing into the pool. I laughed. "It's vacation," I told her. "My kids are older, and I now relish when he was seven."
"Every age has its cross to bear," she said. She was right. That also applies to husbands.
After the pool, we found an Addidas shop and bought the Boy a new jacket. His soccer team jacket was so ratty. He wore every day. I washed it before we left, and couldn't get one of the sleeves clean at all.
"That's epoxy," the Boy said. He built rockets at Rocket Club. That black goo would never come off.
The new jacket looked really good on him, to the point I couldn't say anything for fear he wouldn't like it if I liked it. We got the jacket, and went to the same Thai restaurant we've gone to every single time we've been to Vancouver. I would love to try a different restaurant, but that didn't work out. It was okay, the kids and Jack loved it. We tried new food there, and it was awesome.
When we got back to the hotel, the four of us went to the pool. The Boy was dancing in the hall.
"I am finally getting excited about going to France," he said.
"Were you nervous?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "It is a big international trip and all." Maybe a small dose of Van will help him inoculate him to Paris, which would be a good thing.
* Parts of this city, like any other major city, are kind of grungy. Yesterday, we saw a clean-cut blond girl wearing a Lululemon jacket and smoking a cigarette walking down the street. The jacket covered her butt, and we discovered she wasn't wearing pants, just underwear. Very strange.
No comments:
Post a Comment