In the beginning of this summer we were hoping to pack a lifetime of adventures into two months of a European vacation. We started out by visiting my hometown in Russia. Then the plan was to drive to Southern France where we would play on the beach after Scott's Ironman competition. Upon returning from France, Scott and I were going to drive to Rome to catch a Mediterranian cruise, while my Mom kindly agreed to babysit. And to finish off our european tour we were going to do and see whatever else we had not done and seen in Bavaria. Crazy, huh? But, hey, we are familiar with strenuous life routine, why not take 4 kids on an 8-hour long road trip. Plus, this was our chance to say good-bye to Europe before we were bound to return to the States the end of July. So, ready or not, here we come.
Nadia, David, my Mom and I flew from Russia on June 24. Scott and the babies met us at the Munich airport. Tightly squeezing all the people and luggage into our van we started out towards France. That's correct, we did not even stop at home to drop off Russian souvenirs and rain coats. The van was stoickly venturing a new road winding through Swiss Alps, then northern Italy with vineyards on both sides of the freeway, then, long after dark we arrived in Nice.
Our apartment is in a busy part of town with a loud pub on the first floor. No empty parking spot in sight. Double-parking was the only option for us to unload our cargo. As we soon find out double-parking is not an outrageous behavior in this part of the world. But for now, we are nervous, hurriedly emptying the car and carrying everything, plus sleepy kids, on the third floor. One word - exhausted. One more word - hot!
A cute representative of Nice Pebbles welcomed us. The apartment is very nice, spacious, carefully decorated, with many balconies, stainless steel kitchen counters, a big screen tv, and... no AC. There is no designated parking spot for our van either. So, on goes Scott to drive our faithful Honda into the first parking garage with the sign "Ouvert" (open) on it. Which is apparently a couple kilometers away from the apartment, somewhere in the woods of a busy european city. As long as Scott remembered the way back to it, we are good.
The next morning grocery shopping was the first cultural activity on our agenda. Baguettes, le lait, mousse au chocolat, fromage, ratatuille, and peaches grown in France ended up in our shopping cart. We just went with our gut feeling about the authentic French grocery list. We were clueless but eager to give it a try. Toiling our load of French delicacies to the apartment we took a short break at the boulangerie. Boulangeries are bakeries with so many kinds of different breads that you can eat a loaf a day for a month and never hit the same taste buds. Among numerous temptations, baguettes seem to rule. While we were standing there mouths open trying to pick something very authentic and French, local people kept coming in, and out they went with bouquets of those long sticks of bread.
Ironman registration was another important task of the day. It took place in booths set up in the park across from newly built fancy Malaussena street with black and white checkered tiles and a naked guy made out of white stone standing in the middle of the fountain. We split our team in two. Older kids and Dad went into the booths. Babies, Mom and I decided to take a "shortcut" through Old Town. We got a pretty good workout climbing up and down the stairs with the double stroller, trying to find our way to Lascaris, 19.
After my unsuccessful experiment with ratatuille, we ate plain normal meat and potatoes. No French cousine that day. But we were together as a whole family and that mattered the most. We were fantasizing about the rest of our Nice vacation. Not knowing what will happen to us the next day at about the same time. . .
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