Ianna goes to Europe: une journée à Versailles

We made our best effort to wake up early on Thursday to maximize our time at Versailles, and grabbed breakfast on our way to the train station. After a beautiful 45 minute train ride through the suburbs of Paris, we were pulling into the train platform at Versailles. We skipped all of the vendors selling tickets, as Ian had already purchased ours online the night before to expedite the process. But we stopped short when we saw the line for the palace. It ran the full length of the palace forecourt and wrapped around itself.



Not wanting to waste hours just waiting, we instead headed to the entrance for the gardens, which are free and don't require a ticket. We skipped ahead on our Rick Steves audio guides, and began the outdoor tour, starting behind the palace and walking down to the Apollo fountain. Unfortunately the fountain was not running, but we learned about the engineering to get all of the fountains to work by gravity.



Along our walk, we decided to pause for lunch at one of the restaurants on the palace grounds. We enjoyed some soupe à l'oignon gratinée, steak frites, and crème brûlée while chatting up the expats sitting at the table next to us. It began to rain, but the outdoor seating came with automatic awnings so we could stay dry while finishing lunch. As we headed back out to continue our tour, the rain stopped. Impeccable timing.



We continued to follow Rick Steves around the gardens, taking in the fountains, sculptures, and immaculate groundskeeping (a few of the statues were getting baths as we strolled by). Ian couldn't help gawking at the "power of the axes" and "the genius of Le Nôtre" and other landscape architecture-related jargon. But no matter what words you use to describe them, the gardens of Versailles are incredible.



As we passed the pink palace, it began to rain once again. We took the opportunity to duck inside and sample Angelina's famous chocolat chaud and our first macarons of the trip. Both were incredible. The chocolat chaud was like drinking a melted bar of rich chocolate, and the macarons were light, crisp, and exquisitely flavorful.



The rain stopped shortly, and we finished our tour of the gardens. We strolled along more peastone paths lined with manicured trees, back to the palace.



By the time we arrived at the entrance, the long line from the morning had all but disappeared. We breezed through security and made our way to the start point of the Rick Steves audio tour.



While the grounds impress with their vastness, the palace impresses with it's decadence. Not a single inch of the palace lacks decoration, and it is drenched in history, from French kings to the Treaty of Versailles that ended WWI. Every room was more opulent than the last, full of priceless artifacts.



Once we reached the end of the tour, we stepped out into the Orangerie. As another show of his power and wealth, King Louis built a magnificent collection of citrus trees in giant planters, which were brought indoors when the weather didn't suit their tropical temperaments.





Exhausted, we took one final look at the palace then headed to the train station and back to Paris. We arrived back in the city just in time to get in line for the concert Ian had noticed advertised two days before: Gregorian chanting at the Notre Dame Cathedral.



While Ian waited in line, I procured dinner at a crepe stand across the street. I admired the chef's finesse. He spread out the batter, then added the toppings in careful measure.



Gregorian chanting isn't the sort of thing I enjoy listening to on a regular basis, but there was something haunting about hearing music that has been heard in Notre Dame since foundation was laid 850 years ago. History is so much more incredible when you experience it.

See all our photos from Paris on Flickr, and catch up on our trip posts.

*We turned our celebrity couple name, bestowed by my brother Caleb, into an Instagram hashtag (#iannagoestoeurope) and now it's virtually impossible to refer to our trip in any other way.

Ianna goes to Europe: Anna accompagne Ian de paysages parisiens

Day five in Paris was devoted to visiting famous landscapes so Ian could geek out about them. I could try and describe what exactly makes these landscapes successful, but would fail miserably. I will simply say we stopped at lots of places that seemed quintessentially Parisian and European. Plazas, courtyards, and parks, surrounded by old beautiful architecture, full of people enjoying the city.

We started at la Place Vendôme. At its center is a giant column, which apparently has gone up and down with the political tides since Napoleon. It is an imposing presence, but fits with the giant paved expanse and square of expensive shops surrounding it.

After Ian finished up his first sketch of the day, we headed on to lunch. Given our love of food trucks and Ian's love of the New York Times, we knew we had to squeeze in a meal at Cantine California, featured in a June 2012 New York Times article.



We stood in line for about 10 minutes, and a woman with a perfect Midwestern accent took our order. I asked her where she was from, and she said she was French but grew up in Texas. Perfect English, perfect French. Lucky. Soon we were at the window, watching the busy kitchen. "I can't make this burger without foie gras and shallots!" I'm guessing it's not a phrase often heard back in the states.



We took our burgers, fries, and Dr. Pepper to another plaza, the forecourt to the Palais-Royal. It wasn't the one Ian meant to find, but it turned out to be even better. What looked liked giant game pieces of varying heights dotted the plaza. People used them as tables and seats, and kids had fun jumping and climbing them. While Ian was photographing the space, he inadvertently befriended a small French boy, and I enjoyed watching the most stylish six-year-old I've ever seen make several attempts to climb up one of the taller pieces before she finally stood triumphant on the top.



After finishing lunch, we headed out a different way than we entered, and came across a farmer's market at the foot of the Louvre. The Parisian attention to design and beauty extends even to their garden beds.



We continued on to the Les Halles park, a space recommended by someone at work. Unfortunately, only a fraction of the space was open, as it was undergoing some major renovations.




We slowly walked along the pedestrian path that safely traversed the Les Halles work site. I attempted to read the description of the project. Apparently it once was the site of a thriving market, but fell victim to city modernization efforts in the 1970s and was replaced by an underground shopping mall. As I fumbled with my French reading skills, Ian analyzed the construction detailing, pointing out various features that would soon cover the giant slabs of concrete.



Our next stop was le Centre Pompidou, Paris's modern art museum. While we didn't have enough time in our schedule to spend time inside, we did take half an hour for Ian to sketch the exterior. Designed by Renzo Piano, the hallways and building systems, like plumbing, run along the outside of the building, showcasing what is often hidden. This inside-out building is showing its age, but is still a fascinating piece of architecture.



A crêpe break was the next order of business. We stopped at Breizh Café, recommended by Lonely Planet, and chatted about the day so far over strawberry rhubarb and chocolate almond crepes.



Energized, we headed out for one last landscape. Place des Vosges. I couldn't believe how immaculately trimmed the lindens were. They looked like floating rectangles of greenery, supported by evenly spaced trunks. The park was peaceful: just the sort of place I'd love to spend lazy afternoons every weekend.



We headed back towards the Eiffel Tower. After analyzing our list of places left to see and also the evening weather for the rest of the week, we decided it was now or never. We bought our tickets and headed to the elevator for the second floor. The views of Paris were breathtaking, and we weren't even at the top yet. We got into the line that wound its way to the next elevator. We watched out the elevator's glass walls as we headed up towards the very top. Those views of Paris made everything — the long line, the drizzle, the masses of British school children milling around with their teachers — worth it.




After getting our fill of the sights, we headed back down to the second floor to wait for the tower to light up. We watched as the park below began to fill up with people on blankets, waiting for the show. At ten, hundreds of lights began to flash and the whole tower glittered and sparkled like fireworks. A loud cheer came up from the lawn, as we leaned back and watched until the end.



See all our photos from Paris on Flickr, and catch up on our trip posts.

*We turned our celebrity couple name, bestowed by my brother Caleb, into an Instagram hashtag (#iannagoestoeurope) and now it's virtually impossible to refer to our trip in any other way.

Ianna goes to Europe: Nous essayons d'être comme les Parisiens

We woke up the next morning with one specific goal: pick up Navigo passes as recommended by our Lonely Planet guide, which pointed out that a week-long unlimited tap card was easier and cheaper than paying single fares. The challenge? Only certain stations sold Navigo passes. We took the metro to Gare du Nord, where we found a ticket window. I inquired. "Je voudrais acheter deux cartes Navigo..." I understood only half of the woman's response, but realized we would have to go to another window in another part of the station. Not wanting to negate the goodwill my French speaking had granted us, I crossed my fingers that the hand gestures accompanying the verbal directions would suffice, and thanked the woman for her assistance.

We continued walking and found another set of ticket windows where we guessed the previous teller had indicated. I once again made my request. Instead of an apologetic redirect, she began asking questions: how many passes? Deux. How long would we need the passes? Une semaine seulement. A few minutes later, we were the proud owners of Navigo passes. I was giddy. I had two separate conversations in French and acquired what felt like keys to the city.

We headed to le Musée de l'Orangerie, tapping our passes and feeling like locals. The long line outside in the rain couldn't dampen our spirits. Huddled under umbrellas underneath the allées of Lindens at the Tulleries, we chatted with other American tourists in line around us. This camaraderie with strangers, linked only by a common language in a foreign country, is fascinating.



After a long but not unpleasant wait, we were finally standing in front of the coat check, handing over our dripping umbrellas. At the ticket desk, we bought the Orangerie and Orsay ticket passport, in the hopes we would be skipping the long wait for our next planned museum visit. We grabbed a map and walked up to the two connected rooms designed by Monet himself to showcase eight of his waterlilies paintings, a gift to the city of Paris after World War I to provide a peaceful place in the city. We sat and gazed. How did he choose which paintings would go in which room and where? How does one create artwork on such a grand scale? How can broad and loose brushstrokes create such an entrancing image full of feeling and place?

We eventually pulled ourselves away and headed downstairs to the Walter-Guillaume collection. The miniature recreations of the original private collection housed in the Guillaume appartemente were impressive and provided great context for the collection itself. Il est incroyable to see so many famous painters' works in one place.

Once we had our fill of art for the day, we headed back out into the wet Paris afternoon in search of dinner. Ian hoped we could pick up a bottle of wine and a small smorgasbord to accompany it. But once we started looking, it seemed most shops were closed. Finally, we found an open wine shop. After a "Parlez-vous Anglais?" Ian struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper and between various recommendations for a nice white wine, we found out he played basketball and was a Celtics fan. He also informed us goat cheese would pair well with our selected wine, and that it was a national holiday, le lundi de Pentecôte. We would have a hard time finding many places open, but our best bet was Rue Cler.

By the time we arrived at the short street packed with restaurants and shops, we were ready to be done with the cold and wet weather. We decided to postpone our indoor Parisian picnic and sit down for some hot food. We found a restaurant called L'Eclair, especially enticing as it shared a name with my favorite pâtisserie. Ian ordered a cheese omelette, while I went with steak haché (it turned out to be more like a burger minus the bun). Our waitress was very kind and patient, and spoke a decent amount of English, which made everything easier. We topped off the night with dessert. I ordered the clafoutis avec abricots, and decided I never wanted to eat anything else for the rest of my life.

After dinner, we strolled down Rue Cler and stopped at several shops: une fromagerie for goat cheese to go with our wine, une charcuterie for salami, and une épicerie for apricots, so we could still experience shopping for dinner the Parisian way.

The next morning, we grabbed croissants for breakfast at Paul. We later discovered this is a chain bakery; surprising news, as they were the best croissants we had experienced yet. Light and flaky, taking a bite was like butter fireworks for my taste buds. We kept walking, all the way to the Arch de Triomphe (2.5 miles, of our 5 mile total for the day).

We stopped for lunch at Cojean, a nearby modern bistro recommended by Lonely Planet. After sandwiches and a tasty peach and raspberry parfait, we headed to our afternoon destination: le Musée d'Orsay. We laughed at the long line when we arrived, certain that must be the line for those without tickets. We were disappointed. We debated if we should try for a shorter wait on another day, but without a good alternative to take it's place, we decided to wait. Thankfully it went quickly. After passing through the front doors, we pulled our our iPhones and plugged into the Rick Steve's app for his Orsay tour.



The audio tour was perfect: free, informative, and not too long. We snaked through the museum, starting with the classical work and moving towards the impressionists. I was surprised to discover that such different styles and approaches to art existed at the same time. It was also fascinating to see how the former train station was re-purposed for the museum, without losing it's original feel. Gazing down from an overlook, I could imagine what it was like to see trains arriving and departing, surrounded by the bustle of travelers.

After a few hours at the museum, our next stop was at the Oh Happy Day! recommended hot chocolate spot: Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur, which had been closed the day before. I couldn't stop beaming over the chocolat chaud, croissants, and congolais, which are a lot like the American coconut macaroons. But better, of course.

We also picked up a baguette to complete the meal we had assembled the night before. We slowly made our way back to the Métro, with the baguette peeking out the top of my tote bag. A woman passing us paused to ask for directions; the baguette must have helped us look local. She realized her mistake as soon as we opened our mouths. I was thrilled, however, that we blended in so well.

We hopped on the 69 bus using our Navigo passes, to get in a tourist-free bus tour of many of Paris's famous sights, and made a pit stop at Notre Dame. We noticed a significant police presence in the area, but a small group of Catholic activists was collecting signatures for a petition in the front courtyard, so we assumed it was connected. Ian gave me a quick architecture history lesson about the flying buttresses, and then noticed a poster for a Gregorian chanting concert Thursday night. We made a mental note to try and squeeze it in our schedule, then headed back to Montmartre.

A quick train ride later, and we were back at the apartment. We turned on the television to catch up on the news over dinner, and soon discovered why the police were at Notre Dame. That morning, a French writer had committed suicide near the altar. Experiencing news so shocking and politically loaded in a foreign country is a surreal experience. Were we not in Paris, we might not have even known it happened.



We turned our attention back to dinner, laying out our indoor picnic spread. Une baguette, fromage de chèvre au romarin, abricots, salami, y une 2011 Château de Tracy Pouilly-Fumé. A simple but exquisite meal to end a long and satisfying day in Paris.

See all our photos from Paris on Flickr, and catch up on our trip posts.

*We turned our celebrity couple name, bestowed by my brother Caleb, into an Instagram hashtag (#iannagoestoeurope) and now it's virtually impossible to refer to our trip in any other way.

Ianna goes to Europe: Montmartre, Les Puces, et le Tour Eiffel

A quick flight from Dublin, and we found ourselves in customs at Charles de Gaulle. Just like that, our passports had French stamps and we were rolling our luggage to the train and breathing in the crisp French air. My almost decade old dream was coming true.

Reality hit when we couldn't purchase our billets at the machine and had to walk up to a ticket window. My first attempt at French might have morphed into Spanish before landing in English with fingers crossed. The ticket agent wasn't thrilled, but it worked.

On the train, we ran into an American mother/daughter duo decked out with Rick Steves gear. Heading in the same direction, we teamed up navigating public transportation until Ian and I reached our stop.



We popped up from the subway underneath one of Paris's famous art nouveau Métropolitain signs to see the Moulin Rouge all lit up. We rolled our suitcases up the ubiquitous cobblestone streets until we arrived at the front door of the building where we were renting a studio for the week. After following the directions to get in the front door, Ian failed to find the light switch and pulled out his flashlight. We contemplated how we would get our suitcases up to the fifth floor in the dark. I ran my hand along the wall. Light. Ian had just missed it. It illuminated an uneven 75 steps up to our studio: a treacherous journey in the dark. Thank goodness for electricity, and a cozy appartement at the end of a long day.

The next morning, after catching up on some sleep, we headed to the crêperie/sandwich shop at the bottom of our street. So began our love affair with Paris street food. I ordered a Nutella crêpe. The man at the griddle poured out the batter with precision, spread it into a perfect circle, and timed the addition of Nutella for maximum melt without overcooking the crêpe. Finally, he tucked it into a neat little paper triangle and handed it across the counter.



Brunch in hand, we headed to a nearby park to eat and people watch. We couldn't take our eyes off an elderly gentleman, looking smart in a three piece suit, hat, and immense but neatly trimmed facial hair, feeding baguette out of his hand to small fluttering birds in midair.

We wandered through Montmartre up towards Sacre Coeur. On our way, we came across a store highlighted by Oh Happy Day! The window display was very hard to resist. "Une photo, s'il vous plaît?" My French was slowly coming back.



After more stairs (the city is full of them... no wonder Parisians are so svelte), we reached the top of the butte Montmartre and turned around for a stunning view of Paris. How could a city be so expansive yet so cozy and inviting?



We eventually shuffled through the front doors of the cathedral, and made a slow loop around the inside, marveling at the craftsmanship and patience required for such a massive undertaking. After touring the inside of the cathedral, we paused outside so Ian could sit and sketch. A street musician trio kept me entertained while I waited for him to finish.



We strolled from Sacre Coeur to Les Puces de Saint Ouen (which we located thanks to Oh Happy Day!). Normally Ian and I aren't big on flea market shopping, but we thought it would be a fun place to pick up some unique souvenirs. After wandering through the intricate maze of shops and admiring things that would never fit in our suitcase, we finally paused at at shop with more manageably sized wares. We haggled for a discount on some woodblock letters. I did fine in French until he started naming prices. Throwing in the word "euros" after numbers somehow made them unintelligible to me. Thankfully, Ian figured out the shopkeeper knew German, so Ian took over to make a deal. We walked away with a handful of letters, and renewed confidence in our foreign language skills. Ready for a break, we stopped at a café for un café et un chocolat chaud before exploring more of the market.



As we continued, we suddenly found ourselves in the pop up shops surrounding the market. Instead of antique furniture and charming art, we were in the midst of knockoff tennis shoes and automatic guns. The latter prompted a hasty exit the way we came. We finished up our excursion in a covered market with a surplus of shops hawking old photos and used books, including my childhood favorites Asterix and Obelix, which I had made my dad translate for me every so often.

We finally headed back to Montmartre, arriving too early for dinner at the Oh Happy Day! recommended Refuge des Fondus. Then it started pouring. We ducked into a cute home goods store to kill some time, headed to a bakery for a croissant, then waited out the rain under an awning. Finally,  five o'clock rolled around and the restaurant opened it's door to an already forming line of diners.



The owner greets diners, then seats pairs across from each other. With two long tables on either side of the restaurant, the only way to the other side of the table is over. He turns the chair around and holds out a hand to assist the lady (or whoever of the pair he selects) to step over. Once you are seated, he asks two questions. Rouge ou blanc? Viande ou fromage? A plate of appetizers — charcuterie, olives, pickles — appears avec un apéritif. Next the appetizer plate disappears to make room for the fondue (meat or cheese) and a baby bottle (yes, baby bottle) full of your wine selection.

Ian and I polished off a couple baskets of bread, and we had barely put a dent in our pot of melted cheese. As we methodically consumed our fondue — spear, dip, twirl, eat — we ended up chatting with the couples on either side of us, both on their honeymoons.



We finally waved the white flag over our fondue. Ian stood up, and once again the owner flipped around the chair and offered his hand to help me over the table, this time singing a cabaret tune. One of the couples we had befriended offered us their tickets for a night bus tour starting near the Tour Eiffel since they wouldn't finish dinner in time to make it themselves. We rushed to the metro and caught a train, but we arrived too late. Instead, we strolled along the Seine and over to the Eiffel Tower, just in time to see it light up.



Because the Eiffel Tower is famous and everywhere I had thought of it as almost cliché, and so was caught off guard by how captivating it is in person. It presides over the surrounding neighborhoods, and peeks through between buildings, growing larger as you draw closer. You think it can't possibly get any more massive, and then you're standing at the base in amazement. In one moment, I understood why it is famous and everywhere. It's sweeping curves, grand scale, and balance of complex engineering and simple design is irresistible.

After strolling across the Champ de Mars, we finally headed back to Montmartre on the Metro, ending the day where we began our first 24 hours in Paris: looking up at the bright lights of Moulin Rouge.

See all our photos from Paris on Flickr, and catch up on our trip posts.

*We turned our celebrity couple name, bestowed by my brother Caleb, into an Instagram hashtag (#iannagoestoeurope) and now it's virtually impossible to refer to our trip in any other way.

Ianna goes to Europe: 10 hours in Dublin

We went to Europe for two weeks, and it was amazing. But before I (over)share all our photos and stories, I thought I should include a quick preface about blog envy. As Shauna Niequist wrote on Relevant, "Everyone’s life looks better on the internet than it does in real life" because it's so easy to show the highlights while glossing over the hard work and mess. And believe me, there was plenty of both for this trip.

We saved up cash and PTO like crazy to make this bucket-list vacation happen. It was stressful at times, and sometimes we fought over silly things like whether or not spending $2 on an iPhone app was worth the opportunity cost of vacation savings (Ian is a saint for dealing with my frugal/tightwad tendencies). I also watched others venture into home ownership and parenthood while fighting my own battle against jealousy. Making this trip happen had it's challenges, but all that hard work makes us appreciate the reward even more. It was totally worth it. And with that, on with the show!

When we booked our tickets, the cheapest option was Aer Lingus. Since we'd be flying through Dublin, we decided to build in a 10-hour layover so we could explore the city (and get an extra stamp in our passports).

Fast forward to the Friday we left. We were on a 9 p.m. flight to maximize our vacation by traveling while sleeping. Unfortunately, earplugs and sleep masks weren't enough to leave us feeling well rested by the time we landed the next morning. Groggy and coated in a layer of travel grime, we slogged through customs and then headed straight to the Aer Lingus customer service desk to see if we could avoid taking our carry-ons with us as we explored the city.

"Please don't tell me you have checked luggage," the sleek redhead in green uniform said with concern. "If you have checked luggage and you leave the airport, it's considered unattended. If it reaches level four in security, they'll call your name on the intercom. If you don't respond, they will shut down the entire airport and destroy your luggage."

Some of my favorite shirts were in that suitcase. A flight change would cost hundreds of euros. We were stuck in the Dublin airport.

We headed to the food court to at least enjoy a traditional Irish breakfast. Over pudding, which is, in fact, sausage, we discussed our predicament: how to survive the next eight hours. The airport didn't even have chairs that could double as a napping nook.

After a few minutes, I had an idea. Not wanting Ian to miss some of the landscapes he'd hoped to experience, I offered to stay behind while he took the double-decker bus into the city. Ian pointed out there was plenty of time for both of us to take a quick turn in the city.

I planted myself and our luggage in a corner near a large French retiree tour group and pulled out my French study guide to eavesdrop practice as I waited for Ian to return.

Ian managed to squeeze in all the locations on his list and still get back with enough time for me to take a turn downtown. With a few instructions and a map, I hopped on the bus.

I am terrible with directions. Before I got my smartphone, I would frequently get lost and call Ian to OnStar me out of trouble: "I'm on Broadway... there's a large glass building on the corner..." On my own in a foreign city without a lifeline to Ian or the internet, I was paranoid I'd get lost and miss our flight. To be safe, I didn't wander far from Ian's recommended Trinity College bus stop. Thankfully, there was no lack of things to see.

In many ways, it felt like I was at Harvard: an old and stately university, buildings facing grassy quadrangles dotted with tourists and students, and just outside the university gates, a bustling square full of traffic, more tourists, and rowdy sports fans. Dublin, however, has greener grass.

After about 20 minutes, my anxiety over missing our flight combined with travel exhaustion took over, and I hopped back on the bus to the airport. After swapping a few stories and photos, we breezed through security, grabbed a bite at Burger King, the only food option past customs that was still open, and then we were on our way to Paris. Stay tuned!

See all of our photos from Dublin on Flickr.

*We turned our celebrity couple name, bestowed by my brother Caleb, into an Instagram hashtag (#iannagoestoeurope) and now it's virtually impossible to refer to our trip in any other way.