Habsburgs and hotdogs

The first time that Jeff and I went to Vienna we traveled there by bus from the town in Moravia where we were working at a university earning $100 a month, the average wage in what was then Czechoslovakia. It was 1991, not long after the Velvet Revolution, and our eyes had adjusted to the monotone colors of the post-Communist world. (Olomouc's main square on the right.)

In Vienna, the shops full of fur coats, Rolex watches, and elaborate cakes dazzled us; the prices shocked us. By sheer chance, we had a care package from Nancy with us because we hadn't had time to bring it back to our dorm room before catching the bus. We cursed the bulkiness of the box as we tromped through Vienna looking for a hotel we could afford.

But we were so grateful for Nancy's care package on our last day there when we had hours to go before the bus home and not even a schilling left for the ladies' room. We had a poor man's picnic of peanut butter direct from America and the rolls we'd stuffed in our pockets from the breakfast buffet that morning.

We went back to Vienna several times after that and, as our income grew, we could appreciate the deliciousness of Demel's, the English language bookshops, and the joy of spending a cold day inside a cozy weinstube. With so many memories of Vienna wrapped up in our Czech experience, we had to stop there with Luke on our way to Prague.

Vienna still dazzles with opulence, clinging to the glory days of the Hapsburg Empire. But the city's musty imperialism is offset, at least to a small extent, by more pedestrian traditions.

On our way back from dinner and a leisurely stroll through the streets crowded with late night revelers, we stumbled upon modernVienna's more egalitarian sense of grandeur.

The State Opera house was putting on Anna Bolena, and to our delight, and that of a hundred others who didn't have tickets, there was a live simulcast of the performance for the passersby. We stood for a while and enjoyed the music and spectacle that didn't cost us a cent. Too bad they didn't do this back in '91.

Weekend in Venice

A Tourist's Guide to Venice (Photos by Luke)

Arrive by Water Taxi.

Take a walk after dinner in the light of a full moon.

Find a random lovely square for breakfast.

Explore the bridges and narrow streets.

Have pizza for lunch.

And gelato after.

Dance with the pigeons in St. Mark's Square

Splurge on a gondola ride.

Monaco

I always regret when someone comes to visit and misses out on one of the things they most want to do. Jeff and I still feel bad about our ’93 car trip with my mom and Lisa, when Hannah just wanted to see the Shroud of Turin. We tried. We drove into Torino, we drove around Torino, got lost in Torino, fought in Torino but, sadly, we never made it to the Shroud.

During her recent trip, my friend Robyn wanted to see the stained glass at the Marc Chagall museum in Nice. Sadly, a flat tire on the last day, not to mention a surplus of tennis before then, conspired to keep us away. When Nancy came to visit, she really wanted to go to Monte Carlo. It was on our agenda, but somehow we just didn’t make it those extra kilometers.

Even though the Principality still doesn't make my list of favorites, I've become more fond of Monaco -- at least the French bits.

It started with the Monte Carlo Masters and a fun day out with Roberta and Michelle and our families. (That’s Nadal in the yellow shirt on Center Court behind Luke and Damon.) We saw a gallery of tennis stars play on the famed clay courts - Nadal, Federer, Murray, each taking down a French player much to the chagrin of the French.

The unruly crowd particularly enjoyed booing Andy Murray who continued using his favorite shot -- the drop shot -- despite his opponent's injured ankle. We joined some of the raucous rabble rousers for a glass of wine during the match under the umbrellas perched over the courts where members of the club can enjoy a multi-course lunch during the games. We so enjoyed being spectators at the Monte Carlo Country Club that we decided to go back to play.

The visit of Robyn, Abby and Penny -- all avid tennis players -- provided the impetus to spenda day at the club. That's Robyn and Penny on Center Court, without the stands and crowds but still demonstrating some impressive tennis.

It should be noted that despite the name and glamourous location, the Monte Carlo Country Club is actually just outside of Monaco in France

Michelle and I had another reason to return to Monte Carlo for our friend Jana's vernissage.

Her beautiful paintings, along with a few by her

talented daughter, were shown at a gallery just across from where Michelle's standing in the photo to the left.

After the viewing, the artist kindly invited a group of us back to her apartment with a wraparound terrace looking out over the sea.

"What a beautiful view!" I had to exclaim.

"That's France," replied Jana's charming father, visiting from Liberec in the Czech Republic. He pointed just over the balcony. Sure enough, while the apartment physically sits in Monaco, the gorgeous surrounding were France.

Carpe Diem

In late March, we made a last-minute journey to Utah to see Jacqui and David and the girls. A side trip to the Rocky Mountains doesn't really fit in a blog about the South of France. But, of course, this isn't really a blog about the South of France. If anything, it's about taking a chance, plunging into life, and hoping things will turn out all right. "Carpe diem," Jacqui said, when I tentatively mentioned our idea to spend a year in Europe again.

Carpe diem, seize the day, because we don't know how many more we'll have.

We have a long tradition of skiing together from early days in Colorado, when the kids were little and we put them in ski school so they wouldn't slow us down. The photo above was taken at the top of the mountain in Breckenridge, in our younger days.

Now the kids barrel down blues and tackle black diamonds with alacrity. In the earlier days, as pictured, they had the most fun playing in the hot tub until we adults kicked them out because it was our turn.

[What is Luke holding and why does he look so mischievous?]

In some ways this last trip to Park City was just another ski adventure, with Luke ignoring my pleas to stop bashing into the girls and to stay with the group, and Dr goading us to increasingly difficult mogul-filled hills. "It's his plan," Esme explained, somewhat exasperated, somewhat admiring (although she won't admit that last part). "He takes us down really impossible runs where we fall the whole time and then he takes us on an easier but still difficult run and suddenly that one doesn't seem so bad."

The condo where they stayed had a hot tub on a screened in porch with a view of the mountains. As per our usual ski trips, we spent time in the hot tub. This time we didn't mind when the kids joined us. [Again, what is Luke holding and why does he look mischievous?] But as much as we enjoyed the trappings of just another holiday in the mountains, nothing was really the same. For one thing, Jacqui -- usually the most graceful one on the mountain -- couldn't ski anymore. Most days she could barely leave the living room. And when Dr and I rode the chairlift alone, the conversation turned somber. In fact, many of the conversations did.

"I want to die at home," Jacqui said, lying down on the couch, surrounded by Jeff and Dr and me. "I do, too," I added quickly, as if this were a theoretical conversation about an event that would take place in some distant time.

"I'm afraid it will be scary for the girls," Jacqui continued, her eyes closed so she didn't see that her husband had started to cry.

"It will be scary for the girls no matter what," Jeff said. "At least this way you'll all be at home and there will be people around who love them."

Jacqui could barely sleep during the nights because of the searing pain that kept her awake. As Dr increased the pain medication, he worried that she wouldn't be able to make the long red-eye flight back to New York.

But she did. And the night we spent together at their home felt like a celebration, complete

with the arrival of Laura H. and kids and a scrumptiously delicious wedding cake made by Marla just because Jacqui had said earlier that she craved one.

We left the next morning to fly back to France, and, as usual, we said our goodbyes and hugged each other in the kitchen, the ten of us, only to repeat the entire process in the driveway. "Goodbye!" "We love you!" "Goodbye!" The same as always, but not, because Laura H. had tears in her eyes. One more hug. And then never again the ten of us.

Goodbye, we love you, goodbye.