We arrived in London and made our way to this beautiful, charming little hotel.  Now swallowed up into a larger chain, it had a huge modern monstrosity nearby that was touted as being its sister hotel.  I did not care about the new monster hotel’s gym; we’d be doing plenty of walking.  We had no use for their indoor pool; we could swim anytime.  So this little jewel suited us perfectly.  Like a grand dame, she proudly retained her old world charm in the shadow of her younger sister large Marge.  This hotel was old school and full of history — just the way we like it.  We would have the pleasure of descending and ascending this beautiful staircase each morning and evening, coming down for breakfast and going up to bed.  Our room was just upstairs and off to the left if I recall.  No sterile elevators going up a gazillion floors, just the smooth feel of the polished balustrade’s old wood gleaming underneath our hands.  We set out to explore a little and by far the best thing I discovered about London was the cabs, which were salvation for anyone with a child in a stroller!  They all have tall, rounded roofs and a crazy amount of space!  You simply roll your pram (using my newly acquired British lingo) right on in and buckle up the entire stroller — baby and all!  No unpacking all the bags, lugging a heavy car seat, transferring a possibly sleeping little one, folding up the stroller, and then having to reverse the entire process just a short while later.  It was absolute heaven and so transformative I cannot fathom why all other countries have not followed suit.  If you do not have a child in a stroller you have tons of room and space for your bags.  It really was the greatest.  During the course of our travels we have had cab drivers from all over the world:  Haitiian, Asian, Arabic, French, Spanish, Italian, African, Latino, Canadian, and American.  I pride myself on having an ear for language and my husband and I enjoy getting to know where people were born and listening to their stories.  The hilarious and unexpected part of this trip is that I literally had to translate everything any cabbie ever said to us during our entire week in London.  The irony is they were ALL British; therefore they spoke English.  It was incredibly difficult to discern their various thick cockney accents, particularly when they spoke quickly.  I found it comical that of all the places we had been fortunate enough to travel THIS would be where I would do the most translating.  The cabbies are all Brits because they must pass what may be the most difficult test in the world.  It is called “The Knowledge” and it demands years of study to memorize the labyrinthine city’s 25,000 streets as well as ANY business or landmark — no matter how obscure.  That is incredibly impressive!  Its rigors have been likened to those required to earn a degree in medicine.  Without question, it is a unique intellectual, psychological, and physical ordeal demanding thousands of hours of immersive study.  They must commit to memory the entire city of London and endure a process which takes at least four years to complete; for many it takes much longer.  The German philosopher Immanuel Kant said, “It is beyond a doubt that all our knowledge begins with experience.”  As we took in our first sights of London, our experience was slowly building our knowledge:  of prams and of proud cabbies … and of the knowledge of London.

Time flew by so quickly and it was our last day in Paris.  We took our little one to the same carousel across from the Eiffel Tower that we had ridden on our honeymoon.  It was another full circle moment literally and figuratively.  I vividly remember taking a picture of my new husband of one day and seeing stars as we whirled by Paris in circles.  Now I had my little one bundled up and riding on a horse with me while my handsome husband rode beside us.  They had a photographer stationed there, and every professional photographer knows no mother is going to turn down photos of her child.  When our ride was over she showed us her shots.  The lights twinkled merrily against the early grey day and the music tinkled cheerfully behind us as we looked over the moments she had captured.  Overcome with emotion, I asked Burk if we could get several.  He said sure and I smiled and nodded at the woman, choosing my favorites.  “D’accord” she said as she deftly glued them into a faux gold paper frame.  Oh how thrilled I was to have all of us captured on my favorite carousel!  Then we walked down a short way to take a ride on the Seine.  The tour was different in the light of day and I was able to view angels on bridges, the marks from water levels, and all sorts of other details much clearer.  Although I prefer the romance and hazy glow of an evening ride, I think it was good to have a different perspective.  The English singer and songwriter John Lennon said, “Love is a promise, love is a souvenir, once given never forgotten, never let it disappear.”  I tried to take in every precious moment in my beloved Paris before we left to travel back under the ocean to see the sights of London.  The word “souvenir” is from the French meaning “to remember.”  Going with me were my treasures:  my loves, my promises, and my souvenirs.

In keeping with the tradition we started on our honeymoon, we headed to the Eiffel Tower first, only this time we we had our beautiful baby doll with us.  It was a cold, windy day, unlike the sultry, warm June night of 2007.  The tallest structure in Paris, it stands at around 81 stories.  We made our way up all three elevators, each with their steeper ascents, to reach the top.  Burk and I decided to have a champagne toast and we bought plastic fluted glasses that lit from the bottom.  Multi-colored lights flashed up through the sparkling wine as it fizzed and tickled my nose.  For me, this was full circle and well worth the symbolic splurge.  I had the true love I had waited so long for and now our miracle child for whom I had so fervently prayed.  In keeping with that knowledge, the next place we revisited on our short weekend was Notre Dame.  The church had been blacked from years of candle soot and incense the last time we visited.  We were shocked to discover the entire interior with its high vaulted ceilings had been scrubbed clean and I thought these ribbons were particularly resplendent in Easter’s wake.  The whiteness of the stone only served to heighten the splendor of the rose windows.  It turns out we were lucky enough to be enjoying the 850th anniversary celebration of the famous French Gothic cathedral dedicated to Our Lady, the mother of our Lord.  As you walk along the church, different naves are dedicated to her and her manifestations to people around the world.  Our child did not walk at a year like others and I was not the least bit concerned;  I waited 41 years to hold my own baby.  I remember she was getting squirmy so I decided to put her down.  To our utter amazement and true delight, our Marian child began walking completely on her own in the church dedicated to the mother of Christ.  She started at the Virgin of Guadalupe and just kept going.  We could not even keep up with her and I found myself whispering “excusez nous” as we weaved in and out of visitors, frantically keeping eyes on our suddenly independent and mobile toddler.  Transcending all the languages I heard being spoken as I passed, people from all over the world smiled kindly and they could see by the glow of pride and astonishment on my face that our little one had literally just started to walk.  My husband and I were beaming.  With sudden clarity I knew this was where she was meant to take her first steps — surrounded by the Ever Blessed Virgin Mother Mary.  The French abbot Saint Bernard of Clairvaux said this:

“In dangers, in doubts, in difficulties, think of Mary, call upon Mary.  Let not her name depart from your lips, never suffer it to leave your heart.  And that you may more surely obtain the assistance of her prayer, neglect not to walk in her footsteps.  With her for guide, you shall never go astray; while invoking her, you shall never lose heart; so long as she is in your mind, you are safe from deception; while she holds your hand, you cannot fall; under her protection you have nothing to fear; if she walks before you, you shall not grow weary; if she shows you favor, you shall reach the goal.”

I have written before of the unexplainable connection; I wanted to honor that when I named the child she had promised me.  And so Maris Grace began her first steps in Notre Dame.

The next day our luxurious jet touched down at the Harrod’s airport hanger just outside of London.  Officers boarded and almost apologetically checked our passports.  That was it — no lines, no pat downs, and no removal of clothing; just kind smiles as they left, wishing us a lovely holiday.  Although we would spend the majority of our time in London, I could not bear to be so close to my beloved Paris and not visit.  Our extended family graciously arranged for a black Mercedes SUV to take us to the St. Pancras railway station.  Victorian architecture encased a modern array of shops as well as Europe’s longest Champagne bar.  It was surreal to be in an open air station.  Standing inside, I gazed up in wonder at the grey sky, as huge snowflakes fell upon us this surprisingly frigid April day.  We stopped for a bite to eat and I remember being perplexed that there were absolutely no trash cans ANYwhere.  I just could not understand why there were none to be found.  I now know it was for security reasons; that way no one would be able to drop some type of explosive device inside one of the bins.  We got our tickets for the Eurostar, a train which would take us into the Channel Tunnel (or “Chunnel”) under the ocean to France.  The train was well-arranged, with some cars having groups of four facing each other around tables.  It was particularly nice if you wanted to get something to eat or drink.  The last car sold snacks, beer, and wine.  Burk and I each tried a 1664, the French beer founded in the year after which it is named.  We both enjoyed the pale lager as we pulled out of the station, and before we knew it we entered a tunnel, gliding along at 99 miles per hour.  I am claustrophobic and was not scared in the least.  At its lowest point it is 380 feet below sea level and, at 23.5 miles, it has the longest undersea portion of any tunnel in the world.  For the cost of just around 100 euros, we found ourselves a couple of hours later at the beautiful Gare du Nord train station in the Île-de-France.  Slightly older than its British counterpart, it was built in 1864.  After taking a taxi to our hotel we decided to relax awhile in our room.  Our little one proved to be a perfect international traveler without fussing even once!  This is one of my favorite photos — Maris in Paris “reading” Le Parisien.  We were so blessed to have been invited to go on this incredible trip and my heart was truly full.  Paris, where we had spent our honeymoon, I was now getting to experience with both of my loves — my handsome husband and our beautiful little baby doll.  The American historian and archivist Mary Ritter Beard once said, “Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”  I can attest to that.  My first visit to Paris changed me forever.  It was so great being able to return, this time by voyage under the sea.

When we were asked several years ago if we would like a ride to Europe I did not think they were serious even though they are extended family on my husband’s side.  At the time our little one was about a year old and they were inquiring about the following spring.  They kept inviting us until I finally realized they actually meant it.  I allowed myself to entertain the idea but told them I had no clue as to what a toddler would be like and I was worried she might disrupt their peaceful holiday.  They were not concerned so we prayed it would all go smoothly.  I could not believe we were really going to go!  I was not lucky enough to aquire a passport until I was 35; my little one got hers before she was even a year and a half.  I believe this was the largest jet they had at the small, private airport where we went.  We had two pilots and a flight attendant who could not have been nicer; the next thing I knew we were in the air.  No scary safety spiel, no “fasten your seatbelts,” no “bing bong; cross-check, prepare for take off,” and no slow ascent.  It was like a rocket only whisper quiet, seamlessly smooth, and not frightening at all!  Right away I had champagne sparkling in a cut crystal glass pressed into my hands.  As we toasted our trip cool maps appeared on the television screens detailing our flight path.  I got a goodie bag filled with useful and fancy things and I started pulling them out one by one like a kid opening presents on Christmas day.  Among what I can remember, my little black bag contained a personal mirror with magnifier, hand lotion, a small travel perfume, minted rose lip balm and, something I had never seen before, “paper soap.”  Hot towels were presented for our hands before we were served dinner from silver trays on china.  We all got to have our food custom-ordered and it was everything I loved.  Mixed nuts rested in bowls on the sides of the burled walnut lined aircraft.  Our chairs were spacious and comfortable; swiveling and reclining, and we each had our own window.  A couple of sofas flanked the middle of the plane and could be converted into beds.  I think Burk and I were too excited to sleep.  Toward the back they had a table, chairs, and banquette.  Behind that were curtains which took us through a galley complete with a refrigerator, microwave, toaster, coffee maker, and cabinets that I can recall.  And the lavatory!  It was all mirrored and marbled and so spacious it was unbelievable!  I still cannot get over it!  Conservatively I would say it was six times the size of a regular airplane facility.  The American personal trainer Greg Anderson said, “Focus on the journey, not the destination.  Joy is found not in finishing an activity but in doing it.”  The greatest joy for us on this trip was found in the time we spent with family focusing on the journey.