Kaitlyn’s obsession with shopping while we’re on vacation apparently was not a British phenomenon. (If you don’t remember, she spent the whole of our time in England asking to go shopping.) She started the day asking to buy something and it was her refrain for the day.
We told her she could pick out one thing. ONE. After she patiently went to the palace (I told her it was a palace and while we were in the middle of it she demanded to know where this palace was. I’m telling you, it isn’t palatial.) She scoured the gift shops at the palace and the bridge. There she picked out a giant jewelery box. It had a painting of a castle, a few drawers, and a little dancing couple when you open the top. It was 30 Euros, so we steered her toward the idea of doing a little more shopping before deciding. She also thought a flute she saw would be nice; that was vetoed with no discussion.
After lunch, Bill and I took Kaitlyn on her promised shopping excursion. The second shop we went into had just the thing she wanted: a jewelry box. It has a picture of a ballerina on it, is about a third the size of the one she found earlier, there’s a twirling ballerina when you open it up… and it’s 25 Euros. But we bought it. So she’d stop begging us to go shopping.
She held tight to the bag holding her precious new box when we hit our next tourist trap: the little train. It’s the same sort of little tourist train I rode last summer here in Grenoble. You get on, pay too much, then ride around the town listening to a recording about what you’re riding past. She loved it. I was amazed at the incredibly narrow streets that thing goes down. You definitely are well advised to keep your fingers inside the train at all times.
The train took us past a little park with bikes for little kids to ride. So that was our next destination. The bikes are really little trikes behind plastic horses… to turn the bike you have to pull the reign on the horse. Kaitlyn tried but got too frustrated by it. She parked her horse, patted its nose and thanked it, then ordered some barbe-a-papa. (literally: dad’s beard. Actually: cotton candy)
By the time we left the park, we realized we had on our hands one tired five year old. A five year old far too tired to sit through a meal at a restaurant. The solution was to take food back to our hotel room. But places with carry-out are few and far between in France. Kaitlyn and Bill found theirs no problem: McDonalds. We had McDonalds last night in the car, so I was not thrilled about dumping another giant blob of grease on my stomach. I held out. And almost ended up going hungry. Finally, nearly at the hotel, we found a place making crepes. I think I was the last person to order before they closed for the night. (and it wasn’t that late.. maybe 6:00) Not quite the Provincial meal I’d imagined. But, then again, since I left my tour books at home, I couldn’t exactly propose a good alternative. And even if I could, I wasn’t about to with Kaitlyn being as tired as she was.
We spent Saturday night in Provence eating take out in a hotel room without a television. What a dream trip. No wonder you can add the beginning of a migraine to my evening. And the books weren’t the only thing I left at home. I forgot my migraine medicine, too.