The Least Fun Park in the World

Leave it up to the French to the suck the life out of a playground. Apparently someone gave a dime-store surrealist on too much peyote the liberty to create a space celebrating l'esprit des enfants, at least in the abstract. The space being steps from our hotel on Rue de Rivoli, the kids got to enjoy things like the Metal Half Ball (slippery, impossible for small kids to climb), Painted Steel Semi-Circle (didn't bounce), and Stainless Steel Pole (didn't spin or rotate in any way). At least we now know where to celebrate Festivus.

Awesome.

Paris for the First Time, Again

The Portnoys have done a mix-and-match approach to Paris over the past year. Tracy and I went for a long weekend last September, then Tracy and the kids went a few months ago with her parents. But finally just the "Portnoy Five" (as the boys and I refer to our nuclear unit) got a chance to visit the City of Lights.

Or, as some might say, the City of A**holes. I'm really one of the more indulgent Americans when it comes to Parisians, accepting (even apologizing for?) their eccentricities and flat-out rudeness. I'm all for being flexible and trying to appreciate cultural differences. But to experience it as an adult is one thing; to do so as a parent is another. Their behavior is simply unacceptable (I mean the Parisians, not my children). We had one experience on the Metro which was so over the top, Tracy and I will never forget it. It started (and ended) with a ticket clerk so offensively rude (despite the fact we weren't even speaking with her) that it boggles the mind. Beyond that, the general culture there is that children should act like adults - dare they indulge their adolescence, it is some affront to civilization. Whatever. I don't need life lessons from a culture that finds Jerry Lewis and Gerard Depardieu funny.

We still managed to have plenty of fun experiences and I'm pretty sure that the kids were none the wiser for the French attitude. A couple nice meals; a lovely time at the Louvre, where it became increasingly clear that Ben loves art of all sorts - the massive paintings of Louis-David and Delacroix must inspire awe; a trek up the Eiffel Tower to gander upon this truly magnificent cityscape (you can't hear local voices from up there); a Ferris Wheel ride fun enough to rival our Edinburgh spin; and wonderful meandering through the small streets of various arrondisements.

Tracy and I will likely return, but it's fair to say that of all our family citybreaks, Paris was the toughest to traverse. The Portnoy Five will continue to explore Europe and beyond, but the Gallic portion of that trek is complete.

Fashion Week

Sarah cleans up real purty, but she's certainly comfortable when the Portnoy clan goes casual when nesting at home. Good to see that, like Gavin Rossdale, she's already confrontational with the paparazzi.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

Can't wait to see our phone bill once we activate Sarah's account.

Hamptead Heath

What a lovely Saturday we had yesterday. The weather in London has been PERFECT for days. From what we've been told, there was absolutely no nice summer weather, but locals are getting some (positive) payback now. Warm, sunny, no humidity.

We took advantage of the nice weather by going up to Hampstead Heath, a massive green area about three miles north of us that's basically a huge forest right in the middle of greater London. Unlike Hyde Park and Regents Park, which are manicured and prettified, the Heath is more au naturale. Lots of hiking paths, open fields, ponds, areas to explore. The boys, especially Ben, loves hiking, which he described to me yesterday as "walking, but in a very special place." The boys took turns being the leader choosing which paths we'd follow. They loved it (as did I) and both said they wanted to come back every Saturday. I don't think we'll go back every week, but now the Heath will be definitely on our short list of regular weekend activities.

Sarah P.

There's only one Sarah that gets our vote this fall. As suspected and easily confirmed, our Sarah has more foreign travel experience than that gun-toting book-burning moralistic lying kook. After the past eight years, it was hard to imagine that the GOP could take politics to an even lower level, but they've succeeded. John McCain, have you no decency, sir? What an embarrassment for all of us.

Sarah Portnoy: You're our girl!

Mementos

The last leg of my around-the-world journey in early August was in Phoenix, to see my mom, sister, and especially my grandmother, Baboo Becky. She and I have been very close since I was a young boy and I've been out to Arizona no less than once a year for the past 30+ years to see her.

She's not doing so well. Since my grandfather passed in 1987, she had been living capably and happily on her own relatively problem-free. But you know how these things go with the elderly when one problem creates the onset of others from which there's rarely much turning back. Physically, she's not in terrible shape but is now frail owing to a variety of ailments and conditions. The toll on her mental state is probably the most obvious consequence of her deterioration, most notably in the fact that she has no short-term memory to speak of. She asks the same several questions over and again, with no recognition that you had just answered her several minutes before. She remembers me (though I'm not expecting that to last), but had to be reminded that I had three children, live in London, etc.

Gallows humor as it is, I couldn't but help think of the wonderful film Memento, starring Guy Pearce. His short-term memory is shot as well and he ends up tatooing clues to his life story all over his body. When asked for literally the 15th time what my children's names were, I did kindly suggest she tatoo Ben, Zach, and Sarah on her forearm for easy reference. Crickets. The upshot of this condition is that if you don't like how any particular Q&A goes, you at least know you're going to get another shot in a few minutes. Memento meets Groundhog Day, I suppose.

Baboo has been so important to me and I'm so blessed that my children know and might even remember their great-grandmother later in life. We are going to Arizona in December and I hope (even expect) that she'll be up and about. But with her condition and my living in London you just never know if this was our last visit. When I said my goodbye to her on this trip, it had a gravity and sadness to it that I hadn't felt with her before. I kissed her and told her I loved her, and if she still had her wits she'd know this wasn't the normal see-you-next-time thing we've done countless times before. In the small chance that she did sense my emotion about it, I hope she won't remember.

Macau...

...is a sh*thole. It's now the largest gambling city on the planet, having surpassed Las Vegas in recent years. About an hour ferry ride east from Hong Kong, it's the top destination for Asian high rollers and a curiousity for others who want to see what this place has become. Two colleagues and I went and stayed for one evening. Mistake. If you crave cheap, garish and tawdry, try to find it somewhere more convenient.

All that said, major props to the cover band at the Grand Waldo casino bar who tried really, really hard to belt out an impassioned version of G&R's "November Rain."

Cuckoo for Temples (Hong Kong Remix)

My colleagues and I had a few minutes of downtime whilst in the midlevels of Hong Kong island and our meeting was just across the street from the Man Mo Temple, on Hollywood Road. So we popped in. Not great shakes but I wouldn't call it 5 minutes wasted.

It was built in the 27th year of Emporer Daoguang, Qing Dynasty, otherwise known as 1847. My favorite part is the incense coils that slowly burn from top to bottom (third picture). Easy to get serene staring at their slow burn and there were scores of them throughout the temple hung from the ceiling.

The funny thing about this place is that Tracy and I actually stumbled across it during our honeymoon (that's why I recognized it in the first place), of which one leg was in Hong Kong. Brought back some nice memories of a time that feels much longer than 8 years ago.

Local Yokel

As the not-so-famous song goes, "I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so." Such was my intrepid jaunt around Kyoto in the sweltering August sunshine. Per the previous post, I saw more than my share of temples. But I also tried to get around Kyoto to see the city and feel its vibe (sweaty, to be brief). Next to the first temple I visited was a Sunday morning flea market, which I strolled through. It's nice to see that Crap That No One Wants is a trans-cultural phenomenon.

Vending machines are a really big deal in Japan, as far as I can tell. They're everywhere, sell way more than stale chips, candy bars, and pop. Like the toilet seats in Japan (you'll warmly recall what I'm talking about if you've experienced), the Japanese vending machine experience is on a higher plane as well. Clean, stocked, work perfectly every time (no praying that the coil doesn't stop a millimeter short), and sell lots and lots of stuff. They were my cold water dispenser for the day. Nary a hiccup. Probably the dumbest thing I tried was buying a daily bus path for the Kyoto system, but luckily, I managed to figure it out despite there not being a single word of English at the stops or on the buses. Unlike Tokyo, its anagramic neighbor to the southwest is one unified city rather than a sprawling mess of multiple massive city centers. So the Kyoto buses basically went in big circles around different parts of the city and the only way to truly screw up was to go (counter)clockwise when you should've gone the other way. I guessed correctly.

Finally, I stumbled across one of the most unique sushi meals I've ever had. Different types of fishes, different arrangements (see the 4x4 assembly of square pieces above), and different rice (soaked in some sort of vinegar and brine, so soy sauce was discouraged). I ended up eating with a 58-year old gentleman who seemed lean and vital, but talked about his upcoming retirement in two years as the penultimate step toward the final sunset. Demographically, Japan is the oldest of any industrialized nation so I gather there are many folks in the same camp as my lunch partner. Hopefully most are more sanguine about life during the golden years.

Kyoto

Got my temple on in Kyoto during my free day in Japan in early August. The city wasn't savaged during WW2 (unlike Tokyo, where the fantastic Imperial Palace was actually built in ~ 1953), so these magnificent temple complexes, some of which were originally built in the 8th century, are in tact. The highlight was Kiyomizu-dera, situated in the mountains at the city's edge. A massive and beautiful complex with different buildings, some wonderfully integrated with the bucolic setting. And notice, if you can: No nails! The architecture and engineering in the old temples and pagodas relies on carefully carved lattices of wood - basically think back to when you played with Lincoln logs. See the orange-colored just above to catch the detail. See the brown-clad tourist sopping wet in 103 degree heat with 90% humidity.

I saw four temple complexes in total, with the middle three pictures below being another highlight. I actually went into one of the Buddhist shrines there and it was heavy duty. Many massive (some 20 feet high) statues of the Buddha and other incarnations (cf. my Singapore museum day the other month w/re my total cerebral sinkhole when it comes to remembering any of these details.)

Sure, Makes Sense to Me....