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One of the best parts of Amsterdam is that the food somehow manages to feel both effortless and deeply intentional. Nothing felt overly polished or performative. People just seem to care about quality — whether it’s coffee, oysters, fries, gelato, or a hot dog from a stand near the train station.

Our mornings usually started at Coffee District, which became our favorite coffee stop in the city. The coffee quality was genuinely outstanding — the kind of place where even a simple cappuccino tastes meticulously calibrated. Josephine loved the hot chocolate and somehow loved it even more once they poured it over ice. The line looked intimidating every morning, but it moved faster than most neighborhood Starbucks in the United States. I still do not understand what kind of witchcraft those baristas possess.

For lunch, we had sandwiches from Cora Amsterdam, which we loved considerably more than Josephine did. The pastrami sandwich was the standout for me — rich, peppery, and balanced without being heavy. The vegetable sandwiches were fresh and flavorful, though they needed a little more salt. Still, everything tasted high quality, healthy, and shockingly affordable by major-city standards.

Not every meal was elegant, though. On our big museum day, we somehow failed repeatedly at finding lunch. Everywhere was crowded, touristy, or unappealing, and by around 4 p.m. we were starving and cranky enough to stop overthinking things. We ended up at a hot dog stand near Amsterdam Centraal Station. Honestly – it was great. A simple hot dog with mustard and pickles can still be perfect if it’s fresh and busy. That is one culinary rule that seems to hold true internationally: high turnover usually means safety and quality.

And then there was the gelato.

We stopped at Miuz Gelato Artigianale, which completely justified the line outside. Josephine and Jamil were obsessed with the olive oil gelato, which somehow tasted simultaneously rich, grassy, and refreshing. Jamil also loved the basil flavor, which sounds strange until you try it and realize it works perfectly. I went with the chocolate sorbet, which was intensely dark and smooth without being overly sweet. It tasted more like actual chocolate than most chocolate ice creams do.

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Dinner was where Amsterdam really surprised us.

Our first standout dinner was at Visque. We only ended up there on a whim. We had reservations for an Indonesian rijsttafel dinner elsewhere, but we walked past Visque, saw the energy inside, turned around almost immediately, canceled our other reservation, and went in. Zero regrets.

The oysters and caviar were phenomenal. I had a steak tartare with pimentón that was smoky, sharp, and completely addictive. Josephine chose asparagus with sea bass, while Jamil ordered the tuna “Wellington.” Every single dish worked. It felt playful without becoming gimmicky — ambitious food that still knew how to taste good.

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Then there was Restaurant Rijsel, which may have been our favorite overall experience. Everything about Rijsel is perfect. The atmosphere feels gritty and earthy in the best way — almost like 1990s Tribeca or Houston’s Montrose scene back when creative people still took over old spaces because they cared more about quality than polish. The restaurant feels young, confident, and almost aggressively committed to doing things well.

Jamil started with an incredible lamb tongue dish. I had a sea bass tartare, and Josephine got a Gouda croquette that she demolished almost immediately. For entrées, Jamil and Josephine both ordered Rijsel’s famous rotisserie chicken, which absolutely deserves its reputation. I ordered white asparagus with ham, which I learned is essentially a Dutch seasonal institution. Every dish felt deeply comforting while still being precise and elegant. We skipped dessert only because we were too full to continue.

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Our final memorable dinner was at Auberge, a relaxed brasserie that feels distinctly French in a Marais sort of way — stylish without trying too hard.

We started with asparagus and hollandaise sauce. I usually worry hollandaise will feel overly rich, but this version was airy and fluffy instead of heavy. I ordered skate with fried capers, which Josephine had never tried before, making for an unexpectedly adventurous parenting moment. Josephine had the boeuf bourguignon, which honestly ruined most American versions for us. It was lean, deeply flavored, and comforting without the greasy heaviness that sometimes weighs down the dish in the United States. Jamil ordered Dutch clams with fries, and I can confidently say those fries may have been the best I’ve ever eaten.

Fries should be battered. That is simply the truth.

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Amsterdam may be famous for canals, museums, and bicycles, but we left feeling equally impressed by how consistently good the food culture was. Nothing screamed for attention. The city just quietly delivers quality over and over again.

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There may be no better way to understand Amsterdam than by bicycle.

We spent the day riding about 35 kilometers from the city into the Dutch countryside with We Bike Amsterdam, and it ended up being one of the highlights of the trip. The terrain was mostly flat, but the ride still felt like an adventure as we followed narrow bike paths, crossed bridges, and glided along the famous dikes that have literally shaped the Netherlands. Every few kilometers brought another story about how the Dutch engineered an entire civilization around water.

One of the most fascinating stops was a historic fishing village that once sat on open saltwater before the construction of the Afsluitdijk transformed much of the surrounding sea into freshwater. Our guide explained how the village changed once the water became brackish and fishing patterns shifted. It was one of those moments where geography, engineering, and history suddenly all clicked together.

We also learned that Amsterdam’s beautiful buildings are standing on surprisingly unstable ground. Much of the region sits on peat, which is soft, wet, and constantly shifting. To keep buildings upright, generations of Dutch builders drove enormous wooden beams deep into the earth to create foundations. In a way, entire forests disappeared beneath the city just to hold Amsterdam up.

That engineering mindset seems to define the Netherlands. Nothing about the landscape feels accidental. The dikes, canals, locks, and reclaimed land all reflect centuries of persistence against the sea. In some ways, the Dutch are already centuries ahead in the global warming conversation because they have been battling rising water, flooding, and land management since the country’s inception. While much of the modern world is only beginning to think seriously about resilience and water control, the Netherlands has been refining those systems for generations.

One thing that felt very strange to us as Americans was the near-total absence of bike helmets. People of all ages — business professionals, grandparents, teenagers, parents carrying multiple children — ride everywhere without them. At first it seemed reckless, but it quickly became clear that the reason is infrastructure and culture. Bikes genuinely have the right of way in many situations, drivers expect them, and the entire transportation system is designed around keeping cyclists safe. It still felt weird to us, though, especially weaving through Amsterdam traffic without the defensive mindset that comes naturally in the United States.

The ride itself was wonderfully relaxed. We stopped only briefly for a grilled cheese sandwich for Josephine and a few historical explanations along the route. Otherwise, we just kept pedaling through green fields, tiny villages, grazing sheep, and endless water views. The countryside felt calm and open in a way that contrasted perfectly with Amsterdam’s busy canals and museums.

Josephine handled the ride like a pro. Fortunately, she had already been preparing for Dutch cycling culture thanks to all the biking she’s done in Florida. Thirty-five kilometers is no joke for a nine-year-old, but she powered through it with only the expected end-of-day exhaustion.

What makes cycling in the Netherlands so special is not just that people ride bikes — it’s that the entire country is designed around them. Protected bike lanes aren’t a novelty. They’re simply infrastructure. Families ride together, older couples cruise through villages, commuters carry groceries on cargo bikes, and children pedal independently without anyone thinking twice about it.

By the end of the day, we were tired in the satisfying way that comes from spending hours outdoors seeing a place at human speed. You notice more on a bicycle. You hear more. You stop more easily. And in the Netherlands, you start to understand why the bike is not just transportation — it’s part of the culture itself.

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We arrived in Amsterdam at 9:30 AM yesterday and somehow immediately launched into a museum marathon. We arrived exhausted and underfed, but completely in love with this city.

Our first stop was the Rijksmuseum, where we learned an important travel lesson: buy tickets only through the official website. I accidentally bought ours through a very convincing “.org” site and paid almost double. Apparently, this is a thing here because many of the major museums sell out in advance. Consider yourselves warned.

The museum itself absolutely lived up to the hype. The Rijksmuseum is basically the crown jewel of Dutch art and history, filled with masterpieces from the Dutch Golden Age, including Rembrandt’s The Night Watch and Vermeer’s The Milkmaid. Josephine especially loved the Rembrandts. Honestly, standing in front of The Night Watch is one of those moments where you understand why certain paintings become world-famous. It’s enormous, dramatic, chaotic, and somehow still feels modern almost 400 years later. They’re even restoring it publicly right now through something called “Operation Night Watch,” so you can actually watch conservators working on it behind glass while you walk through the gallery.

We also visited the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam’s modern and contemporary art museum. It was definitely more abstract and experimental — the kind of place where some people are inspired and others stare at an installation thinking, “Wait, is this the art?” Josephine was not fully sold. I thought it was fascinating.

Lunch on day one was sandwiches from Cora. Josephine hated them. We would still recommend it.

Today we somehow squeezed in four more museums.

Our Lord in the Attic may have been the biggest surprise of the trip so far. From the outside it just looks like a narrow canal house, but hidden inside is an entire secret Catholic Church built into the attic during a time when Catholics weren’t allowed to worship publicly. It was way cooler than expected and one of those places that makes Amsterdam’s history feel incredibly alive.

The Maritime Museum was also fantastic, especially with kids. The replica Dutch East India Company ship alone is worth visiting — you can climb all over it and immediately understand how terrifying long-distance sea travel must have been centuries ago. The museum also had a ton of hands-on exhibits and activities for children.

Then we went to the science museum, NEMO, which was incredible. Easily one of the best science museums we’ve visited. We spent hours doing experiments, testing engineering concepts, and playing with all sorts of real-world investigations. It’s basically designed to let kids touch everything, which makes it way more fun than the average “look but don’t touch” museum experience.

And finally, the Van Gogh Museum. Incredible. Seeing the sunflower paintings in person was surreal. You never realize how textured and vibrant they are until you’re standing a few feet away from them. The museum does an amazing job walking you through Van Gogh’s life chronologically, so by the end it feels less like you visited an art museum and more like you spent a few hours inside someone’s mind.

Sadly, day two also featured another disappointing lunch — this time a hot dog from a stand outside the train station. Amsterdam may not be winning us over on quick meals.

But the weather has been perfect, the people have been unbelievably friendly, and the city somehow manages to feel historic, relaxed, and alive all at once. We absolutely love Amsterdam.

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I have two very different memories of getting sick in Europe.

The first was in 1999.

I was in Germany with my parents, and all of us developed sinus infections at the same time. I cannot remember ever feeling that miserable. We went from pharmacy to pharmacy, learning the hard way that European pharmacies don’t stock the same medications Americans rely on. There was no NyQuil. No magical cold-and-flu aisle. And although I’m fairly certain we needed antibiotics and real medical attention, we never managed to see a doctor.

It felt helpless.

Fast forward twenty-five years.

This time, I was the mom.

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The Travel Pivot

The trouble actually started before the sickness.

We boarded our flight in Houston without a single hiccup. Not late. Not rushed. Everything smooth. And yet, midair, we received notice that we would land in Frankfurt an hour late — just enough to miss our connection to Venice.

Lufthansa offered to reroute us through Vienna, landing in Venice close to midnight.

That sounded miserable.

We were dreaming of that first Italian dinner — candlelight, pasta, something celebratory. So, from 30,000 feet, I did what I do: I pivoted.

I found a flight to Milan and booked a driver to take us straight to Venice. It wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t convenient. But it got us there — and honestly, it made for a memorable start to the trip.

By the time we arrived at The Gritti Palace in Venice, we were exhausted but relieved.

And then Josephine said she was cold.

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UGH, It’s Not Jet Lag

Of course she was cold. It was freezing outside.

I ran her a warm bath.

She got out shivering.

Not dramatic shivering — uncontrollable, teeth-chattering, in-tears shivering.

Jamil and I told ourselves it was jet lag. Travel fatigue. A long day. We bundled her up and headed to dinner anyway, thinking if we could just get some pasta in her, she’d sleep like a dream.

We barely made it through appetizers.

She was throwing up in the bathroom before the entrees arrived.

We abandoned our plates and rushed back to the hotel.

Her fever was 103.
Her throat hurt.
This wasn’t jet lag.

This was strep.

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How Much Has Changed Since 1999

Here’s the good news: access to medical care abroad has changed dramatically in the last two decades.

Telemedicine is incredible.

Instead of wandering city streets searching for the equivalent of NyQuil, we opened our laptops.

We tried one service first — AirDoctor — and it was, frankly, not great. The physician wasn’t especially kind and didn’t seem to fully grasp what was going on.

But then we tried DoctorsinItaly. And that changed everything.

We were connected with Dr. Thor Ferreira da Cruz, who was calm, thorough, and reassuring. He assessed Josephine quickly and confirmed what we suspected. Antibiotics were arranged easily. The entire process — consultation included — cost less than 30 euros.

Less than 30 euros.

On Day Three, Jamil started showing symptoms too. Same diagnosis. Same efficient care.

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If You Ever Find Yourself in a Pickle

If you’re traveling in Europe and need a doctor quickly, I cannot recommend Dr. Ferreira da Cruz highly enough. He can assist patients in any European country via telemedicine. Just go to DoctorsinItaly.com and book an appointment. 

I don’t have to tell anyone that the food in France is phenomenal, but the quality and variety of ingredients make me wax poetic. I want to tell you all about each and every dish, but the details don’t really matter. What matters is how it affected Josephine and us.

In Houston, Josephine is quite adventurous, but there are very real limitations on what we can and do purchase. I can search all day for razor clams, but I’ll be lucky to find them – and if I do, they’ll be in a can. I can serve her exotic-ish cheeses from our best cheese shops, but I won’t get my hands on a real Comté. And in France, they just take the seasonality and variety for granted. Fascinated, we dove in headfirst, and we  tried it all (okay, Josephine still said no to mushrooms and jam of any kind). So, I’m just going to share photos of what we ate, and if you have questions about where to eat, I can make a zillion suggestions.

Not every unforgettable travel memory comes from a cathedral, a museum, or a centuries-old ruin.

One of the biggest highlights of our time in Provence came from something completely unplanned and wonderfully modern: a day spent climbing, jumping, swinging, and flying through the trees at Bollène Aventure.

Lost in the Woods (Or So It Felt)

Getting there was part of the adventure.

As we drove farther and farther off the main road, the landscape changed quickly—dense trees, winding turns, no buildings in sight. At one point, I genuinely wondered if we were headed to the wrong place entirely. There were no cafés, no crowds, no obvious signs of civilization. Just forest.

It had that slightly ominous, are-we-sure-about-this feeling—like the opening scene of a movie where you’re not quite convinced everything will turn out fine.

And then suddenly, tucked deep in the woods, we arrived. Harnesses. Platforms. Laughter. Relief. What felt like “Deliverance” two minutes earlier turned out to be one of the best days of the entire trip.

A Different Kind of Provence

After days immersed in Roman bridges and ancient stones, Bollène Aventure was the perfect contrast. Set entirely in the forest near the town of Bollène in the Vaucluse region, the park feels wild, physical, and refreshingly uncurated.

The experience centers on parkour-style movement, high ropes courses, climbing elements, and zip lines, all built high among the trees. The moment we arrived, Josephine’s eyes lit up. Helmets went on. Harnesses clicked. Any lingering jet lag or museum fatigue disappeared instantly.

Climbing, Jumping, Flying

The ropes course was substantial—suspended bridges, swinging logs, ladders, and platforms high above the forest floor. It required balance, focus, and a little courage. Watching Josephine move through it with determination (and visible pride) was one of those moments that stays with you long after the trip ends.

And then there was the zip line.

Strapped in, she stepped off without hesitation and flew across the clearing, laughing the entire way. No phone. No posing. Just pure exhilaration.

Fun for the Sake of Fun

What made Bollène Aventure so special wasn’t just the activity—it was the feeling. Being deep in the woods. Using our bodies. Breathing hard. Laughing loudly. Not learning anything in the traditional sense, and not needing to. And although she’s an amazing sport about all my touring and shopping, Josephine really needs this kind of activity, too – sweaty, chaotic, joyful. Honestly, we all do.

As anyone who knows me is well aware, I am obsessed with Greek and Roman history. And Provence (or Transalpine Gaul, as it was known in ancient times) is a perfect place to see an amalgam of Roman history and modern life. On our recent trip to Provence, we made it a point to take Josephine to the region’s most extraordinary Roman archaeological sites—not as a formal history lesson, but as an invitation to experience the past with her feet, her eyes, and her imagination.

She climbed, ran, touched ancient stone, and asked questions. And in doing so, she absorbed something far more lasting than dates or names: the understanding that we are simply walking where people have walked for thousands of years.

Pont Julien

Near Bonnieux, Vaucluse

The Pont Julien may be modest compared to other Roman monuments, but it was the site Josephine fell for first. Located just outside the village of Bonnieux, this beautifully preserved Roman bridge dates to around 3 BCE and once carried the Via Domitia—Rome’s vital road linking Italy to Spain.

What makes Pont Julien so magical for children is its accessibility. There are no ropes, no velvet barriers, no hushed tones. Kids can walk straight across stones laid more than 2,000 years ago, still bearing the grooves of ancient cart traffic. And until just recently, cars used it as a major thoroughfare. That’s how sturdy Roman architecture was. How will modern highways measure up in the eyes of history?

Pont du Gard

Vers-Pont-du-Gard, Occitanie

If Pont Julien felt intimate, the Pont du Gard was pure awe.

Rising nearly 160 feet above the Gardon River, this three-tiered Roman aqueduct once carried fresh water over 30 miles to the city of Nîmes. Built in the 1st century CE, it remains one of the most astonishing feats of Roman engineering in existence.

It was one of the coolest ruins we’ve ever visited. We didn’t really allot enough time to experience the park in full. As usual, we got there mid-afternoon. I think next time I’ll pack a picnic, so we can spend the day and wade in the water.

Absolutely — here’s a short, elegant entry you can drop into either post (or use as a standalone sidebar). It keeps the tone consistent and doesn’t overwhelm the narrative.

Orange: A Later Roman Theater and a Triumphal Arch

One of the most striking reminders of Rome’s presence in Provence is found in Orange, home to two extraordinary monuments that feel almost impossibly intact.

The Roman Theatre of Orange is among the best-preserved Roman theaters in the world. Its massive stage wall—still standing at nearly 120 feet high—creates an immediate sense of scale and permanence. Standing inside, it’s easy to imagine performances unfolding exactly as they did nearly 2,000 years ago. Even today, the space feels grand, dramatic, and alive.

Just outside the historic center (a bit of a hike but worth the walk) stands the Triumphal Arch of Orange, built in the early 1st century CE to honor Roman veterans and military victories. Covered in intricate reliefs of armor, weapons, and battles, it quietly marks Orange as an important Roman crossroads—less flashy than some sites, but still super cool and a lot easier to get up close and see than other similar monuments, like the Arch of Constantine in Rome. This one is just out in the open to see and touch, and we all were quite impressed.

Arles

Roman Theater, Arena, and Forum Remains

In Arles, Roman ruins aren’t tucked away—they are woven directly into daily life. Cafés sit beside columns. Children play near amphitheaters. Laundry lines hang within sight of ancient walls.

The Roman Arena, still used today for events, was a highlight for Josephine. She climbed the steps, peered into passageways, and imagined crowds roaring from seats that have held spectators for nearly 2,000 years. Nearby, the Roman Theatre offered a quieter moment—standing on a stage once used for performances long before microphones or electricity.

Arles beautifully reinforces the idea that history doesn’t end—it layers.

Glanum

Saint-Rémy-de-Provence

Set in a serene valley at the edge of the Alpilles, Glanum feels like a secret waiting to be discovered. This former Roman town includes temples, baths, fountains, and residential streets—all open, walkable, and wonderfully evocative.

What makes Glanum especially meaningful is its sacred spring, which was revered long before the Romans arrived. The spring was believed to have healing properties and drew people to this spot centuries earlier, making Glanum a place of worship and gathering well before it became a Roman settlement.

Here, Josephine wandered freely, hopping between stones and asking who lived in which buildings. The ruins are low enough for kids to feel immersed rather than overwhelmed, and the natural surroundings make it easy to imagine daily life unfolding centuries ago. She also got to watch some weird interpretive theatre in the round.

Glanum was perhaps the most powerful reminder that history is not abstract—it happened in places just like this, among families not so different from our own.

Why We Take Josephine to Places Like This

Traveling with children to historical sites isn’t about perfect behavior or memorizing facts. It’s about presence.

Sometimes, in our self-absorbed microcosms, we lose sight of the big picture. I want Josephine to be acutely aware that the world didn’t start with us. We are part of a very long human story, and maybe she can create something that people will look at in awe several millennia from now.

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When I was growing up, my dad came to work in New York regularly to meet clients and visit the World Trade Center. Several times a year, he would turn it into a family vacation, and some of my favorite core memories are of clawing our way to the counter at a 1980s muffin shop, standing in the TKTS line in subzero temperatures, and scouring the countless shops on Orchard for the seamstress shop that produced Sherif bags.

One time, my mom got pickpocketed in Times Square, and we had to walk all the way across town to borrow money from my dad’s partner to pay for a cab to Greenwich Village. Another time, my dad got accosted by a bag lady for issuing a chipper “Good morning!” when she was in no mood for it. It was literally adventure after adventure. And my mom could not get enough of it.

She lived in New York from maybe 1963 to 1967, trying to make it on Broadway. While that never manifested, she had incredible experiences. She was in tons of shows and sang in mafioso nightclubs. The City became part of her identity, and through our many escapades around Manhattan, she made it part of mine, too.

We’ve brought Josephine to New York a few times in the past but never during the holiday season when New York shines the brightest – at least, not when she was old enough to remember. I’ve wanted to, but I just haven’t made the time. However, this year, I learned that Chess was playing on Broadway, and I immediately knew the time had come.

My mom and I saw Chess in Houston (I think we saw it several times) and then followed the production to see it again in New York. We had the soundtrack and sang the music constantly. The show itself became woven into our bond. And I knew that if it were playing on Broadway and she were alive, she’d waste no time in buying tickets and planning a trip to see it – even if she were mid chemo or directly post-op. I couldn’t let her down by missing this opportunity.

So we booked the entire trip about 8 days ahead of time, with just a few key activities besides Chess on the agenda:

1.      Buy a Fornasetti plate at Bergdorf’s

2.      Visit the Morgan Library

3.      See the light show at Saks

4.      Gawk at Christmas window setups

5.      Dinner at Scalinatella

For everything else, we played it by ear, teaching Josephine that the beauty of Manhattan isn’t in planned activities but in spontaneity.

So here’s how it all played out:

Friday –

–          Flight at 10:15, arriving at LaGuardia at 2:45PM. This felt a little early for the morning after Thanksgiving shenanigans, but we pulled it together, and I’m so glad we did! We were in our hotel room by 4:30 and eating hot dogs and pretzels by 5:00.

–          We immediately walked out to see the hubbub of Fifth Avenue. We didn’t go into any stores; we just experienced the bustle of the street itself, including the exciting, sparkly windows at Bergdorf Goodman and the bright, musical extravaganza of the Saks storefront show. I remember seeing that for the first time with my parents about 7 years ago. Josephine was with us, but she was too small to appreciate it. My mom was a sucker for anything glitzy, and she was simply mesmerized by the spectacle. I could feel her with me this time, encouraging me to be just a little more wondrous and to encourage Josephine’s joy. It was wonderful.

–          We were a little disappointed to learn that Rockefeller Center would not turn on the tree until December 3, but we did get to see the ice skating rink and promised ourselves we’d see the tree next year.

–          We took Josephine to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, my mom’s favorite church in the city. Josephine did what my mom always did: she promptly bought a candle and lit it in front of the Virgin Mary. I know she said a prayer for my mom. Damn, we all miss her.

–          Before we knew it, we were hurrying back to the hotel to change clothes for dinner at Scalinatella, one of my family’s favorite restaurants in the city. My mom and I happened upon Scalinatella one late night in the 90s. It was pouring rain at perhaps 9:30PM, and we couldn’t get a cab. We were starving, but we had no idea where to eat near 61^st and 3^rd; we were way outside our normal radius, and of course this was way before Google Maps or Yelp or Eater. So when we saw glass windows lined with wine bottles and felt a decidedly Italian vibe, we took a chance, opened the door, and descended a small staircase (a scalinatella, if you will) into the tiny dining room below. The restaurant was well into last call, and they could only make one thing: spaghetti al pomodoro, tossed tableside. It was one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life, and we’ve been repeat customers ever since. But this was my first time to take Josephine, so I was way more excited than usual.

Fortunately, Scalinatella has never sacrificed the food and ambience that made our first night there so special. We sat amid Manhattanites, not a tourist to be seen, and we thought the guy at the table next to us was Aaron Sorkin, but we’ll never know. We ordered a ton of wonderful things, including zucchini blossoms stuffed with burrata and prosciutto, grilled baby octopus, spaghetti al pomodoro (of course), fettucine bolognese, snapper Livornese, grilled lamb chops, and a salad (you need your greens, you know!). True to form, Josephine tried it all, loved it, and walked home like a champ in the cold. See you next time, Scalinatella!

–          We wrapped up the night with chocolate cake in the room. Josephine and Jamil watched Ace Ventura: Pet Detective while I sawed logs.

–          What a full, wonderful first six hours in the city!

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Saturday –

–          We slept in a bit and let Josephine get a bagel and lox in the room. Then, we declared that it was time to scamp (that’s Jamil’s term for wandering around and just happening upon cool things to see and do).

–          We walked down to the Morgan Library, founded by the descendants of J.P. Morgan to showcase the phenomenal acquisitions of that legendary banking tycoon. Morgan was an avid collector of all kinds of historical items, from ancient objects like tiny, cylindrical carvings, used to seal documents in Assyrian and Babylonian societies, to the Gutenberg Bible. We spent about an hour in the library, and we got lucky enough to crash a docent’s presentation about the library’s literary collection. The next time we go, I’ll make sure we join one of those tours. I cannot wait to go back.

–          From there, we meandered over to the heavily Asian area around Broadway and 39^th to look for Korean skincare products. Along the way, we stopped for (subpar) ramen at Nishida and got Josephine a (fabulous) matcha parfait at Nana’s. Then, we took Josephine to Macy’s, just so she could see the madness of that New York institution during the holidays. It was indeed crazy.

–          Then, we started our trek back to the hotel to get ready for the event that prompted our trip in the first place, Chess at 7:30PM. Josephine is such a good sport about walking on our trips. She puts in thousands of steps a day and rarely complains. It’s amazing to have brought a true companion into this world.

–          Chess was good. The performers had incredible voices, and the music was great. However, someone played Frankenstein with the storyline, and it’s just too contrived. It already required the suspension of disbelief, but this went too far. I won’t see it again. But Josephine was a great sport, as usual – always happy to see a musical. Really, any musical.

–          We closed out the night at Avra Estiatorio off Madison and 61^st. We’ve been there for late-night dining before, and it’s a great post-theatre option. The Greek cuisine is pretty authentic and mostly good. The grilled halloumi is great, served with honey and citrus. The grilled calamari are the best around; it’s thick, well-seasoned, and not too chewy. The hummus leaves a little to be desired. It’s pretty flavorless. But then again, a lot of hummus rests too heavily on the chickpeas for flavor, when they’re bland as all get-out. Sadly, we had to do this dinner without Josephine, for the most part. She drank part of a mocktail, ate a piece of pita, and then put her head in my lap to snooze until the check came. But that was also pretty sweet and nostalgic. I love her so much.

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Sunday –

–          This was really my shopping day to buy a crazy Fornasetti piece to put in the corner of my kitchen. The best selection I’ve seen is on the top floor at Bergdorf’s, so that was at the top of the agenda. Josephine was appalled by the surrealistic imagery that put Fornasetti on the map. She begged us not to buy the clock that ultimately called our name, but Jamil and I reminded her that our home is filled with “weird” art. It’s what we love. Eventually, she’ll love it, too!

–          As much as she disliked the Fornasetti, she was obsessed with the Christmas decorations that filled the whole store, especially the top floor, where there were all kinds of crazy Christmas trees and ornaments and gigantic peacocks. We let her pick out some ornaments for the tree at home, and we gawked at the ridiculously expensive Christmas trees made out of antique brooches, watch faces, and bracelets. It was so fun.

–          Finally, it was time to have lunch and head to the airport. We stopped into La Goulue, a French bistro right next to our hotel. Jamil had French onion soup with a Caesar salad, while Josephine got the potato and leek velouté with a butter lettuce and chive salad. We all split the mussels, which were so fresh and delicious, I could have eaten the entire order myself.

–          And before we knew it, we were in a Blacklane car on the way to catch our plane, fighting traffic and arguing with police officers who were blocking the way to Terminal A at Newark. It was chaos, and Jamil hopped out to print the luggage tags before the window to check bags closed. But we slid through security with Clear and made it to the gate with time to spare. I love that kind of chaos.

This trip was so amazing that all three of us want to make this a regular affair. We’ll see if we can pull it off. But I came to New York several times a year when I was Josephine’s age. I’d love to give her that same opportunity. Now, granted, I didn’t go to Europe and Asia and Florida and you-name-it, like she does. And there’s only so much time in a year. But as her schedule gets tighter because of activities and academics, maybe we’ll find ourselves in Manhattan more than other places. Who knows, but I’m looking forward to it.

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Josephine goes to camp in North Carolina, and this summer, we decided to drive there from 30A in Florida. My business partner and close friend, Beth, sends her daughter to the same camp, so we planned to make the easy 8-hour drive together.

A Rocky Start

We got off to a bit of a rocky start – Jamil and Julie left for the airport with the car key, and Jamil had to pay the Uber driver to bring it back to us. But we still had a lovely first day, topped off with a great evening with my cousin and her family in Atlanta. And we set out on Day Two full of excitement for a couple of fun nights in Asheville.

Starbucks Detour

It’s only about three hours from Atlanta to Asheville – easy-peasy by comparison to the five-plus-hour trek the day before. So when Josephine and Nellie said they’d love a snack and a Frappuccino from Starbucks, Beth and I were more than happy to oblige.

I figured the Starbucks indicated on the roadside sign would be in a shopping center near the highway, so I pulled into the closest strip mall. The Starbucks wasn’t there. In fact, the entire strip center was under construction. I did a little turn around in the parking lot and made my way back to the main road to find the promised coffee shop. We had to drive quite a while before we found it, and when we pulled into the parking lot, we were all ready for refreshments.

The Flat Tire

As Josephine got out of the backseat, she said, “Hey Mom, there’s a hole in your tire.” I thought she was joking or maybe misinterpreted something on the tire, but I went around to check anyway. Turns out, I shouldn’t have underestimated her. There was not only a hole; there was a GAPING hole that was spewing air like I’ve never really seen before. I knew it was only a matter of time before we hit zero PSI and would be driving on the rim.

Beth and I ordered the girls back into the car and immediately started brainstorming a solution. Fortunately, it was 2PM on a Saturday, and we were in a reasonably populated area. There had to be an open tire shop nearby, so we started driving in the direction that looked more densely commercial on Google Maps.

Finding Help

The first place I called was basically useless, but at the second place, Mavis Tires, the nicest guy answered the phone. I explained that my father had tried on many occasions to teach me how to change a tire, but my lack of size and strength made that an unlikely feat for me. I couldn’t lift the spare, much less use the jack effectively.

Out of the goodness of his heart, he told me to sit tight. He’d be there right away to save the day. We pulled over into the entrance of a rather beautiful retirement community to wait for our knight in shining armor.

At the Shop

Soon enough, Jerry from Mavis arrived and pumped our tire up enough for us to scurry over to the shop. Before we knew it, the car was suspended in the garage, getting THREE new tires, an oil change, and an alignment. We used that time to have a little picnic at the Publix grocery store that was just a little walk away. Sweet Jerry offered to let us drive his truck to go elsewhere, but we felt like the simple pleasure of impromptu charcuterie and pretzels was actually pretty special.

Lessons in Resiliency

In the end, the abrasions of travel made the drive way more memorable than it would have been otherwise. It was fun. And it was a learning experience for our girls. They got to see us roll with the punches. We didn’t get stressed out or angry. We found solutions and made the most of a potentially unpleasant situation. I think the girls will remember the way we handled the unexpected hiccup, and I feel confident they’ll keep their chins up and find a way to make lemonade out of their lemons.

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