There's no such thing as bad weather

When we travel, we’re all off our routine, which has its advantages and disadvantages.  Anyway, I find it harder to sit down and write.  So now we are back in Barcelona, and it feels like home.  The kids ran to their rooms to play, Alec put on the Barça game, I took a very hot bath.  The apartment we stayed in in Amsterdam had only a shower; I could not live in a damp, chilly place like Amsterdam without a bathtub. 

We spent Thursday at the Tropenmuseum, which is dedicated to the understanding of other cultures.  There is a fabulous children’s museum within the larger museum, and the current exhibition is all about storytelling.  Very interactive—the kids loved it.  They made “wishing vases” of clay and inserted tiny pieces of paper with their wishes written on them.  C.C.’s:  “to get a pet dragon.”  Milo wanted his to be a secret, but since he can’t write yet, he had to tell me:  “for Blanca to come to Barcelona.”  I’m afraid neither of their wishes will come true.  The museum also has a fantastic music section, where you can learn about different instruments, and get quick lessons on how to yodel, sing opera, or sing like they do in India.  Then you get to record yourself.  Of course, there are advantages to not having a recording of yourself yodeling in a public place.  Then again, I decided long ago never to run for public office.  If you click on this link, I think you will be able to see our footage.  I do think I could develop into a pretty good yodeler if I worked at it.  But I’ve got other fish to fry.

http://www.tropenmuseum.nl/smartsite.shtml?id=41583&ch=FAB&mid=Mjg3MD%3D%3D

The one thing we had not yet done, food-wise, was eat at an Indonesian rice table restaurant.  So that was the plan for Thursday night.  We went to Cilubang, which is located in the “9 Streets” area.  It was very quiet when we entered—it’s a small place, and ours were the only children present but I have to say that they have gotten much better in terms of their restaurant behavior.  They don’t spend nearly as much time underneath the tables or shouting as they used to.  We learned, quite by accident, on a trip to Portland, Oregon (at Pok Pok, which is an amazing Thai place) that Milo likes curry noodle soup.  C.C. will always eat plain noodles and chicken.  Ever since that trip to Portland, we’ve been able to eat at almost any Thai place.  We just have to negotiate up front with the wait staff.  The lovely elderly man who greeted us and waited on all of the tables at once consulted with the chef and told us that yes, they could accommodate us.  Milo spent half the meal in the kitchen with the chef, C.C. was well into her fourth “How to Train Your Dragon” book of the trip, and Alec and I worked our way through the 17 odd small dished that come with a rice table meal.  We had ordered the “medium” one—I’d hate to see the large.

Friday was grey, misty and chilly, but we had been told by Frans that in Amsterdam, people say “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad gear.”  Meaning that weather does not get in the way of riding your bike—70% of trips in the city are made by bike—or other plans.  With this in mind, we set off for the zoo, along with a gazillion other Amsterdammers with kids on winter break.  Artis is a terrific zoo and deserves an entire day to explore it—it includes an aquarium and a planetarium.  Most of the buildings are 19^th century historic edifices originally set around formal gardens.  We barely scratched the surface.  I especially loved that the whole zoo was wrapped up in bright woolens for winter.  At least they acknowledged the cold.  What I want to know is who knitted all that stuff?

Alec and the kids went home for a rest in the afternoon while I did a little shopping—a Marimekko dress and a new hot water battle at a shop that sells only Finnish design products (I am a big fan of hot water bottles).  Beautiful Ikat napkins and a cotton Indian top for C.C. at Capsicum.  And some 1950s Nagel candlesticks at Wonder Wood.  They’re very cool. 

We had tickets for the Anne Frank house at the end of the day.  C.C. and I had been in Waterstone’s, a British bookstore, earlier in the week to buy the aforementioned dragon books for C.C.  I found a children’s version of the Anne Frank story and picked it up to help prepare them for the visit to the house museum.  C.C. asked me who Anne Frank was and when I began to explain, she said—very loudly--
“Oh, come on!  Give the Jews a break already!”  Heads turned in the store.  She was so earnest and angry. 

It’s an incredible thing to try and teach children about prejudice, to explain it in terms they can understand.  It simply does not make sense to them.  Not that it makes sense to me, but even just talking about it with a child makes me realize the extent to which I’ve come to accept it as a part of life.  We were all moved by the secret annex—it feels like sacred space.  Seeing the actual diary, the photos of Anne, the tapes of her father, who was the only survivor.  We are now reading A Family Secret, a graphic novella about the Holocaust.  It seems a bit advanced for Milo, but he requests it every night.

So now we are back, and the sun is shining in Barcelona.  We’ll lay low today, unpack, pick up Grandma Lois at the airport.  It was a good trip.