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Our last real day in Paris begins with a morning excursion to Notre-Dame, and it is indeed a sight to behold. Even just the exterior is stunning, covered with incredibly detailed and lively carvings. I'm particularly fond of the demons that leer at exiting churchgoers.

Though we don't get there terribly early, the line is minimal and we basically stroll right on in. Words can't really do justice to the majesty of the interior, but there are a few things I want to mention in particular:

Many of the alcoves feature contemporary art created in response to the space, which I appreciate
I'm amused by a relief of Thomas(?) poking at Jesus' wound ("Is this bugging you? I'm not touching you. Why is this bugging you?")
One of the alcoves honors a Chinese saint, and features an Asian Mary. I wonder how many people that pissed off

Notre Dame pics

After a short rest outside the cathedral, we head to Sainte-Chappelle, famed for its spectacular stained glass windows, and they do not disappoint. Each window is 50 feet tall, presenting dozens of scenes from the book of the Bible it's dedicated to. (One of the windows is undergoing maintenance, and carefully placed mirrors do well to camouflage its inaccessibility.) Though the windows draw immediate attention, they (literally) overshadow the gorgeous carvings and paintings underneath them, many depicting quite entertainingly gruesome martyrdoms.

Sainte-Chappelle pics

After our exit from Sainte Chappelle, the bells of Notre Dame are ringing to make lovely stochastic music, and I record a couple minutes of it.

We stop for gelato (I learn much later that it's part of franchise also has a location in Harvard Square), and as we cross the bridge we encounter a performing quartet of musicians playing jazzy tunes, and pause to enjoy a few of their songs.

Our afternoon activity is a trip to La Musée des Artes at Métiers, a huge museum dedicated to technology and science, with a gigantic collection of scientific instruments and equipment, models of machines, architectural models, gadgets, you name it. It's in seven sections: Scientific Instruments, Materials, Energy, Mechanics, Construction, Communication and Transport, each stuffed with a bewildering array of Things. (Thankfully, the plaque for each Thing has an English translation as well, though it's clearly not as comprehensive as the French it accompanies.)

The museum is also currently hosting some pieces from The Uncomfortable, a collection of hilariously perverse objects, and though I was already aware of them, seeing them in person as actual physical artifacts is overwhelming and I can't stop laughing for several minutes. (For example: a teapot and accompanying teacup that are about a foot wide; a champagne glass that splits into two flutes; cutlery that's a centimeter thick.)

Among the neat things that catch my eye:

10-hour clocks from the Reign of Terror
An Edison phonograph, along with wax cylinders
Zeus, the mechanical horse who guards the entrance to the Museum (and is activated twice a day)
Jacquard looms, the precursor to calculating machines
Sets of wooden blocks for teaching geometry in a world without mass-produced graph paper
an ESA Mars rover

There are SO MANY cool doodads and gewgaws and devices, and we get museumed out before we see probably even a third of them.

For our final evening in Paris, we've booked a table at Granite, a one-Michelin Star restaurant, where we are treated to a delicious multi-course meal. That said, though the food was tasty and creative, I came away a little disappointed. It wasn't a transcendent experience (like I've had with a few local non-Starred restaurants), and the service felt a bit off -- our server seemed overwhelmed, and seemed to be responsible for too many tables at once.

We have an early start today, with 9am entry tickets to the Louvre. We queue up at the underground mall entrance (where there's already no small number of people at 8:30), planning to more or less make a beeline to the Mona Lisa, with some stops on the way. Everyone else appears to have basically the same plan, which means we get to spend time literally alone(!) with the Venus de Milo, and admire the (dynamic and inspiring) Nike of Samothrace.

Seeing the Mona Lisa itself is an odd experience. You're restricted from getting closer than about 20 feet away; couple that with the fact this is the most famous painting in the world, and it feels like you're not there to engage with it as a work of art, but to experience and bask in its fame, to be able to say you were in its presence. (I'm reminded of the Most Photographed Barn in America, from Don Delillo's White Noise.) I'm glad we did it, but it's definitely more about checking a box than appreciating the painting itself.

With that under our belts, we start searching for Hammurabi's Code (which is not easy to find!), which is quite imposing despite its (at about 7.5 feet, relatively) small stature. Made of black basalt, it radiates stability and authority, and it is absolutely covered in the glyphs which make up the code itself.

After that, we split up -- E goes with J to follow his whims, and I accompany G to follow theirs. G decides to explore the "Medieval Louvre", which turns out to be a journey through the history of the complex itself, which is honestly pretty cool. Apparently the Louvre began its life as a castle before evolving into its current state, and various excavations (often performed as a result of additions and renovations including the Pyramid) have uncovered many prior stages of its existence. We wander around an underground passage that used to be its moat, where we see masons' symbols carved into the stonework, and the remnants of old structures (such as an old pier, or the base of a now-crumbled tower).

(Louvre photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/8jMKTRWfcjwWkgF99)

Once we're Louvred-out, we start making our way towards the Eiffel Tower, grabbing some street food nearby from a small springtime fair. I am introduced to the raclette, basically a sub filled with melted cheese (with some ham added for garnish). It's a daunting foe, and sadly the raclette emerges victorious by a wide margin.

(As we try to figure out lunch, we're approached by a few beggars asking us to buy them food. We refuse, but my resentment at being asked makes me feel like an ugly person, especially as we throw away the food we can't finish.)

We have some time before our Eiffel Tower tickets, so we find some space on the Eiffel Tower Garden and lie down to bask in the sun, surrounded by school groups, families, and friends all enjoying the gorgeous day.

We only have tickets up the second stage, not all the way to the top -- none of us have the stomach to be that high. As we wait to ascend, we stand in the center and look up, which is a pretty cool sight. We also notice a mesh walkway on the first stage that people can walk across, from one corner to the other (visible in one of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/gYua1PkKS9oyTwZs6), and we all preemptively nope out of that experience.

The view from the second stage is, unsurprisingly, breathtaking. Paris is HUGE and we can see ALL OF IT from there (including a weird spaceship-like thing hanging out on the roof of a nearby building). There's also a lot of wind, and despite the copious barriers around the perimeter, it feels precarious enough that we don't have the appetite to stay for very long.

After another hotel break, we head to a restaurant called Mischief, run by a Filipino chef. Her first restaurant, Reyna, is about Filipino-focused fusion, while this one is more about playing with all kinds of cuisines. (If we ever return to Paris, Reyna is on our list!) Of particular note are the "Cheetos", polenta fries with cheese dust, and the calamansi (a Filipino lime) bar, but it's all delicious and just plain fun.

Today we transition from Yooma to L'Hôtel du Lion d'Or in the 1st Arrondissement, a short walk to the Tuileries and the Louvre. Because we're switching hotels, most of the day is pretty freeform; our only planned activity is a food tour of Le Marais in the afternoon.

The new neighborhood is markedly different; in contrast to the spacious, open feel of the 15th, with wide streets and lots of green spaces, the 1st feels much tighter and -- not exactly cramped, but definitely...dense. The streets are narrow, practically alleys, with barely enough room for one car and a thin sidewalk on each side -- unsurprising, as it's one of the oldest parts of Paris -- and storefronts are smaller and much more numerous.

Our new lodgings are lovely, and almost the inverse of the contrast between neighborhoods; we're moving from a cozy hotel room to what's effectively a large one-room apartment. It's on the top floor, so the roof is our ceiling (including skylights!), and it includes a small kitchenette and a loft where the kids will sleep. It is in, unfortunately, a four-story building without elevators, so going up is quite a slog.

Once we're settled, E and I leave the kids to chill in the room while we wander around a bit and visit Épices Roellinger, where we pick up a bevy of spice mixes for ourselves and as gifts. I notice what seems like a high frequency of Asian bars, shops, and eateries, and I wonder if this is where a lot of Asian expats have settled, or if, being near the Louvre, this is where a lot of Asian tourists tend to gravitate towards.

We then rally the troops to meet our food tour guide, Antoine, who's friendly and engaging. We pick up croissants from one of the oldest bakeries in Paris, some comté (and another cheese I can't remember) from what is officially one of the best cheese shops in France, stop at a restaurant to have duck croquettes and croquette monsieur, pick up some amazing falafel from a street vendor, and finish the tour with macarons, chocolates, and some absolutely tremendous merveilleux, which are little meringue sandwiches.

(Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/usnQXHw34CxHLFU28)

By the time we return to our room, it's late afternoon, and we take a few hours to relax before again abandoning the kids to their Switches to take a nighttime walk. E and I visit a sake bar next door to our hotel called Stand Tora; it's tiny, seating maybe no more than eight folks at a time. We share a bottle of nigori and have bar snacks while jazz plays; it feels like we've walked into a Murakami novel.

(Incidentally, to create some outdoor space to enjoy drinks, one can apparently acquire little tables that slip onto the bollards that line these alleyways, and while this is probably not strictly legal, it's hard to imagine authorities actually caring.)

We walk around some more, and while there's barely any foot traffic on the streets themselves, it seems like every cafe and restaurant is full to the brim, bustling with activity and life, little oases of vitality. Perhaps one day we can return, sans children, park ourselves at an outdoor table and take in the city as dusk slips into evening and then into nighttime.

On our way back, we hear a group of people singing from above us; not so much a trained, coordinated choir as a group of musical-enough folks enjoying their community, and it's yet another magical end to a fabulous day.

Day 4 begins with another slow morning before heading to Le Museé de l'Armeé, a military museum which houses a lot of sub-museums. We start with the Le Musée de l'Ordre de la Libération, dedicated to the supporters of Free France during Germany's occupation.
It's an extensive exhibit, not only covering the overall shape of both the Resistance and the occupation, but also highlighting the lives and involvement of dozens of its members, with what seems to be a truly astounding amount of research into each person. I find it really moving; so many of them died during the war, never knowing that their sacrifice would matter.

In particular we linger over a 16-year old who led a Resistance cell and was executed for it; it's hard not to think of J.

From there we move on to their (very extensive) arms and armor collection, and J relishes the opportunity to geek out. There's lots to gawk at; we're particularly amused by many of the helmets -- one includes room for the wearer's mustache, another has a particularly dopey, sad face, and yet another has frog-like eye protrusions pointing in different directions.

There's a fully kitted knight sitting atop an armored horse, and boy howdy it's an intimidating sight. I would definitely run the hell away from that.

Startlingly, there's also armor for children -- like, grade school-age -- and it's not clear to me if it was purely ceremonial, or if children that young actually participated in sparring or tournaments and such. I'm guessing the latter, and I think of the parallels with, say, youth football. (Also, we have to buy new clothes for G&J every damn year. What an economic burden to have a new suit of armor created every year as your children essentially molt...I wonder if there was a hand-me-down exchange for kids' armaments.)

I like the inscriptions carved into cannons, and there's also a cannon with some message hacked into the barrel the same way one would carve a heart on a tree. Sadly, I have no idea what it says, but I hope it's incredibly rude.

Some arms and armor pics: https://photos.app.goo.gl/WaCsE8pNTiFBA8CB6

Last thing we do is make a beeline for the model of Little Boy which is at the end of the WWI and WWII exhibits. Both look amazing, and I wish we'd had the time and energy to take our time with them, but it's getting close to lunch and we're museumed out for the time being.

Lunch at the museum cafe is passable but unmemorable.

Our next stop is Le Musée Rodin, most of which is a sculpture garden, except for a building that houses a historical overview of Rodin's work. We get to boggle at his most famous sculptures -- The Thinker, The Kiss, The Gates of Hell, The Burghers of Calais, Orpheus -- and it's astonishing how he was able to capture and convey emotion in the expression and posture of his figures.

(I had no idea that Rodin produced multiple copies of many of his sculptures. It seems odd, but maybe the conventions around sculpture are different from those of painting?)

(At one end of the garden is a small pool in which sits Ugolino and His Sons, and there are ducks floating about, occasionally going after critters and sticking their heads in the water and their butts in the air. We're very excited when all of them dive at the same time and we get to experience the "duck butt concordance".)

Musée Rodin pics: https://photos.app.goo.gl/PcrCfyU8vL1qJ2et8

We retire back to the hotel to rest, and have dinner at a cute place called L'Abreuvoir -- I have onion soup and veal tataki, and they're pretty good but not spectacular.

Our evening activity is Aura Invalides, a light and music show at the Dome des Invalides, where the Tomb of Napoleon rests. It's difficult to describe adequately -- the interior of the Dome becomes the canvas for all sorts of gorgeous projections: tracing and highlighting the architecture with light, the walls seeming to open up into landscapes, statues and figures emerging from the stonework, the columns seeming to grow and reach up into the sky. It's a magical experience, and a wonderful end to the day.

Today is pretty freeform -- the plan is to start at l'Arc de Triomphe and stroll down the Champs-Élysées at a leisurely pace, eventually ending up at L'Orangerie, for which we have mid-afternoon tickets.

The day begins with a functional hotel breakfast, then take the Metro to l'Arc, one of Napoleon's shrines to himself. It's neat to see, but it's not really a focal point for the day; for us it just marks one end of the C-É, so we see it from afar but aren't really interested in getting close up and engaging with it. (And if we were, it's not easy figuring out how to do so -- it's in the middle of a busy rotary, and how to approach it is eminently unclear.)

The boulevard is a lovely walk, and it strikes me how integrated trees are into the streets of Paris (the parts we've seen, anyhow). There's so much green everywhere, and (as I recall) E remarks on how there must be a huge staff dedicated to maintaining all of Paris's lovely foliage.

Some random things as we mosey towards the Tuileries:

- We wander into a supermarket and pick up some random snacks, including some saucisson sec sticks that J and G cannot get enough of.

- We pick up some croissants and pastries from a boulangerie.

- I spot a McDonald's and it seems so crass, a violent intrusion into this gorgeous space.

- In front of the Grand Palais is a statue of Charles de Gaulle striding boldly forward, with an inscription that translates roughly as "The glory of France and the world's freedom are inseparable". Sure, guys. I much prefer the nearby statue of Clemenceau (who I learn in that moment is another French statesman) that presents him as humble and determined; he seems like an old fisherman forcing his way through the wind.

- I am enthralled by the gorgeous lampposts!

- We have some delicious crepes being peddled at a random booth on the Place de la Concorde, where we also stare at the Obelisk of Luxor (which was, surprisingly, legitimately gifted to France)

(Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/DZYXow3YfbaVqTkV6)

The Tuileries themselves are a little disappointing -- we had been hoping for a lush, public botanical garden, and while the swathes of green space were pleasant, it's not quite what we expected.

We hang out a bit at the octagonal pool at the west end of the Tuileries, which is lined with chairs for the public to use. Koi(?) dart in the pond, ducks cavort on the surface, and tiny sailboats are blown about by the wind, which require occasional rescue by the children who rented them.

We still have plenty of time before our L'Orangerie tickets, so we spend some time wandering around the underground Louvre mall(!), grab a casual lunch at a food kiosk nearby, and kill some more time relaxing around the octagonal pool.

(We also learn that many bathrooms in Paris require a 2-euro per-person entry fee. In general it seems like the French are bad at bathrooms.)

L'Orangerie is exhibiting a retrospective of Henri Rousseau's work, and I have to say I'm pretty unimpressed by his early work. His portraits are terrible; stilted, lifeless caricatures of people that I'm surprised anybody cared about, let alone wanted more of. That said, even in those works I really like his treatment of foliage, and some of his later work has a mythic, mystical resonance. (Though it's still best not to look too closely at the people.)

We also spend time in the Water Lilies rooms, a series of chambers with wall-spanning Impressionist paintings that are achingly lovely, and are gorgeous from both near and far. (Signs call for silence, as Monet desired a quiet, meditative atmosphere; they are, sadly, largely ignored.)

After a break at the hotel (and a brief detour for me to Frame, where I left my bag the previous evening), we head to dinner at Shiro, a Japanese-French fusion restaurant. I bask in the glory of a Wagyu ribeye, and try E's sweetbreads, which are smooth and silky, but hard to fully enjoy because I know what I'm eating.

(We run into a weird problem in the Metro where the card reader rejects our tickets, though we're waved through by the cranky gate attendant. Also, on some older trains, you open the door yourself by pulling a latch when it's time to board or exit.)

And then, bedtime.

This is our first full day in Paris and we sleep in hard; all of us but E wake up in the late morning and miss the hotel breakfast. That is totally fine, we desperately need the rest. As we leave the hotel, we note that it's right next to Bela Bartok Square, which is neat.

We again make our way to Riverose, planning to arrive soon after it opens at 11am. Even so, it's filling up, but we manage to get a table outside, and have a delicious brunch. G and I have the Croissant Gourmand (mine with bacon, theirs with salmon), J has the London Calling breakfast, and E has a tremendous bischoff french toast.

(Something I forgot to note on Day 1 is how shocking it is to encounter cigarette smoke while eating. America sucks right now, but that's something we've done right, at least.)

Our first stop is the Musée de l'Art Moderne, and in particular I'm struck by the "Rhythm" pieces of Robert and Sonia Delaunay, which I find mesmerizing -- incredibly musical works, with the striking colors and tight cleanness of, say, Mondrian or Lewitt, but with a different kind of playfulness; they way shapes and lines and colors pretend to flow into each other but don't quite is delightful.

There are other works that catch my eye, of course, but these stand out. It helps that they're huge, taking up entire walls. Here are the ones that E and I enjoyed enough to take pictures: https://photos.app.goo.gl/cqyR2HCepcgibokC7

After that, we take a short break and head literally next door to the Palais de Tokyo, a different kind of modern art museum that's more geared towards spatial installations, not dissimilarly to some of the spaces in MassMoCA. (High up in the row of columns that joins the two buildings is a sculpture built like a huge carpenter bees' nest.)

Most of the artwork in here bounces off of me, but I find Cathy de Monchaux's work compelling, incredibly detailed dioramas of what feel like twisted fantasy forests, as if the land is corrupting -- or being corrupted by -- humans. One piece in particular, a black-and-white (chalk?) drawing of a forbidding orchard, evokes a feeling of imprisoned isolation that reminds me of Susanna Clarke's Piranesi.

(Photos of her work: https://photos.app.goo.gl/DeDb5rU2tCz6QVpk7)

After a pitstop to relax back at Yooma (E peels off for a bit to explore some tents that have been put up near the Eiffel Tower), we have dinner at Frame, a brasserie not far from the Eiffel Tower. G notices that its logo is the Eiffel Tower seen from directly below, which is pretty cool. We have a tasty dinner (we share a cheese and charcuterie plate, I have scallops, the four of us split a rum baba for dessert), and I resign myself to basically eating two meals for every dinner: what I order, and what G doesn't finish.

It's dark when we leave the restaurant, and the Eiffel Tower is lit beautifully. As we walk back to our hotel, J and I spot a green shooting star streaking through the sky, and the whole evening feels like a hug from Paris.

After a brief rest at our hotel, we set out for lunch. We briefly walk along the Seine, and I am unprepared for how thoroughly the Eiffel Tower dominates the cityscape; for whatever reason, I think I was expecting something around the size of the Washington Monument, but the Tower is twice as tall and orders of magnitude more massive -- it just keeps getting bigger and bigger as we approach.

I'm charmed by the Île aux Cygnes, an artificial island in the middle of the river. I'm sure it has a practical purpose, but it seems like its primary role as even more real estate for savoring the river, filled with people jogging, picnicking, or just lounging about and enjoying the day.

It seems like we encounter photoshoots every few hundred feet; we see at least three bridal parties, as well as influencer "selfies". (What an odd thing, to make a living being seen in beautiful places.)

Our first lunch destination, Riverose, is overflowing, with a waiting line around the block, so we move on to another place we've scouted, Brasserie Le New York. I order foie gras to start (the guilt I feel does not prevent me from loving it); the portion is generous, twice or three times the size I would have expected in the US, and J and G are happy to help me finish it. My main is a lovely Caesar salad, but the star is J's Beef Bourguignon. I'm chuffed that I'm able to order mostly in French.

(As we eat, there's another American family next to us with an adorable little girl who waves and chatters at us as they depart.)

We retire to Yooma and take a couple of hours of downtime to nap and chill out.

Our evening event is a dinner cruise along the Seine on Le Diamant Bleu, and the boat meanders east from Quai du Grenelle, eventually looping around the Île Saint-Louis and bringing us back to our dock. We are entertained by a chanteuse with a lovely voice (though she's a touch flat sometimes), and admittedly it's jarring to hear a blonde Ukranian sing "and Jah provide the bread" during a loungy cover of Bob Marley's "Is This Love".

As with the Île aux Cygnes, it's striking how much of Paris is built around enjoying the Seine. The river lined with countless spaces for people to appreciate it; we sail past a congregation of dozens, maybe hundreds of folks salsa dancing along one stretch of the river. The bridges over it are themselves works of art, featuring statues and sculptures, and I approve that Paris is a city that sees no reason not to make municipal improvements beautiful as well as functional.

Meainwhile, G is so exhausted that they fall asleep in the middle of dinner.

On our way back we sail past the Louvre, which just keeps going and going and does not stop. One of us likens it to the opening of Spaceballs, and we start referring to it as the "Looooooooouvre".

We head back to our hotel as dusk falls and close out the day.

Our travel day truly begins with a White Castle vending machine at Logan Airport, which the teenager in me cannot resist. Though the rest of my family is horrified, J and G nevertheless ask me to procure burgers for them also. The three of us agree that though the burgers are terrible, tasteless bricks of sustenance, they also prove immensely satisfying. Somebody quips that we'll now be denied entry into France due to this transgression against the culinary arts.

We're taking a late afternoon red-eye to Dublin and then a quick hop to Paris. We've given the children a day off from school so we have plenty of time to get to Logan. Takeoff is delayed for an hour, but the pilot gets permission to fly faster, as apparently the large majority of passengers have connecting flights. Oddly, we debark from our plane on the tarmac, then take buses from there to the terminal, something I associate with airplane travel in a less developed country like the Philippines. Anyhow, we make our next flight to Paris with no problems.

Upon arriving at Charles De Gaulle Airport, we walk through a long, winding tunnel before emerging into the gate area, and our path to baggage claim then takes us through another tunnel that's actually a bridge suspended in a wide open cylindrical area; above and below us are other suspended tunnels crisscrossing the space at odd horizontal and vertical angles. It feels like being in a futuristic insect hive.

We manage to find the taxi stand, where there are officially sanctioned drivers to Paris, with a set fee depending on which bank of the Seine is your destination. (We sidestep a few unsanctioned drivers who try to intercept us.) I communicate with the cab driver well enough -- I took French until graduating from high school; I can still read it pretty well and have retained a good accent, though I only have the vocabulary of a five-year-old at this point -- and we're off.

On the drive I notice a lot of graffiti on the highway walls -- I wonder if the French are more tolerant of (or more jaded towards) it than we are.

We drive past a random, ancient-looking, free-standing wall that seems to have nothing to do with the more modern buildings around it; it seems to be the centerpiece of a recreational plaza.

As we approach the city, many of the buildings I see, both outside and inside Paris, strike me as very Russian futurist, like a Tarkovsky film is slowly usurping the real world.

Once inside the city, I note what looks to be a toddler, maybe two or three years old, tricycling about on their own, with no adult in sight keeping watch.

My resolution not to drive in a foreign country is further buttressed by the fact that I cannot figure out how many lanes any given street has, and streets of varying widths feed directly into each other with no indication of how cars are supposed to rearrange themselves to fit.

We're staying at Yooma Urban Lodge, which is a charming, quirky hotel with a strong Pac-Man theme. There are arcade machines in the lobby, a pool table, a board game library, and plenty of comfy seating -- couches, booths, etc. I try speaking French to the hotel clerk for a bit before giving up and asking him to speak English, and he's kind enough to compliment my accent.

Our room is cozy and well-designed, with a queen bed and two cubbies set into the wall that serve as bunk beds, with sliding doors for privacy. They've provided a packet of gummy Eiffel towers, which we decide to defer eating until we've had lunch. After a brief break to settle in, we head out for our first full day in Paris.

Photos here

In the morning, we have a hearty breakfast at the Castle. Apparently, twinfamily has experienced a bit of spooky oddness in the night, and I'm glad that I haven't learned about the haunted nature of some of the rooms until it's time to leave. We part ways, handing off E's mom, and take the train back to Edinburgh.

(There's some confusion as we were given the wrong type of train ticket on our initial departure from the city, but it gets sorted out by one of the train conductors. Also, they check everybody's ticket twice -- once on the train, and again once the train arrives at our destination.)

The Grassmarket Hotel is situated right in the...um...Grassmarket, a bustling square in middle of Edinburgh's Old Town and right under Edinburgh Castle. We drop off the rest of our luggage and have targeted Oink!, a nearby eatery, for lunch. We luck into a small corner table and squeeze in.

Apparently the way Oink! works is that every day, they start with a roasted pig (very reminiscent of lechon!) and extract the meat from it until they run out. It is delicious, and I'm delighted that they give us the crunchy, tasty skin along with the pulled pork.

(Sadly, their fridge is busted, so our bottles of Irn Bru are not as refreshing as they could be.)

Our afternoon activity is a trip to Dynamic Earth, a science museum not far from Holyroodhouse and the main path to Arthur's Seat.
(Not to mention the Scottish Parliament, which is a hyper-modern building that's a trip to look at, apparently literally patterned after a pile of leaves and sticks tossed onto a table by the architect.) It's a pretty cool building, with an amphitheater-like area in front, the raised outer ring of which has monuments that show the various ages of the earth and maps of the continents.

Unsurprisingly, the building is awash with children on school tours; more surprisingly, there's also a corporate celebration of some kind going on. Some ushers winkingly encourage us to get moving so we can stay ahead of a group of students, and we manage to outpace them for a bit. The exhibits are fairly immersive, and I particularly enjoyed walking through the evolution of life to modern-day organisms. Eventually the school group that's been nipping at our heels catches up with us during a 3D movie, and they're (naturally) raucous, but I'm able to keep my zen.

We return to our hotel to check in, and it's a nice room for the four of us. We have a great view of Grassmarket, and it's pleasant to just people-watch from above for a while.

We have dinner reservations at an upscale place called The Witchery, and have a lovely meal. It pleases me that we can take J & G to a fancy restaurant and not have to worry about either how they'll behave, or what they'll eat -- they have wide enough palates that they can always find *something* they're willing to try, and J in particular has been game to expand their range.

After the four of us return, E and I set out on our own to explore, leaving the children to their electronics. The two of us walk along the Royal Mile, and I'm keen to explore the closes, mysterious and enticing little side streets and alleyways that branch off of the main thoroughfare like, to paraphrase our food guide, spines on a fish skeleton. Some lead to hidden plazas (we find one next to The Writer's Museum with flagstones engraved with quotes from famous authors), some to very old residences (one with carvings dating from the 16th century), and it's super-fun to wander down a random one and see where it goes.

Upon our return, I find that having a room directly over a pub has its disadvantages.

Today we set out for an overnight at Dalhousie Castle, which now serves as a small spa getaway, where we will join E's twin's family and hand off E's mom to them as they spend the rest of the week journeying the countryside.

The morning begins with me recruiting J to help me tote some of our luggage to our next hotel, Grassmarket, storing it there while we spend a day outside Edinburgh. We leisurely wend our way up, down, and around the city for about 20 minutes (each way), and it's a nice way to spend companionable time with him.

The estate is short cab ride from Newtongrange station, and it is, unsurprisingly, beautiful, an honest-to-God castle(!) situated amid wide open grounds. Twin's family arrives shortly thereafter and we putter in the library (where J notices a secret door that looks like a bookcase!) until it's time for our afternoon activities - archery and falconry!

We begin with archery at fairly short range, probably 10 meters at most (and the minder brings the targets in for our younger archers). We take turns in two groups of four, and J is chuffed as he's able to hit multiple bullseyes; G is a little young for the activity and doesn't quite have the strength or coordination to achieve any consistency, though they do manage to land one bullseye.

We then prepare for the falconry, donning gauntlets that the birds will perch on, and that will protect us from their (quite wicked) talons. We first get to meet Jeannie, a sweet, stunning white owl, and we all get to take a turn with her perching on our forearms. It's amazing to be able to see her up close and even, under the close supervision of the falconer, stroke her feathers.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/nPK4FNYxZAeko8cH6

After Jeannie we get to meet Iona, a majestic Harris's hawk, dark brown with a white underbelly/butt. She's much more imposing, even more clearly a predator than Jeannie. When it's my turn, she lands on the gauntlet and then wanders up my forearm for a bit, and I try not to tense up too much as her talons start to encroach on my flesh.

As we finish up our excursion, the falconer shows us a trick of his and gets Iona to curl up so he can cuddle her like a baby, which is indescribably cute.

(I managed to take video of her flying onto Julian's arm: https://photos.app.goo.gl/qux8AC8hZ1WfEv899)

I think everybody fell in love with those birds a little bit. I certainly did.

We then mosey back to the castle, where our rooms are finally ready, and they are dizzyingly opulent and plush. Twin's family gets the turret room (literally in the castle turret!), where it turns out there's enough room for G to have a sleepover with their cousin. We have the castle room with a ridiculously lush four-poster bed, a window nook with a seat, and an adjoining room for J to sleep in. It's awesomely grandiose, like something out of a novel.

Before dinner we while away in the library, where G and cousin play some terrible chess, and I find some Trivial Pursuit cards (British edition) and we pass them around and try to guess the answers. E and I go for a bit of a walk around the castle grounds, giving both us and the children some appreciated alone time. We dine in the Orangerie and then call it a day, sinking back into the luxury of our rooms.

This morning's excursion is a hike to the top of Arthur's Seat, an extinct volcano smack dab in the middle of Edinburgh that overlooks the entire city. We have a hearty breakfast at Black Sheep Coffee, which seems like Britain's answer to Starbucks, pick up sandwiches from a convenience store, and set out for the day.

Getting to Arthur's Set is an adventure in itself. There's no bus route that takes us nearby, so we get as close as we can and navigate our way up and down side streets, at one point literally cutting through a graveyard.

This is an excellent place to note that Edinburgh is an EXTREMELY vertical city, rife with steep slopes and streets, and a lot of stairs to climb, even just to get to the next street over. I'm guessing in no small part that's due to the fact that it was born when there were few -- if any -- methods for taming hills.

There is what appears to be a standard route up to the top that's well-populated with other tourists, and which we're happy to take. It's an 800-ft rise, so we take frequent breaks -- not only to rest, but to take in the view, which gets more and more breathtaking as we climb.

While most of the way up is a well-worn path, getting to the peak basically involves clambering up some rocks as best you can, at which point Emily's mom (wisely) decides to leave the rest to us.

From the very top you can see all of Edinburgh and many, many miles beyond, and it's simply amazing -- I feel like I start to sense of how the geography of Scotland feels, with its hills and crags and firths.

We hang out there for a while, taking it all in and enjoying our surprisingly good sandwiches. J brings out his sketchbook, but it turns out to be quite windy, stymieing his efforts. I linger for as long as I can, but eventually the kids get restless (G goes down with E first, leaving me and J there for a bit longer) and I must follow.

On our way back down E and I take a slight detour to inspect the remains of St. Anthony's, a chapel that's close to the start of the climb. Best guess is that it was built sometime in the 1300s and fell into disuse sometime in the 16th century, meaning it became a ruin before the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock.

After a break at the hotel, our afternoon plans involve exploring Edinburgh Castle, which is built on a high rock that overlooks the entire city. Most faces of the rock end in sheer cliff, with the only gradual approach being from the east, a long street known as The Royal Mile that's anchored on the other end by the Palace of Holyroodhouse. The Castle is mostly given over to tourism, but still remains an active military base.

We marvel at Mons Meg, a gigantic and wildly impractical cannon that hasn't been operational since 1681, when the force of its firing destroyed itself. There's also the 1-o'clock gun, which fires at -- you guessed it -- 1pm on most days, and which I somehow haven't heard yet so far.

We duck inside St. Margaret's, a cozy little chapel, and wander around inside the Great Hall, which is lined with arms and armor; and I'm particularly taken with the stained glass in both buildings. (Also, J and I have been playing Kingdom Come 2: Deliverance, set in medieval Eastern Europe, and he has a lot of fun identifying weapons and armor components.) We visit the War Memorial, which is somber and quietly moving.

For some reason the children are especially keen to visit the prisons, and we learn that it once housed captives from the American Revolution, one of whom apparently carved a crude early version of the American flag into one of the doors. I'm wryly amused that those captives were apparently treated poorly in comparison to other prisoners, as they were considered traitors to the state rather than enemy combatants.

Apparently, a common punishment (for British soldiers detained there, at least, for crimes such as dereliction of duty, etc.) was to assign them tasks that were absolutely brain-crushingly in-your-face pointless, such as moving cannonballs from one container to another, then back again. Sounds effective.

Dinner is at a fancy restaurant called The Wedgwood and it is marvelous. I particularly remember their savory lobster creme brulee, which I absolutely had to try, and an amuse bouche flight ordered by E's mother. Afterwards we return to our hotel and make preparations for tomorrow's trip to Dalhousie Castle.

Our first full day in Scotland begins with a bus ride and breakfast at Mum's, probably the equivalent of a good greasy spoon diner. G, being G, orders both a milkshake and smoked salmon, which strike me as diametrically opposed flavors, but sure.

It turns out that the British Isles have a standard food called an "X" roll, where X is some variety of breakfast meat, said meat is placed in a dry bun with NOTHING ELSE, and somehow this supposed to be a satisfying combination.

Our planned morning activity is exploring the National Museum of Scotland, which is astonishingly large. I wander around with J while E takes G, and over a couple of hours we get through maybe half of the section on Scotland's history (which itself is just one wing of five or so), making it from how the island was formed geologically through around the 16th century. Unsurprisingly there's a dizzying and awesome array of artifacts -- plus some lovely artwork by Andy Goldsworthy, which is a nice surprise.

Our afternoon activity is a food tour of Edinburgh, led by a fellow who goes by the name of "Wag" -- our group is us four and a mom and her two sons from Canada (minus a couple who never showed up). We meet just outside the John Knox house, under which is our first stop, The Haggis Box. We partake of a serving of haggis, neeps, and tatties, and are informed that haggis is mostly made with ground lamb these days thanks to Mad Cow Disease, and it's -- surprisingly inoffensive. Not thrilling, exactly, but without the off-putting organ-ness of offal.

The adults are served a lovely cider, and the children get their first taste of Irn-Bru, Scotland's national drink, a bright orange answer to Coca-Cola. It's inoffensive, with a taste all its own, and J & G love it.

The eatery is inside The Scottish Storytelling Centre, and lining one wall of the dining area is an exhibit of beautiful Venetian masks made by an artist named Lorraine Pritchard. On the opposite wall is a series of dioramas hidden in cabinets displaying scenes from British folklore.

Our next stop is The Outsider, where we have an excellent dish of coley (similar to cod) and greens, along with elderflower-infused water. While G is excited about seafood, I'm concerned that J will balk, but he's game, tries it without fuss, and ends up really liking it.

After that we stop at Scotts Kitchen on Victoria Terrace (also known as Diagon Alley) for a delicious beef stew and some mac and cheese, the latter of which convinces G that they actually like mac and cheese.

Our final destination is a super cute bar called Under the Stairs, which is on the underground floor of a building, where we have a butterscotch tart for dessert and I try a Campbeltown whisky that I (and G) enjoy.

Wag has been a wonderful host, and I find out that he's spent some time in the States, mostly in the Northwest doing work for the Gates foundation as a mechanical engineer helping figure out how to simplify medical equipment so that it can be used in less developed countries (that might, for example, not be able to provide a steady flow of consistent power to an MRI machine).

Though it's still early evening, that's basically it for us -- we retire to the hotel and spend the rest of the day chilling out, saving energy for Arthur's Seat on the morrow.

We've decided to take a redeye to Edinburgh, leaving Logan Airport in the evening, transferring at Heathrow, and arriving in Scotland at around noonish. Four of us and luggage can fit comfortably in our minivan -- E's mom makes five of us, though, and it's a tighter fit, with bags in laps. We manage with minimal grumbling from the younger set, thankfully.

The flight to London is more cramped than any I can remember; I've never felt more keenly that I'm a consumer from whom value needs is to be extracted at minimum cost. I'm not a large man, and even so there's barely room for my legs and backpack; even G sitting next to me has to struggle to access their bag.

Sadly, I've lost the ability to sleep on planes, so I while away the time reading on my Kindle app, playing games on my Steam deck, and watching something I don't even remember. Meanwhile G inhales Simpsons episodes before conking out, head in my lap.

The changeover at Heathrow, during which we have to switch terminals, has been my biggest concern, but it turns out to be quite straightforward (although we endure a shockingly long walk without any bathrooms). Customs is fairly smooth, and we have time to kill before our connecting flight, so I take J&G and go look for weird local snacks -- the Thai Sweet Chicken crisps are particularly good.

I also spend some time wandering around the airport shops with J commenting about what we see, which is, honestly, a nice bonding experience. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but I feel like a different kind of dad to him now that he's a teenager, more of a friend and peer (though no less an authority figure), and we can banter and tease each other in a way that wouldn't have felt right just two or three years ago.

On another note, something unexpected about UK airports, apparently, is that we don't get to know our gate until an hour beforehand. It's a bit jarring, but fine.

The next hop to Edinburgh is quick and painless, and we eventually find our way to the tram to the city. On the way, every sign I see from the window fills me with the urge to yell out what's written in a terrible Scottish accent. I'm also inordinately excited by seeing such extreme mundanities as council houses.

Our first few days we're staying at CityRoomz, a budget hotel that, while not fancy, will do just fine, and is right in the middle of things. The folks manning the desk are very friendly and eager to help, giving us clarification on how buses work, local tourist spots, etc. Of course both children want the top bunk, so we rule that they'll alternate during our stay.

It's a bit past lunchtime, and we find a nice place nearby called the West End Brasserie, with pretty solid standard fare. We have our first (but not last!) bite of haggis, and I find it tolerable but vaguely unpleasant, with the metallic bitterness of organ meat.

To try to acclimate faster, we try to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, taking a full ride on the Hop-on Hop-off Tour to get a pleasant, low-key overview of various attractions around Edinburgh Castle. There's an audio tour that we can plug into, with a "Horrible Histories" option that highlights some of the more gruesome tales of our route. G, of course, goes straight for that one.

(It's also quite surreal and amusing to see a Jollibee, a Filipino fast food chain -- even better, throwing a gauntlet at the McDonald's next door.)

It's dizzying to grasp how *old* everything clearly is, realizing that much of the architecture we're seeing predates America, maybe even Columbus. Edinburgh Castle itself stands on a high hill overlooking the rest of the city, a imposing, watchful presence.

Dinner is at the Grosvenor Pub across the street, and I'm a bit surprised to see quite a sophisticated variety of options. With our last remaining shreds of cope and consciousness, we grab a couple of pints and funky sodas, some small plates to share, and then head back to our rooms to collapse.

J is finishing his last year of middle school, and there's a lot of material (for the whole family!) on transitioning to high school. His first year, six classes will be chosen for him, and he has the choice of two electives. Right now he's excited about robotics, so he's aiming to fill those electives with and Project Lead The Way, an engineering-focused program. (He was also interested in Culinary Arts, but it doesn't seem like he'll be able to fit it into his schedule.)

I pushed him to take Krav Maga for Teens, which thankfully he's been enjoying! We've been trying to find some physical activity he likes, and given the state of the US, having even rudimentary self-defense skills seems pretty important right now. We'll see how he feels about the class once they start sparring, which I think is about six months from now.

In his biggest news, J has a date! He met a girl during the activity we set up for him during February vacation week. I saw them interact for all of a minute while picking him up one day, and it was clear as day she like-liked him; and on the car ride home I teased out of him that he like-liked her as well, and so encouraged (bribed) him to ask her out. She doesn't have a phone, so they've had to communicate via her mom's phone, which I imagine is maximally awkward, but they'll be hanging out at a nearby boba shop this weekend. Godspeed, kiddo.

(There are definitely some of my own issues at play here. I'm terrible at 1) figuring out if someone is attracted to me and 2) asking that person out, and I want him to be better at both than I am!)

He's an ardent and vocal defender of progressive values at school, which I'm proud of him for. I'm sure he doesn't go about it in the best way possible -- like me, he's not good at de-escalating -- but I'm glad he has the courage to speak out and speak up, and be a visible ally. Sometimes I think he really should consider law, because he has a keenly felt sense of justice, but it's engineering that he's truly interested in.
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Meanwhile, G's biggest news is that they've come out as non-binary. As far as I can tell, they're still comfortable in their body, their gender presentation, their name, etc., but just don't want to care about the expectations that come with "he/him". They're not particularly out yet; they're OK with us telling our friends and family, but at school I think only their best friend knows.

Like J, they're getting ready to transition, as middle school starts next year. I don't think it will be as jarring logistically as the transition to high school; I think the hard parts will be social, as it seems to me that middle school is when kids' meanness and cruelty starts to really manifest.

They recently started on ADHD meds, 5mg of metadate daily, and (after three days) it seems like they prefer to be on it. Some combination of concerns from their 5th grade teacher and G's own frustration with their ADHD encouraged us to consult with their pediatrician about possible treatment. There's also the possibility of G seeing a therapist, so we'll see if they're open to that.

J is entering eighth grade next year. Puberty hit like a bomb late last summer; right after our return from Japan, his voice suddenly dropped what seemed like an octave, and he shot up like a weed. I think he's grown 3-4 inches since September, and he's eagerly anticipating the day he's taller than me -- he's only got two inches to go, and it seems inevitable. (He recently found out he's taller than my dad and one of my sisters, which filled him with glee.)

All of thirteen years old, sometimes he's great, and sometimes he's a complete butt. He'll talk our ear off about whatever video game he's playing at the moment, often providing NO CONTEXT WHATSOEVER. He's learning what kinds of humor are appropriate for family, and what jokes should be reserved for friends (what we call his "Personality B" humor). He likes to complain, which has been more a consistent personality trait than a recent development, and boy howdy it can grate.

He spends a fair amount of time each day holed up in his room surfing the internet, which we don't police -- but reserve the right to. On school nights we extract his Chromebook, although he still has his phone. (We got him as dumb a phone as we could, but it still has primitive internet and texting capabilities.) He's kept up with his guitar, though he's not terribly diligent about practicing or pushing himself to improve -- it's something he enjoys, but doesn't take terribly seriously, which is OK.

I recently taught him how to shave with disposable safety razors, and now he seems to take any excuse to do so (like a single hair showing up, or if the barest hint of stubble is visible).

Middle school seems to have been a mixed bag so far, but more positive than negative, I think. He has a lot of friends who he's in D&D club with, or arranges online gaming sessions with, or who are participants in an active group chat. (Of course, he appears to have almost no interest in spending time in physical proximity with these friends, so we have no actual idea what they're like). On the other hand, that age is also when many children begin to hone their pettiness and cruelty, and he's been on the receiving end of some of it.

Not that he's been an angel, either. He's done some stupid, mean shit, and has received his share of stern lectures from us (and school officials also, presumably). That said, he has a fierce sense of justice, and (from what we hear, anyway) is a vocal defender of queer folks at his school (though AFAICT, he himself identifies as pretty straight).
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G is entering his last year of elementary school. Ever since the pandemic, he's liked to wear his hair long. He's super-full of weird and interesting thoughts, and he wants to tell us all about every single one, which is mostly cute but sometimes exhausting, especially if we're, for example, reading a book or cooking dinner.

He wants to do EVERYTHING, to the point where if we wants to add another activity to his schedule, he has to replace another one. Last school year, he was taking guitar lessons, piano lessons, karate, and participated in his school's Drama Club, which was about the limit of the running around we were willing to do.

As of now, he has a much sunnier disposition than J, though he's also more reserved about his relationships; whereas at his age, it seemed like J considered anyone he interacted well with as a friend, G is much more discerning about the levels of closeness he feels with other kids.

He's on the path to becoming a decent pianist, and his piano teacher also encourages him to compose. True to form, his pieces are *quite* singular, reflecting both his stubbornness and singular thought process -- to my (biased) ear, his music definitely stands out as unusual at his teacher's studio composition recitals. I'm sure a part of that is that I encourage and help him to explore whatever direction his creativity wants to take him, and try not to make his music "fit" the rules; I definitely provide guidance, but in the end I try to let him decide how he wants his music to sound.

He's something of a cloud cuckoolander, sometimes doing infuriatingly boneheaded stuff (like toasting something in the oven *while it was on a plastic plate*, melting said plate and ruining the toaster) or whatever bizarre idea comes into his head (like gargling bubble bath water). We consider him our Jason Mendoza, and also reminiscent of Young Neil from Scott Pilgrim.

He seems like the kind of person who's curious to experience as many sensations as he can; and I sometimes feel the need to emphasize to him that he should not try psychoactive drugs until he's at least 18, preferably 21.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but sometime in the last few years I started to feel as if I could unleash the full extent of my deadpan humor at them, and they're now both working on their withering glares in response.

ETA: Some other things I want to remember:

Both of them have this odd verbal tic where, as a verbalized pause, they'll repeat the last syllable or two they said. Is that a generational thing?

Both boys are still very huggy, and while they don't always choose the best moments (like when I'm BUILDING IKEA FURNITURE), I'm still glad of it.

Our last full day in Japan starts with a visit to teamLab Planets, an interactive art installation. It's divided into two sections, "Water" and "Garden", and we're asked to take off our shoes and socks, since in the first section we'll literally be wading through ankle- to knee-deep water.

We begin by walking up a narrow, inclined, dimly lit corridor with water flowing downwards, which culminates in a column of water being lit from above, and it feels like a passage into another realm.

After the column of water is "The Infinite Crystal Universe", a mirror maze of dangling fiberglass rods lit from within by LEDs, with constantly changing patterns accompanied by ambient music. It's a dizzying, awesome experience, and it honestly feels kinda like being in somebody else's brain. G and J are a little overwhelmed, and so they try to hurry through and somehow end up (with E) in something of a secret room.

(Earlier that day I discovered the iPhone's ability to take panoramic photos, and I'm particularly pleased by the ones I took here.)

Next is "Drawing on the Water Surface Created by the Dance of Koi and People", which is a room filled with cloudy water, on top of which koi are projected -- and when the koi bump into a person, they would burst into flowers and petals.

From there we enter what we call the "Katamari Room", filled with big inflated balls (like, maybe four feet in diameter), and lit with intensely colored, constantly shifting lighting. J & G have a blast rolling the balls around, darting in between them, and hiding, and I take a couple more panoramic photos.

The final exhibit in "Water" is a dome-shaped room with projections of flora dancing on the ceiling at dizzying speed. I lay down on the floor in the center and just stare up for a while to let it wash over me. (It reminds me of a similar piece at Artechouse in Washington, D.C.)

From there we proceed to the "Garden", the first part of which is a moss-covered landscape littered with metallic, ovoid objects, which we are encouraged to "gently push". It's charming, but it's not as transcendent as some of the parts of "Water".

Last is the "Floating Flower Garden", another mirror maze akin to "The Infinite Crystal Universe", only with walls of orchids hung from above that slowly bob up and down. It's quite peaceful and meditative. (I take one more panorama.)

The whole experience is stunning, one of the highlights of the trip, and we cap it off by having marvelous vegan ramen in their (very trippy) noodle space, where it's dark enough that the food comes with a small lamp.

After our standard early afternoon rest, we take a visit to AkeruE, an interactive science exhibit at the Panasonic Center. The main lobby has an activity where kids can color in a vehicle, which then gets scanned and turned into a 3-D model in a little racing game. AkeruE itself has large collection of neat little exhibits, including a small self-contained ecosystem, a painting that slowly shifts colors, a ferrofluid "sculpture", and a series of little robots that pass ping-ping balls in a circle.

It's a nice contrast to the profound assault on the senses of TeamLab, a gentle collection of small delights.

We have a pleasant dinner back at the hotel, and pack for our flight home.
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On the day we fly out, once we get to the airport, E starts to experience...respiratory symptoms...and decides to mask up. We have a direct flight from Tokyo to Boston which will, thanks to dateline shenanigans, depart on Wednesday at 6:30pm, and arrive on Wednesday at 6:30pm. I spend much of the flight watching Tom Cruise movies, and I must report that Edge of Tomorrow is quite enjoyable, especially if you take pleasure in seeing Mr. Cruise die gruesomely and often.

BIL picks us up at Logan, and as soon as E gets home she tests herself for COVID, and is unambiguously positive (though somehow the rest of us escape unscathed.) Thankfully the worst of it for her clears up in a week and change, though it's rough to deal with as we're also recovering from jet lag that is as bad as it can get.

As soon as we can, we throw a slideshow party for friends, and share many of the treats we brought back from Asia, accompanied by a narration of our trip. It's a lovely capstone to an amazing few weeks.

Today is our least structured day in Japan. We'll be wandering around the iconic Shibuya Scramble Crossing, where at its busiest, thousands of pedestrians make their way across a rather complicated five-way intersection. As soon as we emerge, we take a picture in front of the statue of Hachiko; and I'm inordinately excited because I recognize lots of locations that are recreated in one of my favorite games, Persona 5.

We park ourselves at a Starbucks overlooking the crossing and spend some time just goggling at the sheer mass of people navigating the crossing, even at a fairly mellow time of day.

Our next destination is a cat cafe, but on the way we run across a gachapon shop that has hundreds, probably thousands of different gachapon machines, and so we have no choice but to mill around there for a while. E emerges with a shoebill toy, and I can't resist a Jack Frost (from the series of games that Persona 5 is a part of).

The cafe itself is super sweet. By this point, we miss our own cats terribly, and we're thrilled to have the chance to snuggle some kitties. It seemed well-designed for cats, with lots of nooks, crannies, and perches. One of the cutest things they offer are frozen seafood lollipops, and J and G delight in offering them for the cats to lick.

Next up is the MEGA Don Quijote, the jumbo-sized version of the store that we visited on our first day in Japan -- which itself was already large enough to get lost in. We pick up souvenirs, and candies to bring home and share -- in particular, a whole variety of KitKat flavors, including wasabi, wheat, and sake.

We have lunch at McDonald's, because we have to try it, and it's actually quite good! They're promoting the Samurai burger, which seems a little odd, but is nevertheless tasty -- and they're also offering some Hawaii-themed drinks, which the boys go to town on.

We retire for the afternoon, and J and I try out the hotel baths. (G has decided that it's not for him.) It's a very different experience, much less intimate than the ryokan -- these are baths the size of small swimming pools, in large rooms with a much more modern design sensibility. Again, my (and J's) endurance for the extreme heat is limited, but it's still a pleasant experience, helps me feel like I'm really, truly doing the Japan thing.

Dinner is at Shiomi Skippers, a nearby burger joint. Apparently they've competed in the World Burger Championships, and they do indeed make tremendous burgers -- I still remember mine quite fondly. Plus, the kids' burgers come in a chest, complete with treasure.

Even though Japan's been amazing, by now we've been traveling for two weeks, our tourist energy is fading fast, and we're feeling ready to go home. Thankfully our last few days in the country are relatively low-impact.

We begin the day with the hotel breakfast buffet, which is divided into Western and Japanese food stations. I don't have the intestinal fortitude to go full Japanese breakfast -- which seems to include noodles and a seafood stew -- but natto is on offer, and I realize that given I've already paid for it and there's no opportunity cost, this is my best chance to try it.

If you're unaware, natto is soybeans that have been fermented by a specific bacterium that exudes a very sticky, thick goop. Everything about it screams "I am disgusting".

And boy, it is indeed disgusting. The texture is horrific, like eating lumpy glue. I describe the taste -- and long-lasting aftertaste -- as "salty, rotten sneakers".

E and the boys revel in my ordeal. (Here's a photo collage E made of the event. Sadly, it wouldn't allow her to put it in chronological order.)

Our destination for the day is the Ueno Zoo, and maybe the Tokyo National Museum afterwards. (Spoiler: we don't make it to the latter.) Among the zoo highlights are the baby pandas, an adorable Pallas's cat, some perpetually affronted shoebills, and getting to see red panda feeding time. There's also a large lotus pond in the middle of the zoo; we arrive too late to see it in bloom -- they flower in the morning -- but it's still a gorgeous sight.

Lunch at the zoo features panda-themed dishes: my noodle bowl comes with panda-shaped nori and a fish cake with a panda picture, and the sundaes have panda-face chocolates.

Once we're done with our meal, it's been a very hot day in the sun, so we retire to the hotel. The TV in our room doesn't have access you YouTube, which secretly thrills me and E, since the boys will be forced to watch Japanese TV if they want passive entertainment. In fact, they get super into a show called Black Bass Masters, and complain when it's time to go to dinner.

We decide to have dinner at a conveyor sushi place near our hotel, and are stymied by the check-in computer, which is all in Japanese. Thankfully, someone takes pity on us and checks us into a table. It's busy enough that many things are gone by the time the conveyor rolls around, so we end up ordering a fair amount via the tableside touchscreen menu -- those items are brought to us by a mini bullet train, which is delightful.

I note that much of the waitstaff is South Asian, and I wonder about the circumstances that brought them here. While our experience here as tourists has been wonderful, I'm given to understand that foreign residents of Japan are often subject to prejudice and scorn, and I hope that these folks are treated fairly.

Today we travel back to Tokyo, we've decided that we're going to do the Hakone Round, taking every possible form of local transportation:
train, funicular, gondola, boat, and bus. We start the day with pastries from Watanabe Bakery, bid farewell to our marvelous ryokan, and take the bus, to the train, to the funicular stop.

Honestly, the funicular ride isn't that pleasant; it's slow and full of people, plus there's no air conditioning, so it gets stuffy fast. It definitely qualifies as second-order fun. (J's face pretty much says it all.)

The gondola ride is pretty cool, bringing us over Owakudani, a particularly geologically active region of Hakone. Warning signs alert people with respiratory problems to the presence of volcanic gas, and we pass over active sulfur vents that are belching fumes.

(Sadly, though sometimes one can see Mt. Fuji in the distance from the ropeway, today it's wreathed by clouds, so we're unable to see it in its full glory.)

(Also, I didn't realize that Hakone is the main setting of Neon Genesis Evangelion! Though in the mythos of the show, it's referred to as Tokyo-3.)

We have lunch at the station at the end of the ropeway, and I try hambagu, basically a burger without a bun. It's very tasty but also uncanny -- something super-familiar made with a very different sensibility.

There are three boats on the route around Lake Ashi, all made up to look like pirate ships from the outside. It's relaxing to just sit down and watch the water go by, and I love seeing the torii gates erected near the shore.

From the final "port", we take the bus to Odawara Station, where we get on the shinkansen back to Tokyo.

Our final hotel is the Tokyo Bay Shiomi Prince in Koto City, and figuring out which train to take is super-confusing because it's not immediately clear that this is a Green Line-type situation, where a few different lines start out with the same set of stops, then branch out -- plus some are express trains that don't go to our stop -- and so I don't understand why the Japan Travel App (which is excellent, BTW) keeps giving me so many seemingly unrelated options.

After much consternation, we finally arrive at our hotel, and thanks to the miracle of takkyubin, our heavy luggage is there waiting for us. We eat dinner in the hotel restaurant, and they're offering wagyu steak as a special! I have to order it, and it's everything I could have wanted -- both creamy and flavorful, and served with a perfect wasabi sauce. American wagyu pales in comparison.

We have two very different activities planned for the day, one sublime, and one absurd. The first is a visit to the Hakone Open Air Museum, a gigantic sculpture garden; the second is a visit to Yunessun, a hot springs-themed water park.

The Museum is beautiful and sprawling, full of modern and postmodern art, which is 100% up my alley. Some pieces are out in open fields, others are tucked away in the woods, or installed in ponds. Among my favorites are:

The boys' favorite part is Woods of Net, a fabric play structure with huge organic dangly bits and tunnels that snake through to the top, housed inside a dome-like structure that looks like it was built from Lincoln Logs. J & G love it so much that we probably spend an hour letting them cavort in it.

The Museum also has a Picasso Pavilion, which mostly showcases his ceramic work -- plates, vases, etc. -- and I came away quite impressed. A few pieces here and there are quite striking (I particularly enjoy a couple of stained glass works), but most of these seem sloppy and amateurish -- overall I get the sense that much of the time, he just plain didn't give a shit, and coasted by on his reputation to imbue these with the merit that they lack intrinsically. While I definitely think he made some great art, most of these seem more like a tribute to his own arrogance. Maybe that's just a consequence of being as prolific as he was...?

(No pictures from the Picasso Pavilion, BTW, as per policy.)

We break for lunch at the buffet, and tool around the gift shop, where we're made happy by a small bank of art-themed gachapon dispensers and a plushie of Mt. Fuji (which I regret not purchasing right there and then).

Then, we take the bus to Yunessun! It's apparently part of a much larger complex, and so when we first arrive, it's not clear we're in the right place. Thankfully, E sorts it all out (by having a conversation entirely via Google Translate, which itself is a piece of modern-day wizardry), and we make our way inside.

And it's utterly ridiculous, as expected. There's an enormous indoor pool lined with hot tub jets. There are smaller baths, each filled with red wine, sake, green tea, or coffee, and of course we have to try them all. There's an indoor lazy river that's the main attraction for the boys. Outdoors, there are a bunch of pools in a faux cave formation (complete with waterfall), a big water slide, and a water playground. We also can't resist trying "Dr. Fish", one of those deals where you stick your feet in a tub filled with tiny fish that nibble on your dead skin, which SUPER tickles and is both somehow uncomfortable yet compelling.

(There's also an adults-only section of Yunessun that's presumably more sedate, but obviously we see none of it.)

We eat dinner at reasonable buffet in that very same complex -- and because it's attached directly to the water park, they're apparently OK with us (and other folks) tromping around the dining area in bare feet.

Back at the guest house, E teaches me how to use the shaved ice grinder in the public kitchen (shaved ice is one of the things the boys love most about Japan), and we add the melon syrup they have on hand. (The prevalence of melon flavoring in Japan puts the US to shame.) I convince J to accompany me to the baths again, though G bows out this time. And E and I close the evening by splitting a bottle of the ryokan's sake on the balcony.

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Page generated Sep. 11th, 2026 10:07 am

I sure hope Gabriel likes my music, when the day is done.

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