Well, our lives now revolve around Dane. We, the parental units, no longer sleep through the night, and that is OK, because he is a great kid. He is noisy as all get up though. His first nickname was Squeaky, because he squeaks and sighs and cries and moans night and day, even during his sleep. At first this was really cute as we listened to him and wondered what he was dreaming. Now it is still really cute, but his nickname has become Grunter. Kathy and I have become very light sleepers since Dane came into the world as we are constantly waking up to check on every squeak. We are happy to report that they have all been healthy squeaks.

We are just totally in love with this kid – all of his noises and habits and cries and smiles (yes, we have had several confirmations of actual smiles not followed by a fart and they have been very well received). Actually, there have been five so far, all in the morning after we changed his diaper – any correlation? Now he is 7 weeks old, and his cries are evolving from one ear-piercing shriek that causes Kathy to spray milk to several different types of cries (that still cause Kathy to spray milk, but mean different things) thus beginning a more effective communication between us. Earlier this week, he visited the pediatrician, and we learned that he has grown 4 inches and now weighs 11.25 pounds, leading to a new nickname, Piglet!
Anyway, enough about him. Let’s talk about where he has eaten. We took him to Paris for a three-day weekend, and then on a whirlwind tour of Italy and Switzerland, where he dined on breastmilk prepared in Florence, Venice, Siena, Milan, and Zermatt. Gotta love those Belgian holidays!

First Paris. We decided to drive there (big mistake). We stayed in the Latin Quarter at the Hotel Mont Blanc – only because we thought they might have an inside line on getting some pens cheap. Although this was not the case, the room was nice. We did a lot of walking around, down the Champs-Elysee, over to the Eiffel Tower, and on to the Rodin Museum. “Augooost” (of course, we use this name when in France – they dig it, although they all say “C’est un nom ancien” as if we did not know this fact) has had his picture taken at many Paris landmarks. Look for them soon on an Internet near you.

To be honest, he slept through most of Paris, because he was only three weeks old and in the stroller most of the time. Consequently, he (we) did not sleep at night. However, we learned some new things about Paris: 1) we will never drive there again, 2) the Metro is not stroller-compatible (too many stairs), 3) they have the best Gyros we have ever had, and, 4) always call ahead to see if Kathy’s favorite restaurant is open and not closed for vacation before walking an hour in the rain with a screaming infant in tow!

Now Italy (read this with an Italian accent). We-a took-a dee plane-a to a-Milano, and caught a train-a to Firenze (Florence). It is a bea-u-ti-ful city. We-a saw-a dee David and-a dee Duomo. It-a was-a very hot-ta, but-a the food it was a dee best-a Italian food we-a have-a ever had. We-a found-a two of the best-a restaurants, and are just a-aching to-a go-a back. The first-a night, we had-a a little bit-a of trouble with-a Kathy’s a re-a-living her-a summer in Firenze. She-a wanted to stay in her-a old pensione, which-a was-a alright, except-a for the-a punk rock/elevator musica band that-a played out-a-side our-a window. They-a played and-a played all night-a long the same-a lousy Whitney Houston and Bee Gees hits. And-a the singer, she was-a terrible. Ah, but-a the second-a hotel-a—it was-a out-a-standing – a 15th century villa with a tower (torre) from-a about-a the 13th century.

The Torre di Bellosguardo is perched on a hill overlooking the city of Florence and is in fact named for the beautiful view (bello sguardo). We arrived a little too early to take possession of our room so Michele at the front desk suggested we relax by the pool. No sooner had we arrived poolside when Paolo appeared from behind the shrubs to arrange cushions and towels for us (especially-a for the bambino!). Drinks? Sure. Insalata Caprese? That would be fantaaastic. “Don’t worry,” Paolo said, “I picked the tomatoes this morning and I’ll pluck the basil off my plant right now.” It was a damn fine start of two lovely days lounging by the pool; leaving the hotel only to search for our next meal. We also met a delightful honeymoon couple, Audrey and Eric, and introduced them to one of our favorite Florentine restaurants. For those of you who are familiar with Kathy’s penchant for collecting travel magazines, you will be happy to know that this hotel was one she had read about and dreamt of staying in.

From Firenze, it was off to Siena. Siena is a very interesting medieval city. We stayed with the Toti family on the main Piazza – Piazza del Campo. Their apartment, which has been in their family for over 800 years, looks out over it. This is the Piazza where the Palio is run, and each family member is, naturally, in a Contrada. In fact, the first thing Roberta’s grown children did was insist that we watch a video of when their horses won – 1993 and 1990. Notice that I said “horse won.” The riders go bareback and only the horse has to cross the finish line. The children are in different Contradas, which are their second family, and they are baptized into it. In the late night and during the day, spontaneous celebrations by the Contrada (Giraffa) who had won in June erupted in the Piazza below our window. They proudly paraded their flag throughout the town while playing drums and trumpeting long horns. They even dressed in Renaissance garb. This show was not for the tourists- it was for themselves and their Contrada.

Venice was the next stop for us. As you probably know, Venezia has so many canals that the only way to get around is by boat. Even the taxis are boats. As we were low on money by this time it was great to know that the baby stroller was inflatable. We just inflated the stroller, then swam along side it! The water felt good in the heat. The only other way we found to beat the heat as we walked and walked was Haagen Daaz, which we still believe is better than 95% of the gelato we had. We saw the island of Murano and toured the glass factory/high-pressure sales floor. Some of the stuff was nice, but was way overpriced. No matter where we went though, Dane was the hit of Italy. All of the Italians loved him – old, young, male, female, single, married. Almost everyone made a fuss over him, wanting to hold him and touch him and make faces at him and ask how old he was (cinque settimane) and so on! It was a pleasant aspect of our visit to Italy. If they didn’t ask to hold or touch him or proudly display pictures of their own children, they would just point out the piccolino bambino to their girlfriends or parents or children as we walked by, always following with bellino!

Switzerland was also great. Zermatt is at the base of the Matterhorn, and is just beautiful. There are no gasoline-powered cars there – only electric carts to get around. We did some hikes and some shopping (the dollar is sooo strong right now against European currencies) and concluded that, just like it is “in” to wear black in big cities like LA or NYC, it is in to walk around in hiking gear with a 50 lb. pack, ropes, helmet and ice shovel in Zermatt. We just weren’t “in”.

I did bust away for a mountain bike ride one morning in Zermatt. I figure, even though I have only ridden two times since Dane’s birth, I must mountain bike in the Alps, given the chance. So I rented a bike from a local shop, threw on a rain jacket, street shoes, and Quicksilver swim trunks, and headed in the direction of the Matterhorn! It was a rainy day, and as I climbed and climbed, I eventually went into the clouds where the steady drizzle turned into a steady rain. I was reminded of the ride with #1 and #2, except that this was on pavement. Who wants to be on pavement in the rain on a mountain bike?

Fortunately, I happened along a little trail that was designated for biking and took it (realize that such trails are very rare in Zermatt – Hikers Rule here!) It turned out to be a single-track descent through the woods that meandered down half of the mountain and contained 8-10 steep, hairpin switchbacks with the appropriate penalty should you not successfully maneuver the turn. In this case, the penalty was even more severe because the rental shop would not lend me a helmet and the rocks 15 below looked very unforgiving. The trail had just enough rain to provide excellent traction and plenty of low-hanging tree branches to create excitement. At the end, I was dumped back on the original road again (Yes, at a lower altitude – if only Escher DID design bike trails!!), and I did what all of you would have done – climbed the hill and went down it again! This time I discovered some shortcuts from one section to another – these looked like the equivalent of chutes that I recall falling down with Susan, Rich, #2 and Kathy off Headwall at Squaw – where you have no room to execute a full turn of your skis down a heart-stoppingly steep chute. In this case, there was no room for your rear wheel to slide as you involuntarily locked your rear tire with your white-knuckle grip on the brake! I decided that living through one of these used up enough testosterone, and I would save the rest of the MTBs chutes to do with Roger or Rich and a helmet!

From a Zermatt-uh, we-a headed back-a to-a Milano, where-uh we-a searched and-a searched-a for some good-a pasta. We found-a some, visited-a dee Duomo, and came home-a Sunday, the last day of our Tour and THE Tour.

Until you live in Europe, you cannot appreciate how important the Tour de France is to Europeans. In Belgium, it is broadcast live on three stations in three different languages. Then, in the evening, it is rebroadcast in its entirety! Incredible! That is all for now!