July 12: The Day of the Pink Balloon

We planned the day around a pink balloon.  Seriously.  And it backfired.
In our guidebook, Pink Flamingo (the pizza place), Montemarte and the storied flea market all seemed relatively close and within walking distance.

We arrived at the pizza place before it opened, so we had to wait an hour.  No problem, we said.  The idea of waiting with a pink balloon for a pizza picnic sounded quirky.  Very The Red Balloon-like (the French film).  Pink Flamingo gives their customers a pink balloon so they can go off by the canal and sit and wait for their pizza delivery.  The delivery guy uses the balloon as a homing device.

We made the best out of an uninteresting neighborhood and hit up a playground.  Then we went back to Pink Flamingo and ordered duck pizza (even though they still weren't quite open) and got the pink balloon.

We went back to the playground and waited with that pink balloon bobbing up and down.  And waited.  Even Levi lost interest in the playground and the pink balloon.  He became more interested in throwing seed pods over the rail and stuffing crumbling leaves through the fence.  We waited some more.

Finally Douglas lost his cool and went back to the pizza place to see what was taking so long.  Maybe it's just a New York thing, us and our quick deliveries.

We got our pizza.  It was delicious, but not enough for two hungry adults and one hungry boy.  

We started our trek to Montemarte, stomach still growling, pink balloon still with us.  It was fast losing its buoyancy, mirroring our energy.

(Photo Credit: Douglas Ridloff's iPhone)

On the map Montemarte was just the next neighborhood.  Maybe it was the hill that made it feel like so much more, or walking on a nearly empty stomach, or both, but we fast lost the joy.  It became more about gritted teeth and getting there.

Levi decided he had enough of the stroller.  Walking with a toddler with no sense of caution up and down hills got more tiring.  It began to heat up, too.

(Photo Credit: Douglas Ridloff's iPhone)

I put my camera away and focused on getting to the top of Montemarte.  No pictures of Sacre Coeur.  No pictures of the panoramic view at the top.  It was just about moving to the next place and surviving.

(Photo Credit: Douglas Ridloff's iPhone)

The flea market was not what we expected.  And it wasn't even in Paris.  Douglas had to stomp on the pink balloon to put it out of its misery.  It was just dragging behind, getting caught in the wheels.  We kind of wanted to stomp the day out too.  Strike one.