I was too busy relaxing and doing nothing during our vacation to San Fran that I didn’t blog. It was your typical amazing live-in-the-city experience. Had a great apartment we scored on AirBandB. Ate wonderful food. Love that you can get any type delivered. Something sorely lacking where I live.

I’ll let the photos tell the story.

I submitted this story to my local weekly paper but thought it was good enough to share with you!

After a few days in Paris, I was ready to explore something out of the ordinary with my family. We’d done the Eiffel Tower (so over it). Stared at the stern statues on the Notre Dame.  And while the Sacre Coeur church, just around the corner from our apartment, was certainly on the top 10 for tourists, my son and I found a little something extra.

Wandering around the side of the 125-year-old church, we found a sign enticing us to mount the steps to the top of the dome. We were promised a magnifique view of the city.

And in small words, just beyond the turnstile: "Caution: There are 300 steps to the top. If you’re not up for it, don’t bother. You’ll regret it." At least that’s what my mind’s eye says the sign said.

After a brief moment’s hesitation, we paid our Euros to the machine (no friendly guide to warn us) and began our mount.

For a while, our pace was good. My son was six, so he nimbly mounted. But soon we slowed. In part because 300 stairs is a lot. But it’s even more when they’re a bit icy from the Parisian winter. And no, they don’t have employees that kindly melt the ice for you on the 4 inch wide stairs. It’s not that kind of country.

Soon we caught up with the tourists ahead of us, and others trailed us. We were in it together. Dead or alive.

What seems eons later, we emerged onto the terrace around the dome. The view was, indeed, magnifique. Once I was able to catch my breath and loosen up the stitch in my side, I was able to appreciate it.

We could see chimneys popping up out of houses, their smoke curling lazily into the sky. The Eiffel Tower greeted us from a few miles away. The entire city was bathed in a blue haze that only is enhanced by my romantic memory.

I’ve seen the city from many vantage points, but this by far was my favorite.

If only they’d install an elevator.

One of the highlights of Mom’s trip this time around was our train ride to the Mission of San Juan Capistrano, one of the dozen or so missions that was founded in 1775. It’s a beautiful place and a great piece of history.

We rode the train up for fun. Mom hadn’t been on one in years, and trains always make me nostalgic for Europe. The train dropped us off in downtown San Juan Capistrano, a teeny town with a few touristy shops worth a browse. We ate some fantastic Mexican food before heading to the mission.

I took some pretty fantastic photos, if I do say so. The cathedral was half destroyed in an earthquake, but I love the graceful ruins as much as I would the whole thing. I am drawn to churches and love photographing them, though I long ago shed my connection to Catholicism.

In the photos you’ll see a saint showing a little leg (with a wound). I was curious myself. It’s Saint Peregrine, who was something of a hood as a kid. He came around to the church eventually. Then he found out he had cancer of the leg (is that a thing??) and prayed his ass off. The wound healed and he lived happily ever after.

It was a fantastic day. Well worth the next 6 days I spent in bed with an infection. (And don’t worry Jen, I’ll take you too).