Aren't there any clothes in art?

It was a harbinger of things to come although I didn't realize it at the time. And in retrospect I think I handled it as well as could be expected -- or unexpected, as it was.

On the Saturday afternoon we spent in Edinburgh during the Edinburgh Festival (and Fringe Festival) Yael and I walked along the Royal Mile which was the main center for activity for the festival. There were street performers everywhere surrounded by crowds of varying sizes. Since it was Shabbat we weren't carrying any money to pay for the performers, so we just wandered sporadically from performance to performance.

And that's when we stumbled across the Oriental guy who was tucked into an architectural niche of the Church of Scotland. A very small crowd had gathered to watch whatever he was eventually going to do. In the very immediate short term he seemed to be walking around in a kimono, organizing his painting props. Okay, so we waited.

Finally, he was ready to go. He turned on his music player which issued forth what I can only describe as Japanese elevator musak. No, I have not been to Japan but this is what I think their elevator music must sound like. Next thing we knew, the guy takes off his kimono and tosses it aside -- leaving himself on the streets of Edinburgh in 18 degree Celcius overcast weather in something resembling a mini G-string.

Yael turns to me with a questioning look on her face and I just look back at her as casually as I can under the circumstances. Trust me when I say that there was very little left to the imagination -- even if you are a nine-year-old girl. And it wasn't only Yael and I who were wondering where to look .... the entire mini-crowd almost keeled over in shock in a collective motion.

Of course, everyone was trying to act nonplussed and open minded, so in the spirit of the stiff-upper lipped Brits we just pulled ourselves together to await the "artist's" next move.

Next thing you know, he starts to paint his entire body white and considering his "costume" it wasn't a difficult task if you know what I mean.

I am not really sure how his performance ended up because at that point Yael and I decided to move on. We had had enough naked Oriental men who were painted white for one day thank you.

The naked art thing didn't rear its head again for about another week until we arrived in Paris. Paris is a city of art and apparently most art requires the subject to be naked. My children have seen more marble and oil-painted naked men, women and children in the past few weeks to probably last them a life time. True, it is better than Playboy and its even tackier offspring, but during a 20th century women's art retrospective in Le Centre d'George Pompidou, Zeve finally said: why is everybody naked in this place?

A damn good question. At least he didn't ask, why is it art to be a heavy-set naked woman standing on her tiptoes being videotaped? And fortunately he didn't ask why it is art to photograph one's privates up close and then enlarge that photograph to 10 feet by 10 feet (if I am exaggerating, it is only slightly)?

Those would have also been good questions although I am thankful I didn't have to answer them. In the meantime we are back in a relatively covered-up neighbourhood (no not burka-covered-up, just the regular shorts and t-shirt covered-up) and no one seems scarred for life. Of course, I'll have to enroll Zeve in an art class to know for sure.

Back in the saddle again

I'm back. After three weeks of planes, rented cars, trains, subway stations, fighting children, creative kosher eating and the likes, we are back on home turf and damn glad to be here.

I have several things that I want to write about over the next few days but for today, I am only going to offer my observations on three weeks spread between Scotland, England and France.

1) If I ever run away from life, I am going to Scotland. If you are looking for me, you can find me there -- notice, I am not mentioning specifically where I will be. Previously, I had planned to drop-out somewhere in Vermont or New Hampshire, but now I have had a change of heart. I will be somewhere in Scotland.

2) Fashion and style never made it as far north as Scotland. The people couldn't be any nicer, but it might be a worthwhile venture for someone to import Vogue, In Style and a few other fashion how-to magazines. I saw some of the biggest fashion crimes of our trip in Edinburgh and worst of all, I don't think any of the Scottish people noticed.

3) The Lake District of England is unbelievably beautiful however, since I am far from the first person to have figured that out, there were zillions of other people in my way while I was looking around. If all those people would have just gone home, I might have considered dropping out there.

4) I always thought that Walmart was the everyman's shopping Mecca. I was wrong. I stumbled into Tesco in Perth, Scotland and it changed my life forever.

5) Cadbury World outside Birmingham is the biggest scam I have ever seen perpetrated on an innocent chocolate-loving public. To quote my husband: "We should have just spent the 40 pounds the museum cost us, on chocolate."

6) Warwick Castle, also outside of Birmingham is the second biggest scam ever. I know I am going to get a lot of flack for saying this, but I am sorry, I cannot be moved from this position. We had so many recommendations to visit Warwick Castle that I had big expectations -- and entry had a big price tag -- and as far as I am concerned, I should have spent the day at Tescos!!!!!

7) Paris is the most over-priced place I have ever visited. Absolutely everything costs a ridiculous amount of money. One example: one scoop of Haagen Dazs ice cream costs three to four euros from a street vendor.

8) While Paris has what are probably the best collection of museums and monuments -- in one city -- in the Western world, I simply don't like it there. I love the museums -- the Louvre, D'Orsay, The Centre de Georges Pompidou, the Picasso Museum, to name but a few, but frankly I do not plan to ever step foot in Paris again.

9) Three kosher pizzas in Paris cost 300 nis. If we had eaten them in the street they would have cost less but we wanted to actually sit on chairs at a table to eat for a change, so there went that possible bargain.

10) There do not seem to be any caucasians living in Paris. Assuming that at some point in the past, there were lots of them, I wonder where they went?

11) However, Parisians will actually stop their cars and let you cross the street, while Londoners would run you over without blinking an eye.

12) London is a much more orderly place and that suits my personality much better than Paris. That said, the museums aren't nearly as good.

13) That said, Londoners may smile at you but they would walk right over you without giving it a second thought. And of all the Londoners we came across the least friendly ones were the ones we met in synagogue.

14) London had the best buskers of anywhere we went. If you want to see the best array of buskers I have ever found -- Covent Gardens is the place to go.

15) Travelling without children is much cheaper and much quieter, however, there are less people to put in your vacation photos. Of course, there are also less people TO LEAVE YOUR CAMERA WITH ALL YOUR VACATION PHOTOS ON THE BUS -- NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN.