Clash of Cultures- In the Can

can

verb \kən, ˈkan also ˈken; dial ˈkin\

verbal auxiliary

1a:  know how to <she can read>; b:be physically or mentally able to <he can lift 200 pounds>; c: used to indicate possibility <do you think he can still be alive> <those things can happen> ; sometimes used interchangeably with may; d:be permitted by conscience or feeling to <can hardly blame her>; e:be made possible or probable by circumstances to <he can hardly have meant that>; f:be inherently able or designed to <everything that money can buy>

2: have permission to —used interchangeably with may <you can go now if you like>

noun

1: a usually cylindrical receptacle:a vessel for holding liquids; specifically a drinking vessel; b:a usually metal typically cylindrical receptacle usually with an open top, often with a removable cover, and sometimes with a spout or side handles (as for holding milk or trash); c:a container (as of tinplate) in which products (as perishable foods) are hermetically sealed for preservation until used:a jar for packing or preserving fruit or vegetables 

2:  jail

3a :toilet; b:bathroom

4:  buttocks

5 :destroyer 

in the can

of a film or videotape: completed and ready for release

Thanks for clearing that up, Merriam Webster, now can you tell me—

What the eff is THIS? 

I was hoping to have a delicious bit of tuna with my pasta. There’s a whole shop filled with canned fish and seafood around the corner, these French know how to can some tuna, believe me. It’s no chicken of the sea. So imagine how pissed I was to find this thing as the only implement in the kitchen that resembled a can opener. Am I camping? 

Sorry to sound insensitive, but I’ve been in this country before and they have can openers- even electric ones! It looks like it’s missing half of its parts! Forget it.

The next day, the boys are lazing around while I start to pack lunches for our hike (we excel at picnics). I need to make a sandwich—this is BULLSHIT! I paid $4 for that can of tuna and I am going to open it. I’m half laughing at myself and half praying I don’t end up in urgent care. 

I was in the Outer Banks once, alone with my kids, like I do (because vacations can’t always wait for Dad to get out of work). I was setting stuff up when I got my hand stuck in a …. OK, we’ll skip that, totally gross, but off we go, to the urgent care and the nurse bends down to address my children and I say- “uh, no…it’s ME who’s hurt.” That wasn’t the most embarrassing part- I spent the next few days with a sandwich bag over my hand so I wouldn’t get sand and seawater in it. Nothing a cold beverage to the palm couldn’t help— and constant application was needed. 

I’d like to say I got the can open, but mostly just hinged in two places. I call that a win. 

So much for THAT can.

Here’s what I bought the next day— BOOM!

The first day we got here, we went to my kids favorite beach- La Gravette. I think I’ve posted pics before, but it’s a little cresent beach nearly contained by two jetties. It was the ancient Greek port and you can totally envision it that way. 

Today I think of it as a giant toilet bowl. Sure, I think it’s fine but I can’t get over the idea that people are peeing in it all day. But we go because it’s the kids’ favorite (it’s the one we ALWAYS went to the first time we were here, and my kids are creatures of habit—see EVERY BLOG FROM THE LAST TIME!!!). There is an English family next to us. As they pack up ready to leave they’re complaining about the sand everywhere. Now I am accustomed to this from working at the Virginia Beach oceanfront for three summers as a kid. Tourists ALWAYS complain about the sand. Where did they think they were going? 

He’s ranting and rinsing- (and what are you going to do now, genius? your feet are clean but you have 50 yards to walk through sand…), then his kid says he needs to pee. He says to his son- “well, you have two choices- you can pee in the sea or you can go to the public loo, and it’s a FRENCH public loo, so you can imagine how disgusting THAT is…” 

OK, again- where did he think he was going? Of course that’s beside the point, because he just made a terrible comment in front of his child and the people at the beach, most of whom understand English— and by that I mean the language, not the people. That’s been historically impossible with these two, and I’m not just talking about the can, or the loo or whatever you call it.

Last night, as promised, we returned to the tiny movie theater so we could see a U.S. film in French. I know it sounds silly, but my kids think this is really cool. 

Last time we saw a movie they had already seen, so it was no problem to understand the plot, even if we were unsure of all of the words in the dialogue. This time that was not an option, so we saw Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2 - thankfully, also not a problem understanding the plot because there typically isn’t one. 

Now, my French is rusty, but thankfully I understand more than I can speak; but when I asked Cooper how he did, he said- “well, I understood about 30%, and what I didn’t know, I could just figure out from the words I did know.” Successful lesson using contextual clues to understand French- in the can!

PS- we found another beach today-- it has big rocks for the kids to jump from, lots of afternoon shade and small waves because it's less protected. The English guy would like it because there's no sand- of course I'm not telling HIM about it (I guess we know where he stood on the whole Brexit thing!).

and here's a video:

Retourner or revenir? France, two years later.

Whenever I decribed this trip in French, I would always get hung up on using retourner or revenir, to go back or to come back. I can't tell the difference, or maybe I'm just tired.

It’s nearly midnight and the place is still going crazy. People are honking horns and shouting to each other; the game ended almost an hour ago. I think all of this talk about the post-Brexit emergence of Germany is really pissing off the French. Tonight they showed Europe who the real chef is— at least in soccer. 

We were lucky to score a table just at the edge of the viewing area at a popular cafe. France’s version of a sports bar- a flatscreen begrudgingly rolled out for the patrons. Cooper was our emissary and of course he scored big with a drunk who was holding up one end of a table and offered the charming child the other. Bennett, Samuel and I followed and his glassy eyes widened in surprise (see The Drunks Love Us in This Town from ’14 for more on that theme). I think Samuel thought it was total bullshit until he realized that a crowd amassed along the wall across the street. That rowdy crowd of teenagers couldn’t score even half of a table and were happy to stand for the game and cheer. Samuel is a willing participant when being put in his place; he usually knows when he’s showing his privileged ass. 

The experience will be memorable for the energy of watching an important match with the home crowd. When France scored their first goal the place went totally crazy; the kids were amused. Also memorable was the drunk guy who slugged back his cloudy absinthe without regard for the mysterious ritual of sugar cube and water droplets whose necessity is all but canon for certain US hipsters. I got into a serious discussion of the merits of Antibes over Nice with two guys at the adjacent table who were relieved at our arrival for no other reason than to not be further associated with the drink guy. Antibes won hands down, as did France. We ended up watching the last of the match at our apartment where we could hear the commentary and whoop it up in the comfort of our air-conditioned living room (sorry Antibois!). 

I hesitantly chose a place one block outside the walls of the Vielle Ville- the pedestrian zone filled with restaurants and shops, contained within the 18th century walls until it spills out into the yacht harbor. With so much to do in the safety and familiarity of Vielle Ville, my kids think of it as home. But…my American kids need two things in their lives— space and air-conditioning. I just couldn't find both in the Old Town, so I sacrificed the quaint cave kitchen and rooftop balcony for modernity this time.

We came in yesterday about 8 hours after we were supposed to arrive. Our original flight was canceled and although we got rerouted almost immediately, the only way to Nice was via a four hour layover in Chicago and a three hour layover in Frankfurt. The boys did not complain once until the final two blocks before our final destination to meet our host, when every bag became impossible to carry. Packing for only 5 weeks instead of three months seemed easy enough; even with two skateboards and a half dozen gis to donate to the Judo studio, we only brought one large suitcase, two roll-aboards and one backpack per kid.

With just a few hours of daylight after our host finished showing us around the apartment, we hit the streets to check out what had changed. There was a little melancholia accompanying us on our walk down memory lane. A tree at the park had been chopped down. I’m sure Bennett and Cooper were disappointed when it didn’t seem as big as they remembered. Cooper noticed some graffiti on one of the play structures and I really think he was about to cry. Our favorite cafe had changed ownership and decor, and the boys considered that their favorite waitress was probably gone too. But then - there was the carousel and the gelato stand, and more funny stories started coming out. The boys remembered their short cuts through town. They begged to stop at different restaurants and argued about which beach or park to visit the next day. Oh, the new spot for the English Bookstore is much better than the old spot which was dank and smelly and bad for the books; and oh look- the same guy is at the Snack Instant! It was all coming back. 

We returned absolutely exhausted to our apartment one block into new territory, but somehow in just the right place.

Re-entry

Since we’ve been home everyone asks— are you glad to be back?

Well of course I am, but I would be lying if I didn’t say that I missed being abroad. 

There were many things that were great about being away for three months. It was sort of like being in college again, where you had loving family members back at home paying the bills so you could have “the best years of your life.” God Bless Taylor for not only agreeing to the whole thing, but for lovingly supporting us financially and otherwise while we did this adventure without him. It takes a strong dad to allow his children to have “memories of a lifetime” that don’t include him.

I was not a Francophile before I left. Now I am one of those obnoxious people who thinks most of what is great about the planet resides in France. And I’m not talking about Paris, where everyone goes and is instantaneously smitten. I was discussing this just today with someone who had traveled extensively in France— there is so much to see and do there. The various regions, geographically, culturally and historically, provide you with much of what you need to know about the world. Look no further than France. Sorry— now I am one of those obnoxious people.

Today my boys noticed a new hue of blue on the front of our maritime museum— “oh I love it mom, it looks like the ocean in Antibes.” Yes boys, the Cote d’Azur. I have ruined every other beach in their future by taking them there. Their longing for Antibes has been heart wrenching at times. When they reminisce about summer camp or the beach house, I love that they have a fondness for the places we go together year after year. I can’t put my finger on the reasons they loved Antibes so much, but I have a sadness that we can’t return there so easily. 

And of course I miss the food and wine. I was fortunate to be invited to a reception aboard the French navy ship Mistral the other evening and the menu featured amazing cheeses and bread I have searched for here in vain. Right now I am getting a dough together to try to emulate a decent baguette. This was a labor undertaken months before our trip and I approach the same now with a new sense of urgency.

I am so happy to be together as a family, and I do feel more complete with my husband. I need a partner in the undertaking of parenthood and I love that someone has my back again. Nevertheless, there was that intimacy I had with my boys during our trip that their father and their friends now intrude upon. We had a good little routine going. I can’t explain it other than to say I enjoyed being with my kids on my terms. 

And speaking of my terms— it did take some adjustment to sharing decision making and — yes— control— with someone else after three months of calling the shots on my own. I rather liked being in charge, to be honest. Now Taylor would tell you that I still think I’m in charge, but that is another story. As my friends know, I take little solace in letting someone else take over. I have calmed down since the initial week after our return, but I was fighting quite a bit before I could get comfortable with sharing power —and parenting— again.

Getting into a routine at home has been difficult so far, but only because we came back at such a crazy time. Samuel needed to return to school for testing, so I thought it would only be fair to keep up with homeschooling the other two during these last two weeks. Poor Samuel needed to take the Algebra SOL. I was a nervous wreck because I had been responsible for covering all of the required material through my homeschool curriculum, and I am terrified by algebra. I had another disadvantage as his teacher because I had no idea what material would be on the test— no “teaching to the test” here. I was afraid I hadn’t covered everything, but he passed the first try. The littles are bored because we finish our homeschool as usual at noon, but instead of parks and sightseeing in the afternoons, they get Home Depot and Costco. I had stocked up on everything before I left so Taylor wouldn’t need to deal with toilet bowl cleaner and lightbulbs— but Good Lord— the house was in need of everything when I returned. He had two rolls of toilet paper left from my stockpile! Very serious indeed! Add to that all of the doctor visits that were due and it’s been very busy and very boring.

I’ve also been plagued with a nesting craze second only to during my pregnancies. Immediately when I returned home, I started thinking of things that needed cleaning, planting, repainting, fixing or recovering. I am sure Taylor was counting on our credit card bills going down when I got home, not up. Poor guy. Not only that, but after living with so little for three months, I can’t understand why we have so much crap. At least Taylor is a fan of tossing out the old, so I’ve been getting lots of support. The pile of junk for the thrift store pick up this Friday is embarrassing. The neighbors are going to think someone is moving out or dead.

To echo my “wrapping it up” post from one of my last trip journals, I’m not totally sure I can say how the trip changed me or what my big “take-aways ”were. I cautioned family members not to ask the kids too many questions when we got back, but instead, to let the boys digest the trip a little bit and allow them to tell stories as they became ready. Too many adults asking the same questions, and the boys’ responses start sounding more and more apathetic… “How was your trip? …fine. Say something in French… quelque chose. What was your favorite part?… Antibes. Why?…I dunno.” Instead, I felt pressure to give insightful answers or justify the trip— the time, money and energy, or I get worried I’ll sound too braggadocios or privileged, or if I say I miss it, people will wonder about my marriage. So for now I just say- “yes, I am glad to be back.” 

In reality, I am just astounded that we did it. What an amazing trip. 

Through all of the ups and downs and the behavior issues and the logistics, and the moments of self doubt and mommy guilt, I cannot believe it worked. It accomplished so much more than I imagined it would and it was just great. And I hope I can orchestrate my life so that I can do more astounding things with our family. 

My Kids are Rock Stars

Wrapping it Up, Part 1:

 

I am not one to FaceBrag. You’re not seeing my kids going to LAX jamborees or making it to Allstars. Having attended small Montessori schools, there’s no concert pix or spelling bees. 

No, for some reason, despite two go-getter parents, my kids seem to opt out of most organized efforts to get them out of the house. 

But my kids are Rock Stars nonetheless and this trip has really made me aware of how awesome they are. They have made big efforts on this trip, ones that I know have helped them expand their horizons and lift their confidence. It’s not just early trains and busy travel schedules. In Antibes they spoke another language and made friends. They learned their way around new towns and adapted to new schedules. In Paris and London, they overcame their anxieties about getting around in big cities with lots of strangers. They learned how to wander a little without knowing what would happen next.

They have also learned to rely on each other. I know we all say that we want our kids to be best friends with each other some day, but waht are the experiences that form those bonds? On this trip, we’ve all had to help each other out, stick up for each other and get through challenges together. Making mistakes on this trip had real, immediate consequences. I am not sure how I could have given my kids these lessons at home. We have very few “sink or swim” moments in our cushy lives at home and the risks are never perceived as that grave for them. I didn’t intend for them to suffer on this trip, and of course I managed their risks, but this was real. 

Back when Cooper was really little, he would get confused about what was from TV or from a video game and what was real. He would yell at us (because he always yells like a belligerent drunk man) “wait— is this in THIS world?” It became a code word of sorts with my kids. We can say this trip happened in THIS world.

It’s interesting how things come full circle. In my early career, I championed experiential education. I could never have dreamed that I would live that out through the education of my own children.

There are more things I appreciate about my children.

Of course they are total bookworms. The main thing dragging us down on this three month campaign to "live with less" has been books. Despite the kindles and passing books off to every English bookstore we encounter, we are carting around about 30lbs of books. I sent a bunch home with Taylor. I bought another one yesterday. I cannot keep these kids in books. I thought buying books in French would slow them down- Nope. Even Cooper was reading a French language Asterix book the other day. These kids!

They love history— and what a great place to feed that interest! Like most kids, their minds are like sponges, but then they’re so extroverted that they walk around everywhere we go talking about facts and stories about each place so much that people start following them around like tour guides. Cooper was talking to the guide on the Tourist Bus so much, the guy started repeating things Cooper told him on the microphone. At first I dissuaded them, I thought my kids were annoying other people. I don’t want my boys to think all the world is a stage and everyone wants to see them perform. But now I don’t get so upset about it. People don’t seem to mind, and when they are sick of my kids, they let them know. 

They are smart. I remember after one of our doctors’ appointments where Samuel was tested AGAIN, and they were going over the results with me, I downplayed the findings on intelligence and focused more on the behaviors. "No," I was told, “this is part of the behavior, this is different and you need to pay attention.” I never wanted to be one of those parents who talks about how smart their kids are— all kids are smart, or as I once told Samuel, “yeah, there are a lot of really smart people in jail”—but high intelligence is a blessing and a curse. I spend an inordinate amount of time mitigating behavior rather than nurturing their intelligence. As a parent, that’s easier, less intimidating. This trip provided so many opportunities for my kids to “fill in the blanks” with their observations and learn in a non-linear way. 

They are fun. They have great imaginations and love to play. Nothing makes them happier than some sticks and a little room. They have accused me of not having enough fun with them, and yeah- that hurts a little. I have always wanted to be a fun mom. I have tried a little harder to let go, be imaginative with them and laugh more. And though I have had a lot of fun, this hasn't exactly been a vacation for me-- I think they'll understand that more when they get older and look back at this trip.

My friends wondered if I would need a break from my kids after all of this time. My boys don’t drive me crazy, it’s everything else; that’s why I called this blog “A Short Trip FROM Crazy.” It was quite a luxury to spend this much time with my kids.

It was an intimate time that reminded me of those first weeks of their lives when you are at home with them all of the time. You don’t go out with your friends, you don’t take on projects, you just stay home with your baby.  If the world is kind to you, they don’t expect that much of you because you are supposed to do nothing but stay at home with your newborn. I had no other obligations beyond the immediate needs of my kids for three months. Taylor was kind to me and didn’t expect much more from me than that.

I will be forever grateful for this time I had to reclaim that intimacy and devote my attention to them.

It will be interesting to see how re-entry goes after spending so much time together, giving my children my undivided attention. I won't be in total control anymore (I'll have to share that with Taylor again), I won't be in constant planning mode, and I will finally be in familiar surroundings. My kids will return to their coveted routines that they missed so much and I wonder if they'll like it as much when normalcy is their only option.

As far as closure goes, I've more to post. But as I pack for the last time, repacking all of the tangible baggage we've picked up along the way, I am feeling a little less crazy and very proud of my boys. No matter what the world has to say about what they've done, how much they've learned or who they are, I know that they are rock stars and I am their biggest fan.

Last (American) Meal in France

Since May 3 when Taylor left us in Nice, it was travel day to Paris on Sunday, then four days in Paris, a Thursday travel day to Caen and Bayeux, and Friday at D-Day beaches, then Saturday at Mont St. Michel, a travel day back to Caen on Sunday and today, we go back to Paris to go to London. 

And yes, I planned it this way.

Add to all of this a late train, a hotel disaster, a broken down rental car and reservations screw up and it’s made for a hell of a trip. 

I do this in my life a lot, but so far in this trip, I had resisted the urge to stretch myself too thin. At home, I’ll plan everything down to the minute sometimes with no room for error. If one thing goes wrong, the dominos fall. Usually they don’t. I am pretty lucky; even with this latest string of episodes, we were pretty fortunate. Still, that schedule was pretty grueling, even if everything had gone perfectly.

Yesterday in Caen was pretty terrible, but I tried not to let the kids know. Caen was only a sleepover stop for us to catch the train after our Normandy tour, I had heard about the great museum in Caen, so I looked it up and was relieved to find that it was pretty close to our hotel. Even after the rental car battery breakdown, we had two hours to see it before closing time.

We threw our bags in the hotel and followed the map- to a lovely museum in a medieval castle that was dedicated to Normandy- the region in France, not the World War II landing site. 

We stepped inside and I immediately knew we were on the wrong place— samples of lace and pictures of cows Leaeverywhere. The boys were so polite to the guide when we told her in French that we were “just looking,” but they were quietly pissed at me for rushing them up the hill to the castle. 

Samuel had a smirk on his face because earlier when I told him I wouldn’t buy him a toy machine gun at the museum gift shop, he announced “then I’m not going;” to which I of course said in typical mommy form, “oh yes you are!” Bennett and Cooper were relieved because they didn’t want to go to a museum anyway; plus, there was a cool playground inside the castle walls and you could walk the ramparts. It was the perfect win-win-win-lose situation. At that point I could care less. 

The museum we wanted to see was actually 30 minutes from our hotel and not easy to get to at all. I would say maybe next time, but I’m not sure we’ll make it to Caen again. After wandering the streets on an Sunday night, we had two choices for our last dinner in France. One, a TGIFridays sort of place, complete with random crap on the wall and blaring Rock music and the other was called Dolly’s and it was also sort of old-time American themed. 

I hate eating out when I’m forced to do so, but since we were at a hotel, we really had no choice. We picked the generica-inspired TGIFridays place and the kids ordered fried whatever.

I mentioned previously that Taylor and I do not eat at restaurants with our kids. They’ve gotten much better on this trip (thanks Taylor for letting me be the ones to break the wild ponies) but here’s a picture of our dinner table at Mt. St. Michel- they play with their silverware, so I take it, they use too much salt, so I take it, Cooper puts the bread basket on his arm like a cast, I take it, Samuel is blowing tunes with his Sprite bottle, I take it, Cooper plays with his pasta, you get the idea. Extra glasses, sharp knives, sugar packets— all must be placed outside of arms reach of my boys at restaurants— they simply cannot stop playing. 

This isn't even my plate! 

We were all getting a little punchy by the end of the meal.
This was actually at MSM- we are all held captive as there are only a few
places to choose from. The food here was great but there were only two waiters,
so service was slow even by French standards. It was a very long meal for the ShoBros.

I realize that I bitch about my kids quite a bit, but I’m on a train right now with at least twenty 7th graders behind us, and mine has been quiet, helpful and respectful the whole time. The family next to us has two little girls who have screamed, cried and thrown up pretty much the whole time— I jumped to the rescue with one of the trash bags I packed from home for emergencies, and I am pretty sure it’s the biggest plastic bag that woman has ever seen—- she’s going to talk about that for days—as I was saying— my kids are being GREAT! My kids get tired and whine at the end of busy days, but they don’t complain much about what we’re doing, where we’re going or how we’re getting there. 

On our way to London Hall where we pass through immigration and
customs on our way out of Paris. First thing Samuel said was-- OMG they all speak English!!

My plan is to keep it simple in London We may miss out on some of the sites, but I’ll be the only one to notice. We’ll hang in the first night and then start with our old Antibes routine: homeschool in the morning and activities in the afternoon. We fell behind when Taylor came, and despite planning to take a little break from school, we have been inconsistent since Daddy left. 

I planned everything out to the hour for every place we went to in France. Having been to London a few times now, I was content to wing it here a bit. It is amazing the confidence you have when you no longer have the language barrier. We arrived last night and when I went into the grocery store, and I was like “I got this.” Although the culture here in London is different, but the kids were excited to see more American things. Ordinarily I would poo-poo any American kid who went abroad and wanted to go to Burger King or buy Ritz Crackers and Nature Valley granola bars (as my kids did as soon as we left France), but after traveling this long, I think my kids have earned their right to request familiar things. 

Before bed Samuel called me in and I kissed him goodnight and he said “hey Mom, we did it!” And I said “What?” (half knowing what he was talking about)— and he said “we made it, the whole trip, in France, we did it.” I of course said I was proud of him and he of course gave me the teenage smirk and brushed me off, but I was sure he was proud of himself too. 

D-Disaster in Normandy

Well It finally happened-travel disaster. We had a hectic rental car pick up in Caen when I couldn’t find the Hertz office. I sucked it up and turned on my battery-consuming Googlemaps and the route looked like a big z with a couple of u-turns. WTF? Was that the most direct route? I tried to follow it, then realized it was on the car setting, not the walking setting! I don’t have the best sense of direction and that did not help.

As we loaded our bags, the prep guy tells me— “oh the radio doesn't work in that one.” I was tired and my kids were about to blow, so I took the key and the car with no radio. After the initial anxiety of getting on the correct highway was over, I wanted some music! I was pissed at myself for the next ten minutes for not insisting on another car. For those of you who think I am a total bitch (it’s a lot, I know), there you go.

Then we checked into our mediocre hotel. I‘ve splurged on our room for Mt. St. Michel, so I picked a budget hotel for Bayeux. It was rated good on booking.com and also listed by my buddy Rick Steves. I’ve stayed in hostels, B&Bs and budget hotels in Europe before, so I know what I’m in for. I’m not going to be one of “those” Americans and barge in requesting a big room and an elevator.

Can you see the hangers on the TV mount?
I guess that's where I was supposed to hang
our clothes?

First, no towel bar in the bathroom, so I moved a chair. But then there was no place to hang our clothes— and we were going to be there for two nights, I can lay some stuff out on the back of another chair. The advertised TV was a 12” mounted high up in a corner. And- the wi-fi didn’t work in our room, no big deal— I’ll go to the cafe (which also served as the reception desk) and use my computer down there while enjoying a perrier. I went up one floor to check on the kids and it was almost 10— time for a bath. The cafe was closing, so I packed up my perrier and headed upstairs. Wrestled the kids out of their clothes— no small task at 10pm — and out of the faucet came trickle of water. Then I tried the shower attachment, and it didn’t work. Now I was SEETHING. 

I might not have been so pissed if I hadn’t already caved on the radio, but I was served a shitty hotel room and I was not going to take it! 

I went back downstairs and the cafe was closed; I called the hotel’s phone number and got voice mail. Now I am SUPER pissed. I can’t even get on line to find another hotel! RAGING!! I remembered seeing another hotel two doors down, so I called them and they had a room for tonight, but not for tomorrow night— and it was twice what I was paying at the shithole. “Kids,” I said through gritted teeth, “we’re moving!” 

They were totally confused because heretofore I kept saying, “oh kids, it’s not that bad.” Then they got excited because it meant they got to walk down the street in pajamas. We packed up— which wasn’t that hard considering we didn’t have hangars- and marched down to the new hotel. 

The kids immediately charmed the staff when we barged in at 11pm with poorly packed, bulging suitcases and Cooper announces in French- I’m in my pajamas! They couldn’t believe he said it in French and we all laughed. Our room was a little annexed house that had an upstairs loft with two twin beds and a huge WORKING shower. 

The next morning I went to the old hotel to turn in my key and cancel the reservation for the next night. I was half regretting bailing because I had no place to stay and I could tell I was up for a fight to get my money back. Sure enough they wouldn’t even honor my cancellation for the next night, much less refund me for the previous night. I walked back to the lovely hotel with no rooms and choked back the tears. What had I done? I had just been preaching to the kids about the old “bird in hand” and here I was with three kids and no place to sleep, one hotel room beyond my budget and 150 euros spent on one that I never even slept in. 

I have learned that the slightest sense that something is wrong can send my kids into an anxiety meltdown. So I pulled up my big girl britches and packed up our stuff. 

Since we had to leave Bayeux to find a hotel, we quickly visited the tapestry and then hit the road for the D-Day beaches. I say quickly not because we were in a hurry, but the tour was quick. I had been warned that the tapestry’s audio guide moved fast- and there’s no pause or rewind button. We got totally lost after the 8th scene (there are 32), and we were surrounded by old people— I don’t think anyone under age 70 goes to see this thing— unless they’re homeschooled—- the pace required a near sprint— how are they keeping up? Well, none of them were, and we were all left to look around at each other like, WTF? Only they were over 70 and probably wouldn’t think “WTF”… but anyway.  I went back and got a new device so I could start over, Samuel and Cooper totally gave up and and went to sit outside. Of course, we had covered it in homeschool, so Samuel was able to follow along, Cooper was pissed the guy was talking so fast and Bennett and I shared my device after I restarted it. I got a terrible crick in my neck from sharing the earpiece with someone a foot shorter than me while we both walked sideways quickly trying to keep up with the recording. Think sideways sack race, only we were connected at the head. I think it was worth it, I can’t tell. Sadly, the film in the museum was better than the actual tapestry, which is sort of sad.

I like driving. It’s so American. I don’t feel like I am at the mercy of anyone, so far I haven’t encountered any handwritten signage, and I can just go when I want. 

We visited a couple of the D-Day beaches before heading to the American Cemetery. Not much to report, as it’s kind of somber. Cooper said-“mom, I’m kinda sad,” after we passed through the museum there. He was intent on digging for artifacts though and I could not deter him. Since we got there in the afternoon, it was near closing time when we got to the beach below the cemetery. He still wanted to dig though. He thought maybe there should be a metal detector app. 

I found a great hotel just off Omaha Beach. It was the kind of place Taylor and I fantasize about having some day— is it a great hotel with an awesome restaurant, or is it a fabulous restaurant with a wonderful hotel? It was beachy, but totally Northern France, modern but authentically regional, great art with unpretentious beach chairs set around fire pits in the large back garden with boules pits and ping pong tables. The buildings were linked together with little boardwalks and the whole place was walled in by giant groomed boxwoods. Cooper said “I feel like I’m at a giant beach house!” 

The boys were sad to spend only one night there and I was just happy to be there. It wasn’t the most direct route, and it wasn’t the one I planned, but I got where I needed to be and we were more than alright.

PS: As I post this, I jet received an email from our hostess in London; there’s a problem with the hot water in the building and she’s trying to find a place for us. Here we go again!

Paris, Part Deux

So I leave the South of France and I got all stressed out. I’m on the train right now and I just had to move my bags after the third pickpocket announcement in ten minutes. In the Louvre yesterday, not ten feet away from both the Mona Lisa and the Egyptian sphynx, were big red signs warning of pickpockets. Enough already! You are stressing me out. 

Speaking of the Mona Lisa…  my friends who’ve been to the Louvre have already experienced this, but what is up with the paparazzi? I seriously got ragy— I have TWO semesters of art history, so I am a seasoned expert— I go to look at artwork, not take its picture. I want to see the art, not your bigass Samsung galaxy X in my face. And don’t push my kids out of the way to get up front, just you you can snap a selfie and then race to the next stop on your photo scavenger hunt of world heritage masterpieces that you obviously don’t give a shit about. My friends know I am an art fan and a religious freak, so when I am standing awestruck in front of Titian’s Les Pelerins d’Emmaus, holding back tears so I can explain the story to my children, it really enrages me when you ask me to take a picture of you. That is not what I am here for.

I think the Louvre should either 1) ban cameras entirely— buy some effing postcards like we did when we were kids, or 2) open a gallery of fatheads of all the highlights, charge a little less than admission to the real artwork; then all the jerks with their cameras can just take pics of those. 

OK- one more photog rant: here’s a pic of a lady who took a picture of the Eiffel Tower from a pretty popular spot—everyone was politely lined up to take a pic— and here she is editing her photo, or posting it to instagram, or possible creating an entire FB album and tagging everyone in it. No worries, we can wait— take your time.

Just trying to be polite--now I'm on some Chinese New Year card

When we were at the Eiffel Tower— we went THREE TIMES (my kids could not get enough of it or all of the open space surrounding it) I asked a Chinese man to take a family pic. OK- he had a very large camera around his neck, so I was not racial profiling at all (just needed to say that in case you think the following is racist). He took a few pics- great, I never have all three boys looking at the same direction in any one shot— then he asked if I could take his picture. 









Of course we must reciprocate, so I went to grab his camera as he was taking it off, NO, he was taking it off so he could get in the picture with us. He asked his friend to take his pic with us, then the other friend in the pic, then all the boys, then the girls in the middle and the boys behind, then serious pic, then crazy pic— THIS WENT ON FOR 20 MINS!! 

Madness on the Champs de Tour- really?
When will this end?

When we were in Cinque Terre, Cooper was being particularly cute at the train station, and these Asian ladies started taking his picture, then they asked if they could have a pic with him. They must have taken 50 pictures. I tried to surreptitiously get a pic of them taking pics, but I could never get it. When we were in the Mercedes gallery on Champs d’Elysses, a man asked if I would take is pic by a car, then he asked if Cooper could get in the pic with him. He put his man purse by my feet for the pic, so I wasn’t worried he was harmful, but creepy. I am too polite. Is Cooper’s face going to appear in one of those weird hentai books adult men read in Japan? 

Just about everywhere we went in Paris was crowded and busy. At the Army Museum, there was a special exhibit on the Musketeers —for an extra ticket (of course), but it wasn’t well signed (natch), so I had to run down and purchase one- at the ticket counter back at the beginning of the museum. In exchange for this inconvenience, I decided to let my kids hang around the entrance to the exhibit and entertain the guards. By the time I got back, they were more than happy for us to go in and may have even let us in for free had I faked it. 

Anyway- they had Musketeer costumes for kids to put on for pictures, only they are tethered to the wall so you can’t steal them. As Samuel said, how would we sneak them out anyway? Cooper was paralyzed as soon as I got him in the thing. He was like my family cat when we tried to put her on a leash. He got so upset “mom- I can’t move; I’m chained to the wall!” and you can tell in my pics. Hysteria ensued when Bennett got into the act, and chose the smaller costume. Then tried to stand next to his brother while they were both were chained to the wall. Of course I started laughing and then Cooper got pissed that I was laughing at him. 

I didn’t think we’d ever make it through the museum; my boys loved every minute of it, especially the armor. I had a total Indiana Jones moment when we peered into rooms of helmets, gloves and suits categorized on wooden shelves in front of wooden crates. Could’t help but wonder how they had so many just sitting around— and what was in the crates? The boys read every sign for every medieval weapon and armor piece and then started burning out around around the Seven Years War (French Indian War) and we had to breeze past the Napoleonic and WWI to get to WWII. I tried to get the boys to pace themselves, but they wouldn’t stop. By the time I dragged them out of there, they were tired pups. They rallied that evening to get to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and I rewarded them with $14 ice creams on the Champs d’Elysees (don’t tell Taylor, he thinks the bill is for dinner!).

You already know how the next day at the Louvre went, but I will say our early start paid off. After waiting with 400 people to get into the Musee d’Orsay on our first day in Paris, this was our line for the Louvre on our last day in Paris:

We totally got lost in the Louvre— isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? OK- you try and get from French Romanticism to Ancient Egypt— it is NOT that easy! 

One pic I did take inside the museum— here are my ancient history geeks in the Estruscan and early Greek rooms. It’s morning, and these aren’t on the must-see list, so we had the rooms to ourselves and no one shoved a camera in my face. After everything we saw in Antibes, Arles and Avingon, I couldn’t believe the boys were still interested in this stuff; and I got a big kick out of them putting it all together. Yeah history!

I was warned about trying to see everything in Paris, and although I paced ourselves to one or two sites a day, including a park on most days, we still overdid it. We took long afternoon breaks when we had evening events, still my kids were tired everyday. But, they enjoyed the city. 

I was glad that our Eiffel Tour summit was on our last evening after all because the kids were able to pick out buildings they remembered. We were on the tower when the light show happened, especially since our 9:30 tickets got us in at 9:45 and (need I say) there were huge lines at every stage with the elevators. I convinced the kids it was actually cooler to be up on the tower instead of watching it from below (it wasn’t really, but they bought it). It was after 11 when we descended, so I got a taxi for my tired boys. As we rode through the streets that night, we saw all of the sights one last time and we were charmed once again by Paris.  

We were so overwhelmed by the crowds in Paris, and considering how miserable I was for two weeks in Sancerre with barely a person in sight, I can’t believe I am relieved to be on a train racing through the French countryside to Bayeux. We saw the stucco and red tile roofs and the palm trees and olive groves of the South of France, and the rocky vineyards and goat farms of Sancerre, and now we are entering the landscape of half-timbered houses with sheep farms, and the rolling green hills and forests of Normandy. 

As a friend told me “London is not England,” and of course Paris is not France. I’m so glad my kids are seeing enough of the real France to balance out the whirlwind of the big city.

Brrrrr-- freezing and not so crowded-- Normandy!
It is also beautiful.