We had a great morning with Mom and Sharon, starting with petite dejeuner in Beaune, and we had big plans for a date night tonight at our favorite restaurant, Ciboulette. It all started well enough, and we enjoyed our coffee and fresh juice (and croissants and bread for me and John) at the best cafe in the world. We wandered the streets a bit before leaving Mom and Sharon to shop and to visit the Hotel Dieu (the beautiful old hospital of Beaune) while we did a few less thrilling errands before picking up the girls. Little did I know that we would end the night not at our romantic restaurant, but at the very new hospital of Beaune, with a very sick Olivia.
It all started when we arrived at the school, and the first words out of Olivia's mouth were that her tummy hurt. She spent the rest of the day fighting a high fever, throwing up (again and again and again), and looking generally pathetic. At one point, I called the doctor here (the one John saw for his detailed athletic physical) but he wasn't there this afternoon. We got an appointment first thing tomorrow morning, but by 6:30 p.m. tonight, Liv was looking worse and worse, throwing up more and more, and was very much in pain. I started worrying about appendicitis. Even though Liv is the quickest to complain about a small splinter (or any emotional hurt), when she is really sick, she is usually so stoic and strong.... so her complaints today, and her tears, were worrying.
So off we went to the French emergency room, joking to Livie about how she likes to stay close on our planned date nights. All conversations took place in French, and I definitely had some gaps in my understanding and even explaining (I thought the French word for "to complain" was grimper but no one seemed to understand what I meant when I said it. I just checked now and grimper means "to climb". No wonder they looked confused when I said my daughter doesn't usually climb stairs when she is sick! For the record, to complain is se plaindre.). Still, for the most part the language parts went very well, and I thought several times how better it all went compared to when we had to take Katie to the doctor in Japan.
Everyone at emerg was very nice. No one said we were crazy for bringing her in (always a worry), and all of them seemed to genuinely like children. They sent us to an on-call doctor, who was also very, VERY nice. After a thorough exam, he determined she didn't have appendicitis. Nor did she have meningitis, and she also didn't have strep. Whew. She did have a very high fever (hanging out around 104F/40C, even with fever reducer, which I am usually reluctant to use but tried when she seemed so miserable) and some kind of throat infection (that I am sure has a name but I didn't fully understand what he called it). He thought her stomach pain was caused by the fever and inflammation. We walked out of there paying 25 euros for the visit and holding on to four (!) prescriptions. I had always heard that the French like their medicines, and this seemed to prove that. I was able to ask enough to learn that all of the prescriptions were just to treat her symptoms (swelling in her throat, the cramping belly), were all prescribed for just 2 or 3 days, and none was an antibiotic or steroid. I filled them at the on-call pharmacy for just 11.14 euros. Also amazing (this is where I am tempted to make a comment about "socialized" medicine... but I am too tired for politics right now, so I'll just leave it at yet another great experience in a country with universal healthcare).
I was especially impressed with the doctor and his treatment of Liv. Apparently, all of the local doctors in the Beaune area rotate with the nighttime and weekend shift, and people who aren't sick enough for emergency are referred there. The doctor took his time with us, even though there were other patients in the waiting room. We told him we knew she shouldn't go to school with a fever, but we were planning to do a little driving tour of the villages tomorrow. Would that be OK, we asked. He thought about it, and said it's probably best to stay home. But he didn't say it like some blanket announcement that sick kids should be in bed (in fact, he said she could play outside if she wanted). Instead, he considered it and then explained that because of her fever, if she's in a car, she could get overheated if she's sitting in the sun, or chilled by too much air conditioning, and that for her sake, it is probably not a good idea to leave home. That he took time to think that through, and then explain to us his logic, after an already thorough visit really impressed both of us.
There was also the small victory of me figuring out halfway through the evening's various conversations that Tylenol (acetominophen) is called paracetamol here in France.
At any rate -- Liv already is feeling a bit better. She is, as the doctor said, tres courageause. We felt lucky to have Mom and Sharon here to watch Jack and Kate while we had a very cozy date night. And on that note... I think the three of us are all headed to bed... together, bien sur.
Showing posts with label the French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the French. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Just when you least expect it, a strike (bien sur)
Well, we aren't quite on our way home yet. We arrived (in a rush) at the eerily un-busy train station this morning, looking for the quay, confused when it showed the first train to Paris wasn't leaving until 2:30 p.m.
Il y a une grève, the train employee explained. All the trains in France are on strike. Ah, I said. What else can you say at that point?
So the new plan is to hope to squeeze on to the 2:30 train to Paris (apparently a few will run throughout the day), and hope to meet Alex and Kathy at Gare de Lyon between 4 and 4:30 p.m., and and hope to squeeze onto the at 4:58 p.m TGV going to Beaune. Yes, that's a lot of hope, and I'm not counting on any of those things actualy happening. For now, the kids are happily watching French TV and John and I are catching up on the news, since clearly we missed a thing or two while we were away.
The funniest part (as you have to look for a laugh in these things) is that when we came back to the hotel, hoping they hadn't started cleaning our room, I said to the lady at the check-in desk "There's a strike today! The trains!" Oui, she said, and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say "it happens all the time" (and it kind of does, I guess). The North American in me wanted to shout "couldn't any of you have mentioned that when we checked in or the many times we've seen you since then? Would it have killed you to let us know there was a big change in travel plans for the WHOLE COUNTRY today? (and at the very leaset we could have slept in!)" Instead, I just shrugged my shoulders back at her, and asked if we could have our room until noon.
After that, I went out and got some groceries and stocked up on surprises and treats for the kids, thinking it could be a hard travel day ahead (tight and long train rides without seats, if we get on a train at all).
I guess you don't really get to experience France until you get to experience a strike, right?
Il y a une grève, the train employee explained. All the trains in France are on strike. Ah, I said. What else can you say at that point?
So the new plan is to hope to squeeze on to the 2:30 train to Paris (apparently a few will run throughout the day), and hope to meet Alex and Kathy at Gare de Lyon between 4 and 4:30 p.m., and and hope to squeeze onto the at 4:58 p.m TGV going to Beaune. Yes, that's a lot of hope, and I'm not counting on any of those things actualy happening. For now, the kids are happily watching French TV and John and I are catching up on the news, since clearly we missed a thing or two while we were away.
The funniest part (as you have to look for a laugh in these things) is that when we came back to the hotel, hoping they hadn't started cleaning our room, I said to the lady at the check-in desk "There's a strike today! The trains!" Oui, she said, and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say "it happens all the time" (and it kind of does, I guess). The North American in me wanted to shout "couldn't any of you have mentioned that when we checked in or the many times we've seen you since then? Would it have killed you to let us know there was a big change in travel plans for the WHOLE COUNTRY today? (and at the very leaset we could have slept in!)" Instead, I just shrugged my shoulders back at her, and asked if we could have our room until noon.
After that, I went out and got some groceries and stocked up on surprises and treats for the kids, thinking it could be a hard travel day ahead (tight and long train rides without seats, if we get on a train at all).
I guess you don't really get to experience France until you get to experience a strike, right?
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A day of castles, wine, chocolate...oh, and a 10K for John, too
The French, while certainly not perfect, do a lot of things VERY well.
I like the way they enjoy their food, and while I have been known to grumble occasionally to myself that stores and shops close every day between 12 and 2 p.m. (such PRIME shopping time for me!), deep down I am glad to know all of those employees get to go home and have a nice long lunch with their families, too.
I like the way almost all French people that I've encountered seem to actually LIKE children. They don't go overboard with accommodating them in certain ways (not a ton of booster seats or child menus in restaurants... but children are welcome to sit and enjoy whatever food they will eat off the regular menu)... but all that I've met (young and old), seem genuinely delighted with them, like to talk to them, and understand that they need to run and shout and play hard.
And, at the risk of losing my feminist credentials, I have to say I like the way French men treat women. There is none of the leering or staring or gawking... but there is a certain kind of appreciation of women that is just, well, nice. Doors are opened. Mothers are treated kindly. Feelings of respect and admiration of women are obvious (even to me, an outsider). It's pretty great!
I must now add another item to that fantastic list -- the French know how to do races just right. I asked John to write a "guest blog" to tell the point of view of the actual runner, but from my point of view, it was perfect. There were 2,500 runners, and more than enough volunteers to make things run smoothly. The race did in fact go through beautiful country, wrapping through a castle and along vineyards and up and down rolling hills. While he didn't do the official "gouter", John did see glasses of wine (and what he thought was pate) at some of the water stops. Back in town, he was able to pick up his beautiful, specially labelled bottle of a white burgundy.
And... the kids and I had a good time, too. Well, the girls took a much needed nap and spent the race looking like this:
Jack was wide awake and waited for the race to start looking like this:
After dropping John at the race start, I drove to the middle of a vineyard where the road was cut off. As soon as I explained that I had deux petites sleeping in the car but wanted to watch my husband and take some pictures, one of the kind volunteers let me drive forward, park by the blockade, and invited me and Jack to watch the race with him (see what I mean about French men?).
Some of the runners looked like this:
Others looked like this:
John looked like this:
Allez, John, allez!
After cheering him on, the kind volunteer and I chatted some more. I mentioned how John had been eager to receive the bottle of wine after finishing. He said "oh, you like wine?" Bien sur, I said. So he pulled out an unlabeled green bottle of some wine he happened to have in the back of his van.
Then he pulled out some pate and crusty bread (see what I mean about appreciating food? I got the sense he'd never leave home without a supply of great wine and delicious snacks). He made sure Jack didn't hurt himself when he played on the old rock wall, and I enjoyed the wine and gout as we cheered the runners on (I shouted "Bravo!" while he shouted "Courage!").
And despite what could only be described as the world's least rigorous training effort, John finished in the top half or so of the 10K runners (I was impressed he finished at all, running in the rain and mud). A quick trip home to shower and have a gouter for the others who didn't enjoy the wine and pate... and we returned to Nuits-St-Georges for John to pick up his wine and for the kids and I to hit the end of the chocolate festival.
The kids were invited up to the stage to make little Easter confections. See what I mean about liking kids?
Yes, it's not a perfect country (no country is, right?). But the things they do right, the French seem to do so very, very right.
And -- to the American-Canadian-temporary-French man in this house --I just have to say bravo!
I like the way almost all French people that I've encountered seem to actually LIKE children. They don't go overboard with accommodating them in certain ways (not a ton of booster seats or child menus in restaurants... but children are welcome to sit and enjoy whatever food they will eat off the regular menu)... but all that I've met (young and old), seem genuinely delighted with them, like to talk to them, and understand that they need to run and shout and play hard.
And, at the risk of losing my feminist credentials, I have to say I like the way French men treat women. There is none of the leering or staring or gawking... but there is a certain kind of appreciation of women that is just, well, nice. Doors are opened. Mothers are treated kindly. Feelings of respect and admiration of women are obvious (even to me, an outsider). It's pretty great!
I must now add another item to that fantastic list -- the French know how to do races just right. I asked John to write a "guest blog" to tell the point of view of the actual runner, but from my point of view, it was perfect. There were 2,500 runners, and more than enough volunteers to make things run smoothly. The race did in fact go through beautiful country, wrapping through a castle and along vineyards and up and down rolling hills. While he didn't do the official "gouter", John did see glasses of wine (and what he thought was pate) at some of the water stops. Back in town, he was able to pick up his beautiful, specially labelled bottle of a white burgundy.
And... the kids and I had a good time, too. Well, the girls took a much needed nap and spent the race looking like this:
Jack was wide awake and waited for the race to start looking like this:
After dropping John at the race start, I drove to the middle of a vineyard where the road was cut off. As soon as I explained that I had deux petites sleeping in the car but wanted to watch my husband and take some pictures, one of the kind volunteers let me drive forward, park by the blockade, and invited me and Jack to watch the race with him (see what I mean about French men?).
Some of the runners looked like this:
Others looked like this:
John looked like this:
Allez, John, allez!
After cheering him on, the kind volunteer and I chatted some more. I mentioned how John had been eager to receive the bottle of wine after finishing. He said "oh, you like wine?" Bien sur, I said. So he pulled out an unlabeled green bottle of some wine he happened to have in the back of his van.
And despite what could only be described as the world's least rigorous training effort, John finished in the top half or so of the 10K runners (I was impressed he finished at all, running in the rain and mud). A quick trip home to shower and have a gouter for the others who didn't enjoy the wine and pate... and we returned to Nuits-St-Georges for John to pick up his wine and for the kids and I to hit the end of the chocolate festival.
The kids were invited up to the stage to make little Easter confections. See what I mean about liking kids?
Yes, it's not a perfect country (no country is, right?). But the things they do right, the French seem to do so very, very right.
And -- to the American-Canadian-temporary-French man in this house --I just have to say bravo!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A French fiesta
We had a great dinner last night with Thomas and Geraldine, their kids, and their friends Muriel, Sylvie and Jeremie. Geraldine had wanted to introduce Muriel to John as she has ties to one of the local Buddhist communities.
So we cracked open the Coronas and lime, offered fresh salsa, guacamole, (super-super hot) marinated green chilis and homemade tortillas and nibbled while the enchiladas finished cooking.
Everyone enjoyed it thoroughly, although it was probably the least French-like meal to be found in all of Burgundy last night, with a few small exceptions. I had to use shredded emmenthal and fresh mozzarella for the enchiladas as there was nothing close to sharp cheddar or Montery jack cheese (still tasty, though!), and instead of trying to make a traditional Mexican dessert (sopapillas or fried ice cream), I instead opted for a tarte au chocolat (with a dash of cinnamon).
And I was hugely relieved that the tarte turned out. Maybe I just needed to make a French recipe for my French baking skills to actually result in something edible? At any rate, I used Laura's wonderful and easy-peasy recipe for the pastry and found a French recipe for the chocolate part online (only to find out Geraldine has a recipe for tarte au chocolat on her blog that I should have turned to instead. Next time, I'll go there first!)
On the health front -- Katie showed no more signs of illness, thankfully, although she did take a BIG nap yesterday afternoon. So while Jack and Liv crashed before the party ended, Katie stayed awake til the end, and at midnight she was munching on chips while watching us clean up. What a party girl.
Here are a few photos of our fiesta. The first two are evidence of successful tortilla making:
Sorry about the bad shadows on the next two -- but I wanted to show off the tomato-and-(canned)-corn salsa (lots of garlic and cilantro, too) and the limey-guacamole:
The kids set the table and were happy to have their own small kids-table. In the second photo, Jack is making name cards:
I forgot to take a picture of the beer or the enchiladas -- you'll have to trust me that they were all tasty. Here is everyone at desset, and a close-up of the tarte:
And finally, a photo of the beautiful orchid Muriel and Sylvie brought us.
The French seem to have a wonderful talent for bringing the most thoughtful gifts when coming to your house for a meal. We are now the happy owners of this amazing orchid -- and, from Thomas and Geraldine, a terrific cookbook... on French cooking, of course.
Merci mes amis!
So we cracked open the Coronas and lime, offered fresh salsa, guacamole, (super-super hot) marinated green chilis and homemade tortillas and nibbled while the enchiladas finished cooking.
Everyone enjoyed it thoroughly, although it was probably the least French-like meal to be found in all of Burgundy last night, with a few small exceptions. I had to use shredded emmenthal and fresh mozzarella for the enchiladas as there was nothing close to sharp cheddar or Montery jack cheese (still tasty, though!), and instead of trying to make a traditional Mexican dessert (sopapillas or fried ice cream), I instead opted for a tarte au chocolat (with a dash of cinnamon).
And I was hugely relieved that the tarte turned out. Maybe I just needed to make a French recipe for my French baking skills to actually result in something edible? At any rate, I used Laura's wonderful and easy-peasy recipe for the pastry and found a French recipe for the chocolate part online (only to find out Geraldine has a recipe for tarte au chocolat on her blog that I should have turned to instead. Next time, I'll go there first!)
On the health front -- Katie showed no more signs of illness, thankfully, although she did take a BIG nap yesterday afternoon. So while Jack and Liv crashed before the party ended, Katie stayed awake til the end, and at midnight she was munching on chips while watching us clean up. What a party girl.
Here are a few photos of our fiesta. The first two are evidence of successful tortilla making:
Sorry about the bad shadows on the next two -- but I wanted to show off the tomato-and-(canned)-corn salsa (lots of garlic and cilantro, too) and the limey-guacamole:
The kids set the table and were happy to have their own small kids-table. In the second photo, Jack is making name cards:
I forgot to take a picture of the beer or the enchiladas -- you'll have to trust me that they were all tasty. Here is everyone at desset, and a close-up of the tarte:
And finally, a photo of the beautiful orchid Muriel and Sylvie brought us.
The French seem to have a wonderful talent for bringing the most thoughtful gifts when coming to your house for a meal. We are now the happy owners of this amazing orchid -- and, from Thomas and Geraldine, a terrific cookbook... on French cooking, of course.
Merci mes amis!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Bits and pieces (and feeling a bit grumpy)
I think there comes a point when you are traveling (whether for a week or a month or more) that you just get grumpy with everything in the new place.For me, anyway, the moment comes once I am past the jet lag and culture shock -- after letting my guard down a bit and having had the luxury of settling in.
Well, I reached that point today.
It's my own fault, really. We are having Geraldine and Thomas and their family (and some of their friends we want to meet) over tomorrow night. Geraldine had suggested having just appetizers at her house, but we wanted to have them to our place.
But then, what to cook? After having been treated to this, well, I wanted to bring out more than chips and beer (although these friends are such kind people, I don't think they'd complain! Clearly, this is my issue).
But there is the minor fact that I have had disaster after disaster when baking (but not when cooking) since arriving in France. It might just be the universe's way of saying "Lisa -- there are 42 amazing patisseries within a 10 minute drive... why bother baking in this country?" But as I wrote to a Lethbridge friend earlier (the same friend I turned to for advice on what to cook for this little party), I foolishly continue to try baking, and so far have made: terrible, heavy, tasteless chocolate cake; flat, brittle sugar cookies (not just once... but three times); and banana bread that feels like it weighs 3 kilos! At this point, my confidence in the kitchen is not quite where it should be.
This good friend recommeded cooking something I do well, and mentioned some of the favorite things she's eaten at our house. With this advice in hand, I decided on something they can't usually get in France (and something our family loves): Mexican food.
This seemed like a good idea at first. What better than a nice limey-tomato salsa, or a lovely garlicky guacamole? But today, as I trawled the grocery store in search of frozen corn (what kind of country only has canned corn? How hard would it be for them to bring in some frozen corn?), as I tried to find something akin to cream cheese (what kind of country has 1,000 cheeses but nothing with that lovely gray Philadelphia label?), and as I helplessly read labels to see what might be cumin (I didn't have my electronic dictionary, so made my best stab and bought what I thought was cumin -- something called curcuma -- but it turns out to be tumeric), I realized this could well be a foolish undertaking. Oh, and did I mention I am going to try to make tortillas (and can only hope that it will go better here than it did in Japan)?
I guess we'll just have to see how it goes Friday night.
John has been laughing at me all day -- saying how much I must be suffering with my cheese choices here in this godforsaken land, how maybe we should go back to Japan because at least THERE, I could get Philadelphia cream cheese.
I think in terms of food, I want the best of France -- the rich cheeses and pates and sauces and desserts -- but I also want (at my convenience, of course), my favorite things from around the world: fresh Mexican food, savory sushi, aromatic Indian. That's not so much to ask, is it? (And don't worry. I am not expecting anyone to feel too sorry for me. I realize this is a fabulous problem to have...). I also think my frustration at the search for ingredients is probably linked to homesickness in a roundabout way. I clearly love everything about France. But it *is* still all foreign, and there are times it would be nice to have a bit of a break and a return to the familiar.
At any rate. I have the tortilla dough "resting" right now, and I will keep you posted on how it all goes (and anyone in France need a BIG bottle of tumeric?).
In other, less grumpy, news:
* We had Lauren, Claudia, and Penelope over yesterday afternoon so their parents could have a lunch date. After feeding the six little ones lunch, and a lot of playing, we took a big walk up to Les Chaumes, and everyone had a blast. At the end of the visit, they looked like this:
The one terrifying thought that went through my brain during the visit was that, in theory, a person *could* have six kids of these exact ages (8, 7, 6, 4, 4, and almost 2). While these certainly were six well-behaved and delightful children, it was not a pleasant thought!
* We had been waiting for more than two weeks for a shoe sale to start at a place I think of as France's Famous Footwear (higher quality shoes than Payless, but not a store that will break the bank). I was disappointed to arrive this morning to find that none of the leather, sturdy, beautifully made shoes were included in the sale. We did find a good deal on two pairs of these:
While not the kind of shoe you'd want to wear every day, they are adorable (and fast, super-fast, Livie declared).
Well, I reached that point today.
It's my own fault, really. We are having Geraldine and Thomas and their family (and some of their friends we want to meet) over tomorrow night. Geraldine had suggested having just appetizers at her house, but we wanted to have them to our place.
But then, what to cook? After having been treated to this, well, I wanted to bring out more than chips and beer (although these friends are such kind people, I don't think they'd complain! Clearly, this is my issue).
But there is the minor fact that I have had disaster after disaster when baking (but not when cooking) since arriving in France. It might just be the universe's way of saying "Lisa -- there are 42 amazing patisseries within a 10 minute drive... why bother baking in this country?" But as I wrote to a Lethbridge friend earlier (the same friend I turned to for advice on what to cook for this little party), I foolishly continue to try baking, and so far have made: terrible, heavy, tasteless chocolate cake; flat, brittle sugar cookies (not just once... but three times); and banana bread that feels like it weighs 3 kilos! At this point, my confidence in the kitchen is not quite where it should be.
This good friend recommeded cooking something I do well, and mentioned some of the favorite things she's eaten at our house. With this advice in hand, I decided on something they can't usually get in France (and something our family loves): Mexican food.
This seemed like a good idea at first. What better than a nice limey-tomato salsa, or a lovely garlicky guacamole? But today, as I trawled the grocery store in search of frozen corn (what kind of country only has canned corn? How hard would it be for them to bring in some frozen corn?), as I tried to find something akin to cream cheese (what kind of country has 1,000 cheeses but nothing with that lovely gray Philadelphia label?), and as I helplessly read labels to see what might be cumin (I didn't have my electronic dictionary, so made my best stab and bought what I thought was cumin -- something called curcuma -- but it turns out to be tumeric), I realized this could well be a foolish undertaking. Oh, and did I mention I am going to try to make tortillas (and can only hope that it will go better here than it did in Japan)?
I guess we'll just have to see how it goes Friday night.
John has been laughing at me all day -- saying how much I must be suffering with my cheese choices here in this godforsaken land, how maybe we should go back to Japan because at least THERE, I could get Philadelphia cream cheese.
I think in terms of food, I want the best of France -- the rich cheeses and pates and sauces and desserts -- but I also want (at my convenience, of course), my favorite things from around the world: fresh Mexican food, savory sushi, aromatic Indian. That's not so much to ask, is it? (And don't worry. I am not expecting anyone to feel too sorry for me. I realize this is a fabulous problem to have...). I also think my frustration at the search for ingredients is probably linked to homesickness in a roundabout way. I clearly love everything about France. But it *is* still all foreign, and there are times it would be nice to have a bit of a break and a return to the familiar.
At any rate. I have the tortilla dough "resting" right now, and I will keep you posted on how it all goes (and anyone in France need a BIG bottle of tumeric?).
In other, less grumpy, news:
* We had Lauren, Claudia, and Penelope over yesterday afternoon so their parents could have a lunch date. After feeding the six little ones lunch, and a lot of playing, we took a big walk up to Les Chaumes, and everyone had a blast. At the end of the visit, they looked like this:
The one terrifying thought that went through my brain during the visit was that, in theory, a person *could* have six kids of these exact ages (8, 7, 6, 4, 4, and almost 2). While these certainly were six well-behaved and delightful children, it was not a pleasant thought!
* We had been waiting for more than two weeks for a shoe sale to start at a place I think of as France's Famous Footwear (higher quality shoes than Payless, but not a store that will break the bank). I was disappointed to arrive this morning to find that none of the leather, sturdy, beautifully made shoes were included in the sale. We did find a good deal on two pairs of these:
While not the kind of shoe you'd want to wear every day, they are adorable (and fast, super-fast, Livie declared).
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Allez, John, allez!
So, last Friday, we forgot to return the girls' library books to school (twice). In the afternoon, John decided to take a short run down to the school with the books and then run a bit more.
We both have been trying to take advantage of the great running opportunities on beautiful dirt roads through vineyards here. I have temporarily been slowed after I twisted my ankle while looking too much at the hills in the distance and not enough at the trail in front of me on one of these vineyard roads last week. My ankle was sore and is fine now but not quite back up to running yet.
Anyway. When John dropped the books, the teacher (noting his very un-Frenchlike running pants and running shoes) asked if he was in training for the Nuits-St-Georges race coming up. John said "um, maybe?" We remembered we had read great things about this race from Franck and Laura and decided to check it out.
Well, I can't think of a way anyone could make a run better. The course (a 10K and a half-marathon -- John will do the 10K) will take runners through beauitful rolling vineyards that are home to some of the most prestigious wines in the region on Saturday afternoon. At the 9th kilometer, we have heard, instead of a cup of water, runners get to sample some local wine! And (my favorite part), at the end, the finishers receive, along with the usual t-shirt, a bottle of Burgundy!
Clearly one of us had to try this. And given my wobby ankle, that someone will be John.
Being France, there was much paperwork involved. Along with the usual information of name, address, and birthday, runners needed to provide a copy of their medical certificate attesting to no counter-indications for competitive running. Being North American, John did not possess such an official document (or any of the other alternatives that would have come from being a member of various French sporting organizations).
So off to the doctor we went... where John underwent a thorough check of knees, ankles, cardiovascular system and more. All is well, the doctor (and the certificate) said. John is fit to run. (And as an aside -- doctors in France still make housecalls! Mostly for older patients, the doctor told us, but still! How cool is that? Also -- I had sent an email to this doctor Friday evening to make an appointment (avoiding the phone whenever possible, of course) thinking he'd get it Monday morning. But he replied FRIDAY NIGHT. I will refrain from making too many comments about socialized medicine (and concerns that it must be a terrible, terrible thing indeed) and simply say that, as in Canada, we are quite pleased with our medical experiences so far, and have heard only good things about it from others in this area.)
Anyway. Back to the run. John has no plans to be a top finisher in this race of more than 2,000 (despite the belief of Katie and Livie that he will win it all and get a trophy from which he will be able to drink his wine). Instead, he simply plans to do the run (and at times, merely jog), enjoy the scenery (and wine) along the way, and have a great story to tell about it when he's done.
Allez, John, allez!
Anyway. When John dropped the books, the teacher (noting his very un-Frenchlike running pants and running shoes) asked if he was in training for the Nuits-St-Georges race coming up. John said "um, maybe?" We remembered we had read great things about this race from Franck and Laura and decided to check it out.
Well, I can't think of a way anyone could make a run better. The course (a 10K and a half-marathon -- John will do the 10K) will take runners through beauitful rolling vineyards that are home to some of the most prestigious wines in the region on Saturday afternoon. At the 9th kilometer, we have heard, instead of a cup of water, runners get to sample some local wine! And (my favorite part), at the end, the finishers receive, along with the usual t-shirt, a bottle of Burgundy!
Clearly one of us had to try this. And given my wobby ankle, that someone will be John.
Being France, there was much paperwork involved. Along with the usual information of name, address, and birthday, runners needed to provide a copy of their medical certificate attesting to no counter-indications for competitive running. Being North American, John did not possess such an official document (or any of the other alternatives that would have come from being a member of various French sporting organizations).
So off to the doctor we went... where John underwent a thorough check of knees, ankles, cardiovascular system and more. All is well, the doctor (and the certificate) said. John is fit to run. (And as an aside -- doctors in France still make housecalls! Mostly for older patients, the doctor told us, but still! How cool is that? Also -- I had sent an email to this doctor Friday evening to make an appointment (avoiding the phone whenever possible, of course) thinking he'd get it Monday morning. But he replied FRIDAY NIGHT. I will refrain from making too many comments about socialized medicine (and concerns that it must be a terrible, terrible thing indeed) and simply say that, as in Canada, we are quite pleased with our medical experiences so far, and have heard only good things about it from others in this area.)
Anyway. Back to the run. John has no plans to be a top finisher in this race of more than 2,000 (despite the belief of Katie and Livie that he will win it all and get a trophy from which he will be able to drink his wine). Instead, he simply plans to do the run (and at times, merely jog), enjoy the scenery (and wine) along the way, and have a great story to tell about it when he's done.
Allez, John, allez!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
My kingdom for a portable coffee mug?
Well, we're finding our groove more and more each day, and on the whole it's wonderful (says someone who just, for a little snack, scarfed down half a baguette with real butter from the world's best boulangerie).
But we're not fully there. For one thing, I still find it hard to get to sleep at a decent hour, which means I am not waking up as early as I should to get myself and kids ready for the day. And that means (horror of horrors) that I am not drinking enough coffee before leaving home to take the kids to their various schools.
And that's NOT a good thing.
Yesterday, Kate and Liv started preschool (maternelle) and they did SO well. The teacher was terrific, the girls played with dollies, playdough, AND paint (a trifecta of preschool fun), and they were so happy with themselves and their school when we picked them up for lunch.
It was a rockier start for me. I didn't have the same emotional meltdown that I did with Jack (having a built-in best friend in class with your children clearly makes things easier from a mother's perspective)... but I didn't have time for breakfast, much less un cafe au lait before we left the house. Despite this, after making the various rounds that morning and receiving even more paperwork to fill out -- and then meeting with the woman who runs the school cafeteria program (an experience that merits a post unto itself) -- John and I decided it would make the most sense to get some groceries sans enfants, which is clearly the best way to do it.
But what about the coffee (or lack thereof)? We didn't bring a portable mug with us to France (limited luggage and all) and, bien sur, La Maison des Chaumes is stocked with plenty of beautiful ceramic mugs, but nary a plastic portable mug to be found (not a complaint, Laura! This is clearly my own issue!). So we thought we'd look for a coffee at or near the grocery store. Alas... France has NOT been overrun by Starbucks (which I know is GOOD in the big picture) and so there were no drive-through latte windows on the way to the store and no smell of Pike Place Roast to tempt us as we shopped.
Headache growing, we got the groceries and returned to the car. There was not quite enough time to drive all the way into the center of Beaune before we needed to pick up the girls. So we drove around the outskirts of the town a bit, passing a few places where one could go and SIT and linger and have a coffee... and I know there are other places where one can stand at the counter and slam a shot of espresso (but I usually see men doing this, and always feel a bit intimidated joining them)... but in our short search, we found no where (that we could tell) where one could buy a coffee to go.
And this reality seems so very French to me. If one is going to have a cup of coffee, one should clearly be sitting (not driving or grocery shopping or dropping children at school), lingering, enjoying, and indulging in the act of coffee drinking. One should not be simply trying to mainline the caffiene straight into the blood stream!
I like this idea in principle. And if I finally start sleeping like a normal person, I should even be able to plan to wake a bit earlier to have enough time to linger over the morning cup of joe. That's the hope anyway. On verra (we'll see!).
In other news -- we took a great walk on Sunday afternoon from our house to the neighboring village of Magny-les-Villers. We walked past an ancient chateau (with Katie and Olivia shouting "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair" as they admired the stone tower -- as in Japan, I feel like our children are much LOUDER than everyone else. Sigh...). We then wandered through vineyards to a small shrine with a statue of the Virgin Mary in it, past a mist-shrouded cemetery and then up the hill into Magny. After a short break for the kids to snack on Petit Ecolier cookies, we wrapped around tiny, winding streets of the village where Kate and Liv go to school, and then headed back on a different path through more vineyards. We figured it was about three kilometers (give or take), and the kids were great hikers.
Sunday night, we also discovered the coolest low-tech gadget I have EVER seen. It's called a Pèle Pommes and Laura (our landlady) wrote about it here on her blog, and you can order one here if you want to experience the fabulousness for yourself. It's magical! With very little effort, it peels, cores, and perfectly slices apples, pears, potatoes, and more! We had so much fun with it and peeled so many apples that I had to make applesauce for dinner that night -- and we have been enjoying perfectly peeled pommes every day since. (NOTE: as cool as this gadget is, if you are someone with whom we exchange Christmas presents (Mom -- I'm talking about you here), don't go buying one for yourself, because you just might be getting it under the next Christmas tree!)
Jack continues to enjoy school. He said all of the girls want to hold his hand when they stand in line to head in or out of the classroom to play. Personally, I am amazed that his 7 and 8 year old female classmates are so, well, French! In just three short days, I have seen perfect shoulder shrugs, sighs, pouts, and many flicks of hair with an "eh"... well, it's kind of amazing to witness in person. I haven't yet asked him if he notices this difference... I kind of think (like always), he is pretty oblivious to it.
As far as the actual classroom goes -- well, his class is going to a movie in Nuits-St-Georges this afternoon and he was very excited about that. He is working on cursive writing every night and that seems to be Maitresse Nathalie's biggest worry (and it's not a worry for us... although we do want him to be able to read his teacher's writing at school). His French (at least according to Jack and to his teacher) is actually pretty good!
Katie and Livie are very happy at school -- although Katie has been reluctant each morning to leave the house (this was often true in Lethbridge, too, as well as in Japan) and both girls have had some meltdowns each of the last few afternoons (which thankfully pass). But Maitresse Maud says they are doing great. They play well with others but also are (she said approvingly) very independent. They love riding bikes at recess, painting and coloring, and learning songs. Their teacher has been working with the class on a few English songs... and John and I had to control our laughter last night as we heard Liv walking around the house singing "Clap your 'ands, one two three" with the perfect accent of a French person speaking English (no "h" in hands, and the same lilting tone of her teacher!).
John has done just a small bit of work and writing so far. Now that the kids are in school (and I have now braved the tiny French roads twice to pick up Jack... talk about needing courage!), he should be able to actually do what we came here to do -- his work! Again, I can only say on verra...or perhaps, on espère (one can hope!).
But we're not fully there. For one thing, I still find it hard to get to sleep at a decent hour, which means I am not waking up as early as I should to get myself and kids ready for the day. And that means (horror of horrors) that I am not drinking enough coffee before leaving home to take the kids to their various schools.
And that's NOT a good thing.
Yesterday, Kate and Liv started preschool (maternelle) and they did SO well. The teacher was terrific, the girls played with dollies, playdough, AND paint (a trifecta of preschool fun), and they were so happy with themselves and their school when we picked them up for lunch.
It was a rockier start for me. I didn't have the same emotional meltdown that I did with Jack (having a built-in best friend in class with your children clearly makes things easier from a mother's perspective)... but I didn't have time for breakfast, much less un cafe au lait before we left the house. Despite this, after making the various rounds that morning and receiving even more paperwork to fill out -- and then meeting with the woman who runs the school cafeteria program (an experience that merits a post unto itself) -- John and I decided it would make the most sense to get some groceries sans enfants, which is clearly the best way to do it.
But what about the coffee (or lack thereof)? We didn't bring a portable mug with us to France (limited luggage and all) and, bien sur, La Maison des Chaumes is stocked with plenty of beautiful ceramic mugs, but nary a plastic portable mug to be found (not a complaint, Laura! This is clearly my own issue!). So we thought we'd look for a coffee at or near the grocery store. Alas... France has NOT been overrun by Starbucks (which I know is GOOD in the big picture) and so there were no drive-through latte windows on the way to the store and no smell of Pike Place Roast to tempt us as we shopped.
Headache growing, we got the groceries and returned to the car. There was not quite enough time to drive all the way into the center of Beaune before we needed to pick up the girls. So we drove around the outskirts of the town a bit, passing a few places where one could go and SIT and linger and have a coffee... and I know there are other places where one can stand at the counter and slam a shot of espresso (but I usually see men doing this, and always feel a bit intimidated joining them)... but in our short search, we found no where (that we could tell) where one could buy a coffee to go.
And this reality seems so very French to me. If one is going to have a cup of coffee, one should clearly be sitting (not driving or grocery shopping or dropping children at school), lingering, enjoying, and indulging in the act of coffee drinking. One should not be simply trying to mainline the caffiene straight into the blood stream!
I like this idea in principle. And if I finally start sleeping like a normal person, I should even be able to plan to wake a bit earlier to have enough time to linger over the morning cup of joe. That's the hope anyway. On verra (we'll see!).
In other news -- we took a great walk on Sunday afternoon from our house to the neighboring village of Magny-les-Villers. We walked past an ancient chateau (with Katie and Olivia shouting "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair" as they admired the stone tower -- as in Japan, I feel like our children are much LOUDER than everyone else. Sigh...). We then wandered through vineyards to a small shrine with a statue of the Virgin Mary in it, past a mist-shrouded cemetery and then up the hill into Magny. After a short break for the kids to snack on Petit Ecolier cookies, we wrapped around tiny, winding streets of the village where Kate and Liv go to school, and then headed back on a different path through more vineyards. We figured it was about three kilometers (give or take), and the kids were great hikers.
Sunday night, we also discovered the coolest low-tech gadget I have EVER seen. It's called a Pèle Pommes and Laura (our landlady) wrote about it here on her blog, and you can order one here if you want to experience the fabulousness for yourself. It's magical! With very little effort, it peels, cores, and perfectly slices apples, pears, potatoes, and more! We had so much fun with it and peeled so many apples that I had to make applesauce for dinner that night -- and we have been enjoying perfectly peeled pommes every day since. (NOTE: as cool as this gadget is, if you are someone with whom we exchange Christmas presents (Mom -- I'm talking about you here), don't go buying one for yourself, because you just might be getting it under the next Christmas tree!)
Jack continues to enjoy school. He said all of the girls want to hold his hand when they stand in line to head in or out of the classroom to play. Personally, I am amazed that his 7 and 8 year old female classmates are so, well, French! In just three short days, I have seen perfect shoulder shrugs, sighs, pouts, and many flicks of hair with an "eh"... well, it's kind of amazing to witness in person. I haven't yet asked him if he notices this difference... I kind of think (like always), he is pretty oblivious to it.
As far as the actual classroom goes -- well, his class is going to a movie in Nuits-St-Georges this afternoon and he was very excited about that. He is working on cursive writing every night and that seems to be Maitresse Nathalie's biggest worry (and it's not a worry for us... although we do want him to be able to read his teacher's writing at school). His French (at least according to Jack and to his teacher) is actually pretty good!
Katie and Livie are very happy at school -- although Katie has been reluctant each morning to leave the house (this was often true in Lethbridge, too, as well as in Japan) and both girls have had some meltdowns each of the last few afternoons (which thankfully pass). But Maitresse Maud says they are doing great. They play well with others but also are (she said approvingly) very independent. They love riding bikes at recess, painting and coloring, and learning songs. Their teacher has been working with the class on a few English songs... and John and I had to control our laughter last night as we heard Liv walking around the house singing "Clap your 'ands, one two three" with the perfect accent of a French person speaking English (no "h" in hands, and the same lilting tone of her teacher!).
John has done just a small bit of work and writing so far. Now that the kids are in school (and I have now braved the tiny French roads twice to pick up Jack... talk about needing courage!), he should be able to actually do what we came here to do -- his work! Again, I can only say on verra...or perhaps, on espère (one can hope!).
Saturday, January 16, 2010
We made it!
OK, so this post is a bit late in coming. We've actually been settled into our wonderful new village home for about 27 hours... and we love it. Getting here -- now that's another story. But we are thrilled, delighted, amazed, impressed, and in love with La Maison des Chaumes, a perfect French house in a wonderful French village. I plan to be writing a lot more about it (and Villers-la-Faye, our village) in the coming days and weeks.
As for the getting here. Wow. What a journey. We finally boarded our plane (a new 777 -- very impressive) about four hours later than scheduled -- but we were relieved to be boarding it at all. The kids did pretty well with the wait. I cracked out some of the toys and surprises I had planned for the flight, and we figured if we kept them awake til 9 p.m. (well past their regular bedtime) there was a chance they'd sleep through the flight.
Kate and Liv did just that. They crashed before the plane even took off (hmmmm... crash, plane, and take-off are not usually spoken of so cheerfully in the same sentence. Sorry about that!). Jack stayed awake for a bit but fell asleep pretty quickly too -- and so John and I had a much less stressful trip than the Japan one (where we were awake all flight with one or more kids).
The weirdest worry this time was a TON of TSA people at our gate. They were walking around the waiting area, staring at people, and when it came time to board, about 10 of them were there (looking ready to search anyone who looked at all sketchy). Maybe they had just gotten out of a training session and used our flight as a way to practice new-and-improved profiling skills... maybe there was someone sketchy on our flight. But as someone who has had a huge fear of flying (tied to my time covering the crash of United Flight 93 in Shanksville on 9/11 and having kids), it did not do much to instill comfort (although I supposed I should have been relieved they were at least checking people out).
We boarded early, so I didn't see if they took kept anyone off the plane. I did find myself looking at the other passengers with greater intent than I usually do -- and thought of how much things have changed in the way we travel in the last decade or so.
At any rate -- it was a pretty good flight... but we arrived, not unexpectedly at that point, four hours late in London. We rushed through customs, plopped the kids on a subway to the train station (where several different people told us at several different points how "brave" it was to be traveling with three children. At first, I was pleased, then I wondered if they really meant "crazy".) All three fell asleep on the subway and looked very sweet... and then we rudely woke them to race to King's Cross/St. Pancras to catch the Eurostar. Jack wanted to take a detour to search for Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters (having just finished another Harry Potter book) but we had to promise him that when we return to England.
We knew there was little chance of making our scheduled train, but we had slim hopes it, too, was running late. It wasn't. Thankfully, we were able to get on the next train to Lille -- but that one, if it arrived on time, would give us just minutes to catch the TGV (fast train) to Dijon. With four large checked bags, two rolling carryons, three small backpacks, one stroller, and three jet-lagged and travel-weary kids, we knew it'd be unlikely. But we took it anyway and made our way to the very lovely fast-train that, to Jack's delight, travels UNDER the English Channel.
The Eurostar was about seven minutes late arriving -- and that seems to have made a difference. A very kind man waiting to disembark with us saw all of the luggage and offered to help us race to the connection... but even with that help, we just missed the TGV. We were told to talk to a ticketing agent to see about rescheduling. I thanked the kind French man (whose named I asked but have forgotten in the haze of travel) and joined a new line.
This began a kind of hilarious exchange of what I have heard people talk about (how the French love bureaucracy, but also love to find a way around it if it suits them). I spoke to the man in French, and explained (or so I thought) how we had just arrived from the Eurostar and missed our TGV, which would have been a direct train to Dijon (skirting Paris -- a deliberate choice on our part). I rambled (in French... see, I can do that in TWO langauges) about snow in London, beaucoup de baggage, un avion that arrived 4 heures late, and so on. I smiled. Sweetly. Desperately. And... he looked at me and said there was nothing he could do. Moreover, since John and I had insanely cheap tickets (purchased back in October when no one knew about the coldest winter in Europe in 30 years), we'd have to buy new, extremely expensive TGV tickets for a train tomorrow.
And, he added, looking even more somber... unless we wanted to wait 24 hours, we'd have to travel to Paris, change rail stations from one in northwest Paris to one in southeast Paris (with four large bags, two rolling carryons, etc.), and get a train to Dijon.
I sighed. I asked if there way ANYTHING we could do. He said that if it was the fault of a train, they'd be happy to help us. But since it was the fault of a plane, little could be done. However, he said he'd talk to his "chef." He did. He returned from the boss. He said there was nothing to be done. I sighed again. I asked if, since we were clearly une famille nombreuse (a large family -- a class of family that exists for train travel in France), perhaps we could get a discounted ticket that way? Alas. No. I mentioned that my husband -- gesturing to the exhausted looking man sweetly entertaining three patient, well-dressed and equally exhausted children -- was a professor. Perhaps there was a discount for teachers? He said, with a bit of sadness, il n'y a rien a faire (there was nothing to be done).
I pulled out our tickets and sighed again (sighing seems to happen a lot in France, at least so far) and said it was dommage (too bad) that we weren't able to take our original Eurostar train... as we wouldn't have had any trouble making our connection.
He grasped the ticket. "Quoi?!" he said (what?!). Apparently, in my rambling French, I did not make it clear to him that we were late because of a train (I thought I had, but hey -- whatever works). That was a very important point, he said. He would talk to his chef again. There might be something, just something, he could do.
And the lovely French ticket agent returned from his boss with a huge smile on his face -- and said, since the Eurostar was seven minutes late arriving, they would be happy to book us (at no additional charge) the next day. I called John over to figure out times. John asked if, instead of making the dreaded change in Paris, and not wanting to wait til 6 p.m. to leave, perhaps we could take a direct trip to Lyon (1.5 hours south of Dijon by train) and come back north on a local train.
Quelle bonne idee, he said! Then, he asked, would we like help booking a hotel. Bien sur! He looked at all Lille hotels in the region and found two -- one (expensive one) across from the train station, and another (fairly expensive one) near the airport. We picked the train station hotel (not wanting to have to endure any extra travel), started gathering up the kids, and realized it would be great to be getting to a bed at 7 p.m. local time.
But as we were wrestling Kate and Liv into the stroller, they bonked heads/faces. Not a big deal usually, and I think it's been happening since they were in utero. But it caused a complete, full body melt down from Liv, and an unbelievable bloody nose from Kate (and the first major meltdown of the whole trip, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive). But oh, we looked pathetic. Dragging all those suitcases, seeing Katie covered in blood (we only had a handful of tissues and they were soaked), carrying a limp and sobbing Liv, we made it to the hotel. When we walked in, the front desk people looked like they might possibly turn us away however much money we might be willing to pay.
Undaunted, I approached the woman at the front desk. This did NOT go as well as the conversation with the ticket agent did. Part of the reason for the expensive price the ticket agent gave us was that, as a family of five, we had been booked into two rooms. I pointed to the girls and noted they were tres petites (bloody and bawling, sure, but small). Didn't matter. Four people could stay in one room. Five could not. I didn't think that appealing to her "chef" would make much of a difference, and we figured that what we had saved by NOT having to buy new TGV tickets could just go to the very fancy hotel.
So we took our two adjoining rooms, and I asked for one more favor -- please, please, would it be possible for her to call the hotel we had been planning to stay at in Dijon to cancel the reservation for us (phone calls in French are tricky at best, and I was feeling far from my best). She literally rolled her eyes. She sighed (see, I'm not the only one... although all of my sighs were sad and pathetic and hers was, rather, well, witchy.) S'il vous plait? I said. C'est difficile avec le telephone....
She said, basically, just this one special time she will help me out... but I better not ask for anything from her ever again in my entire life and even if she sees me stranded by the side of the road one day with four flat tires, she will just drive on by because this is the last time she will EVER help. (Ok, my translation might not be exact, but I've captured the gist and tone pretty well).
And then she sweetly made the call for me, and said "pas de probleme" as long as I emailed the hotel, too, through the online booking website I had used.
After several sweet and heartfelt "mercis", and wondering if for future French conversations I should talk to the men and John should talk to the women, we made it to our rooms. They were beautiful. Fancy. And large enough to each hold a family of five, but whatever. We quickly hooked the kids up with a free on-demand movie in English, I emailed the Dijon hotel as well as our parents and Laura and Franck (from whom we are renting this gorgeous house and who were helping with taxi arrangements the next day), while John took a wonderfully long shower. He gave the kids some food while I took a wonderfully long shower. And we collapsed.
But we made it!
The next day was was smooth sailing. We slept til 7:30 a.m. I went out to a boulangerie for breakfast food and coffee to bring back to our lovely rooms. We repacked, and woke the kids, and made our way to the train station.
And it was a great day. We took the fast train three hours south to Lyon, then had a VERY easy transfer (just to the other track) to a local train back up to Beaune, a city of about 22,000 that I had visited during my time in Burgundy in 1993. The countryside began to look familiar (and in a good way). We arrived to find a minivan taxicab waiting in the queue -- and he happily took all of us -- and our luggage -- to our new home.
I'll write later about our home, our village, and the region, but wanted to get the details of the trip down before it starts getting fuzzy (which could happen sooner than usual given the state of exhaustion). I also hope to post some pictures in just a minute or two.
But before I do, I want to thank anyone who was sending us good travel vibes the 13th to 15th. We needed all of that good energy -- and appreciate it.
I also want to say how I am simply in awe of our kids. They continue to be such great travelers. And if I had had extra hands, I would have loved to have gotten pictures of Jack racing while pulling the two small rolling bags to Kings Cross, of Kate and Liv skilfully handling escalators and subways, of John navigating with the four big bags (two in each hand with one strapped on each) and even of me struggling with an unweildly stroller, piled with carryon luggage and sometimes two wiggly girls. It was truly a sight to see.
And it is so good to be here. We can't wait for the adventures ahead.
As for the getting here. Wow. What a journey. We finally boarded our plane (a new 777 -- very impressive) about four hours later than scheduled -- but we were relieved to be boarding it at all. The kids did pretty well with the wait. I cracked out some of the toys and surprises I had planned for the flight, and we figured if we kept them awake til 9 p.m. (well past their regular bedtime) there was a chance they'd sleep through the flight.
Kate and Liv did just that. They crashed before the plane even took off (hmmmm... crash, plane, and take-off are not usually spoken of so cheerfully in the same sentence. Sorry about that!). Jack stayed awake for a bit but fell asleep pretty quickly too -- and so John and I had a much less stressful trip than the Japan one (where we were awake all flight with one or more kids).
The weirdest worry this time was a TON of TSA people at our gate. They were walking around the waiting area, staring at people, and when it came time to board, about 10 of them were there (looking ready to search anyone who looked at all sketchy). Maybe they had just gotten out of a training session and used our flight as a way to practice new-and-improved profiling skills... maybe there was someone sketchy on our flight. But as someone who has had a huge fear of flying (tied to my time covering the crash of United Flight 93 in Shanksville on 9/11 and having kids), it did not do much to instill comfort (although I supposed I should have been relieved they were at least checking people out).
We boarded early, so I didn't see if they took kept anyone off the plane. I did find myself looking at the other passengers with greater intent than I usually do -- and thought of how much things have changed in the way we travel in the last decade or so.
At any rate -- it was a pretty good flight... but we arrived, not unexpectedly at that point, four hours late in London. We rushed through customs, plopped the kids on a subway to the train station (where several different people told us at several different points how "brave" it was to be traveling with three children. At first, I was pleased, then I wondered if they really meant "crazy".) All three fell asleep on the subway and looked very sweet... and then we rudely woke them to race to King's Cross/St. Pancras to catch the Eurostar. Jack wanted to take a detour to search for Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters (having just finished another Harry Potter book) but we had to promise him that when we return to England.
We knew there was little chance of making our scheduled train, but we had slim hopes it, too, was running late. It wasn't. Thankfully, we were able to get on the next train to Lille -- but that one, if it arrived on time, would give us just minutes to catch the TGV (fast train) to Dijon. With four large checked bags, two rolling carryons, three small backpacks, one stroller, and three jet-lagged and travel-weary kids, we knew it'd be unlikely. But we took it anyway and made our way to the very lovely fast-train that, to Jack's delight, travels UNDER the English Channel.
The Eurostar was about seven minutes late arriving -- and that seems to have made a difference. A very kind man waiting to disembark with us saw all of the luggage and offered to help us race to the connection... but even with that help, we just missed the TGV. We were told to talk to a ticketing agent to see about rescheduling. I thanked the kind French man (whose named I asked but have forgotten in the haze of travel) and joined a new line.
This began a kind of hilarious exchange of what I have heard people talk about (how the French love bureaucracy, but also love to find a way around it if it suits them). I spoke to the man in French, and explained (or so I thought) how we had just arrived from the Eurostar and missed our TGV, which would have been a direct train to Dijon (skirting Paris -- a deliberate choice on our part). I rambled (in French... see, I can do that in TWO langauges) about snow in London, beaucoup de baggage, un avion that arrived 4 heures late, and so on. I smiled. Sweetly. Desperately. And... he looked at me and said there was nothing he could do. Moreover, since John and I had insanely cheap tickets (purchased back in October when no one knew about the coldest winter in Europe in 30 years), we'd have to buy new, extremely expensive TGV tickets for a train tomorrow.
And, he added, looking even more somber... unless we wanted to wait 24 hours, we'd have to travel to Paris, change rail stations from one in northwest Paris to one in southeast Paris (with four large bags, two rolling carryons, etc.), and get a train to Dijon.
I sighed. I asked if there way ANYTHING we could do. He said that if it was the fault of a train, they'd be happy to help us. But since it was the fault of a plane, little could be done. However, he said he'd talk to his "chef." He did. He returned from the boss. He said there was nothing to be done. I sighed again. I asked if, since we were clearly une famille nombreuse (a large family -- a class of family that exists for train travel in France), perhaps we could get a discounted ticket that way? Alas. No. I mentioned that my husband -- gesturing to the exhausted looking man sweetly entertaining three patient, well-dressed and equally exhausted children -- was a professor. Perhaps there was a discount for teachers? He said, with a bit of sadness, il n'y a rien a faire (there was nothing to be done).
I pulled out our tickets and sighed again (sighing seems to happen a lot in France, at least so far) and said it was dommage (too bad) that we weren't able to take our original Eurostar train... as we wouldn't have had any trouble making our connection.
He grasped the ticket. "Quoi?!" he said (what?!). Apparently, in my rambling French, I did not make it clear to him that we were late because of a train (I thought I had, but hey -- whatever works). That was a very important point, he said. He would talk to his chef again. There might be something, just something, he could do.
And the lovely French ticket agent returned from his boss with a huge smile on his face -- and said, since the Eurostar was seven minutes late arriving, they would be happy to book us (at no additional charge) the next day. I called John over to figure out times. John asked if, instead of making the dreaded change in Paris, and not wanting to wait til 6 p.m. to leave, perhaps we could take a direct trip to Lyon (1.5 hours south of Dijon by train) and come back north on a local train.
Quelle bonne idee, he said! Then, he asked, would we like help booking a hotel. Bien sur! He looked at all Lille hotels in the region and found two -- one (expensive one) across from the train station, and another (fairly expensive one) near the airport. We picked the train station hotel (not wanting to have to endure any extra travel), started gathering up the kids, and realized it would be great to be getting to a bed at 7 p.m. local time.
But as we were wrestling Kate and Liv into the stroller, they bonked heads/faces. Not a big deal usually, and I think it's been happening since they were in utero. But it caused a complete, full body melt down from Liv, and an unbelievable bloody nose from Kate (and the first major meltdown of the whole trip, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive). But oh, we looked pathetic. Dragging all those suitcases, seeing Katie covered in blood (we only had a handful of tissues and they were soaked), carrying a limp and sobbing Liv, we made it to the hotel. When we walked in, the front desk people looked like they might possibly turn us away however much money we might be willing to pay.
Undaunted, I approached the woman at the front desk. This did NOT go as well as the conversation with the ticket agent did. Part of the reason for the expensive price the ticket agent gave us was that, as a family of five, we had been booked into two rooms. I pointed to the girls and noted they were tres petites (bloody and bawling, sure, but small). Didn't matter. Four people could stay in one room. Five could not. I didn't think that appealing to her "chef" would make much of a difference, and we figured that what we had saved by NOT having to buy new TGV tickets could just go to the very fancy hotel.
So we took our two adjoining rooms, and I asked for one more favor -- please, please, would it be possible for her to call the hotel we had been planning to stay at in Dijon to cancel the reservation for us (phone calls in French are tricky at best, and I was feeling far from my best). She literally rolled her eyes. She sighed (see, I'm not the only one... although all of my sighs were sad and pathetic and hers was, rather, well, witchy.) S'il vous plait? I said. C'est difficile avec le telephone....
She said, basically, just this one special time she will help me out... but I better not ask for anything from her ever again in my entire life and even if she sees me stranded by the side of the road one day with four flat tires, she will just drive on by because this is the last time she will EVER help. (Ok, my translation might not be exact, but I've captured the gist and tone pretty well).
And then she sweetly made the call for me, and said "pas de probleme" as long as I emailed the hotel, too, through the online booking website I had used.
After several sweet and heartfelt "mercis", and wondering if for future French conversations I should talk to the men and John should talk to the women, we made it to our rooms. They were beautiful. Fancy. And large enough to each hold a family of five, but whatever. We quickly hooked the kids up with a free on-demand movie in English, I emailed the Dijon hotel as well as our parents and Laura and Franck (from whom we are renting this gorgeous house and who were helping with taxi arrangements the next day), while John took a wonderfully long shower. He gave the kids some food while I took a wonderfully long shower. And we collapsed.
But we made it!
The next day was was smooth sailing. We slept til 7:30 a.m. I went out to a boulangerie for breakfast food and coffee to bring back to our lovely rooms. We repacked, and woke the kids, and made our way to the train station.
And it was a great day. We took the fast train three hours south to Lyon, then had a VERY easy transfer (just to the other track) to a local train back up to Beaune, a city of about 22,000 that I had visited during my time in Burgundy in 1993. The countryside began to look familiar (and in a good way). We arrived to find a minivan taxicab waiting in the queue -- and he happily took all of us -- and our luggage -- to our new home.
I'll write later about our home, our village, and the region, but wanted to get the details of the trip down before it starts getting fuzzy (which could happen sooner than usual given the state of exhaustion). I also hope to post some pictures in just a minute or two.
But before I do, I want to thank anyone who was sending us good travel vibes the 13th to 15th. We needed all of that good energy -- and appreciate it.
I also want to say how I am simply in awe of our kids. They continue to be such great travelers. And if I had had extra hands, I would have loved to have gotten pictures of Jack racing while pulling the two small rolling bags to Kings Cross, of Kate and Liv skilfully handling escalators and subways, of John navigating with the four big bags (two in each hand with one strapped on each) and even of me struggling with an unweildly stroller, piled with carryon luggage and sometimes two wiggly girls. It was truly a sight to see.
And it is so good to be here. We can't wait for the adventures ahead.
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