Mon enfants sont navigateur de voile

My children are sailors.  That is their tribe, that is where they belong.   They feel at home at a yacht club, happy on the water, and, just like anyone else, they relate to the people that love what they love.  

Part of the plan to come to France hinged on us finding a yacht club for them to practice and potentially race.  The closer our departure came, the more our plan seemed to fall apart.  We had two choices for practice but then both teams were full, there were no boats available, I worried that I

would have to tell them that it wasn't going to work out.  Then, a German coach contacted me with an offer to practice two weekends in Lake Garda, Italy.  Kelly and I decided that the side trip to Lake Garda to a sailing hostel(how cool is that) would be a perfect answer in case the day to day training didn't work out.

The first 5 days we were in Nice, Pete asked politely every day if we could please go check out the yacht club.  I was hesitant, not only because my limited French would pose a problem but also because I was worried about getting bad news.  The day Kelly left, bad for me anyway, I decided the kids and I would give it a shot.  We walked(2.5 miles) to the Club Nautique de Nice and met their Opti coach-The laser coach was in Hyeres doing a training week.- He seemed optimistic(ha, ha) that they would be able to practice with either the laser coach, Nicolas or a Swiss guy, Oliver, who was an Olympian...One more time, I emailed Nicolas and he immediately replied back to meet him Wednesday at 10am- that was today.

Our day could not have gone better.  We hiked to the Yacht Club to be there on time for our meeting.  Nicolas turned out so much better than expected.  He speaks heavily accented English but said they could practice Wednesdays and Saturdays with the laser group.  The club boats are battered but they are boats! And we hustled home, had a big lunch, and got back in time for the afternoon practice.  This is our second attempt to plug in here(church was first) and so far we have not been met with any of what I felt might be the classic French Resistance(ha, ha).  Now we have 3 times a week to make friends, practice what we love, and connect rather than just observe.

Patientez

It is on the ticket machine for the tram, it is on the credit card machine to rent bikes, it flashes through my American brain -fully awake from 3 cups of coffee- while I stare at the rack of laundry to dry.

Patientez- literally translates to Please wait- but my brain is rewiring to think Patience.

What is the hurry, really?  We have more towels so if it takes 3 days(and it won't) for these to dry, ok.  We are not hungry right now so the batter for the crepes CAN sit in the fridge for 2 hours.

Last week, I waited 5 minutes in the grocery store for an elderly man to bag his groceries the exact way he wanted them bagged, the cashier sat calmly with her hands in her lap and waited as well.  Really, what is the hurry?  The first week we were here, Kelly and I were at the same Monoprix and the cheese we were buying did not have a price.  The cashier held it calmly, waiting.  We quickly came to the conclusion that she was not helping us and was being rude.  We quickly told her we didn't want it,  paid for our groceries and left.  After the episode with the older man, I think she was telling us- no hurry, go get the price, I will wait.

I am quickly realizing that my rush is self-inflicted and maybe fueled by American society.  Americans see or hear the word "wait" and think "why?" or "what else can I do until then?"  French see the word Patientez and know that it will happen in good time, just be patient and wait.

The culture and attitude is contagious.  At church on Sunday, the English speaking Anglican church, the pastor called for the scripture reader to come up.  There were 3 to 4 pregnant pauses before a proper little English lady stood calmly, approached the lectern, and slowly and perfectly, enunciating every word, read a scripture that took up half the page.  I followed every word.  I have a very different memory of being asked to read scripture in church.  My instructions were to go up on the last stanza of the hymn (so as not to keep anyone waiting) and I felt my heart beat in my ears as I read faster and faster to get it over with.

I have a calendar at home by the back door where I list all the daily activities and appointments.  It gives me a great sense of accomplishment to wipe off each day, complete.  In France, I have yet to get a calendar.  There is no sense of urgency to wipe off a day or rush out.  I still make grocery lists, the kids are magically still on track with school, we have read at least one book each since we have been here and yet- no one is in a hurry.

Hopefully we have developed some patience while we Patientez.

Be patient....
In nothing be anxious; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.                                -Phillipians 4:6

Mon appartement

I live with my husband and two children but also several small children, dogs, musicians, a South American sandwich maker, a French baker, an Indian server, a pretty blonde girl that sells linens, families old and young and thousands of tourists.  Living in the Vieille Ville of Nice, I am never alone.  At night, when I lie down, I hear the low guitar and drum beat from Soul Music Bar across the walk.  In the morning, I smell fresh bread from the bakers downstairs.  In the afternoon, I watch all the local teenagers hang out at the sandwich shop across the square.  City living is a melange of families, businesses, and human connection that we have lost in suburban America.

The shared experiences are new to me.  I haven't had to share a bathroom with anyone but my husband for 30 years and now our family of 4 has one shower, one toilet, and one washer (no dryer).  I get to hang out my clothes on a drying rack for tourists and neighbors to see.

I wake up to the smells of a neighborhood, fresh bread from right below me.  At lunch, aromas of roasting meat and caramelized onions fill the living space and there is always chatter from the square below. Even when I clean, I still smell the restaurants below.  I get to hear children when they are sad, I can see families sharing meals, and I watch elderly couples stroll each evening arm in arm.  Today, I watched a small boy learn to ride his bike and a little girl fall out of a swing.

Two nights ago, Kelly had a conference call at 10pm our time.  He sat with his laptop on the small balcony in an even smaller bistro chair working.  He turned around to see four men leaning out from the waist up out of different windows smoking.  They were all sharing a beautiful evening from their apartments down the alley.

A couple of summers ago, Camille and I rented an apartment for a few weeks in a small village near here during the World Cup.  During the soccer matches we could hear communal cheers from apartments all over the hillside.  In this modern world we have created, so much of our life is insulated, not only from the weather, with nice houses centrally heated and cooled, and airtight cars delivering us from point A to point B, but also with little or no contact with our fellow man.  When I was young I remember only having 3 tv channels and you would arrive at school the day after an Olympic event or a big show and everyone had seen the same thing- with our 300+ channels, even those shared moments are diluted.

There is something very human about connection.  We all want to connect on some level, we need interaction.  It makes me miss home and our great friends and family but also makes me feel a part of a community even though I barely know their language.

Bonjour de Nice!

Almost 6 months planning has gone into getting us to this spot.  

Checklist after checklist of virtual school, french visa, apartment rental, airplane tickets, train passes, and packing requirements have been made and completed.  If we don't have it or haven't foreseen it, it can't possibly be something that millions of French people can't help us with.  Only 6 days in and already our french apartment is filled with fresh anemones from the Marche des Fleurs two blocks away and amazing aromas from the recipes made with fresh ingredients from the Cours Saleya.  Kelly and I made friends with Eric, a vegetable seller in the market.  He gave me French/English cooking instructions for artichokes(chop, chop, chop- in the pan- l'huile d'olive- swe,swe,swe-parmesan-parfait-French cooking is simple!) and recommended the best apples for a tarte tatin.  The Bullingtons have braved the butcher shop- I have to work up the nerve and bone up on my french to go order the marrow bones I need for Pot au Feu and the 3 lb chuck roast for Beef Daube.  The food sellers tend to warm to you when they realize you are truly trying a cuisiner.  This morning, sad from dropping Kelly at the airport, I made a quick stop at the vegetable market before walking to the apartment.  The little white haired lady with her fresh bouqi de thym as big around as a wine bottle for 1E50 and the other with the best strawberries tout le monde reminded me why we are here.  With each day, the children and I can understand and converse a little more in another language.  With each trip to the market, we make new acquaintances, learn new protocol, and understand a new culture.  

This experiment/adventure was never about becoming french- it is about understanding and appreciating our bigger world.  Nice is a blended Mediterranean culture.  Within blocks of our apartment there are Turkish, Afghani, Greek, and Italian restaurants.  There are signs written in Spanish, Italian, French and Russian.  There are people, both residents and visitors, that are from all over the world.  We use our minds constantly to learn or decipher new words in our new language and many times it is just a matter of thinking of another way to say the word- cognates like la nourriture for food (think nourishment) or je comprend for I understand.  This is an amazing opportunity for us to be less ego- and ethno-centric and appreciate more of the awesome world that God has given us.  

And if, in addition, we have jumped off our American hamster wheel that had us running from one activity or commitment to the next in pursuit of_______, then all the better.  My teenagers went to the grocery store with me today, we navigated foreign food labels, we paid in euro, we walked, and took public transportation, and carried our groceries.  Another hidden blessing in this trip is the time we have carved out of an otherwise busy, frenetically paced life to enjoy our family while it is still a tight unit before Camille is gone to college.   This is a chance for me to soak up the precious time we have with our children and what better place to do it than one where fresh baguettes are everywhere- and only cost 1E!!

The Music Man in the Mountains

I am not going to be the parent that was too cheap to purchase bear mace and ended up mauled in a national park.  So we spent the $50 at the Many Glacier gift shop and headed out to Grinnell Lake.  It was our first day in Glacier National Park so we weren't too optimistic, setting our sights on a flat 6-7 mile round trip walk.  Hopefully this would give our lungs a day to adapt and we could shake off yesterday’s flight.  

I wouldn’t say that the hike out was anything spectacular, not like the high mountain hikes we would climb later in the week, but snow in July is always exciting for Southerners and we made a little snowman and took pictures by the lake.  The ferry across the lake was interesting along with its back story of how the summer workers had to drag it down the creek to launch it originally.  

After lunch, we hiked back on the North side of the lake down Berry Picker.  Just like the guide at breakfast predicted, that side of the lake was much more scenic, in the sunshine, and filled with wildflowers….and berries.  The only problem, which I chose not to verbalize, was that bears love berries.  I spent the next hour encouraging my husband and children to sing every camp chant and song they knew.  I love to oooot, oooot, ooooot, oooples and banoonoos! and whatever else they could come up with. 

As the material started wearing down, my husband launched into show tunes channeling his best Professor Harold Hill he belted out 

“76 trombones led the big parade! 

With a hundred and ten cornets close at hand!” 

as we rounded the corner scaring away any and all wildlife- we hoped.  

“They were followed by rows and rows of the finest virtuosos,

 the cream of every famous band!”

 and there on the bridge ahead, not bears but two male hikers enjoying the latest, greatest McGriff show.  

They actually clapped as we apologized for ruining their quiet nature experience and laughing one of the men said,”I love it!  I was a band director at the high school where Mr. Holland’s Opus was filmed.  I have actually put 76 trombones on a stage to play that song!”

So, it turns out we didn’t need the bear mace, just a good repertoire of camp and show tunes and a happy family hiking in the sunshine.  Who knew?

Memories like that cannot be planned.  But I do know this, they must be cultivated.  Families need a shared history, a set of songs everyone knows the words to-or at least is willing to listen and learn-that takes time.  If you haven’t spent time getting to know your children, chances are you will have a sullen teenager staring at a digital device.  And we might not all have time for that big trip, but make a little time to walk outside in the fresh air talking to your kids.  It can’t be bad, unless you run into a bear…

Sidenote:  As we were leaving the park from the Lake McDonald entrance, we felt like being good samaritans and went into the ranger station to donate the bear mace(you will never get that stuff through TSA) The ranger did not bat an eye at our gesture of goodwill, took the mace, pivoted, and set it on the desk behind him- next to about 10 more canisters of the same.

The Journey is the Destination

The taxi dropped us off on Las Ramblas  with all its 21st century hubbub, retail stores and street performers.  But the hustle and bustle quickly gave way to dark, narrow passageways between tall stucco buildings with the occasional hidden nook or fountain until the path opened up to our little square, Plaça del Pi.  The Sunday our young family  arrived, the square was filled with artists and their easels alongside a local organic co-op market.  The square was surrounded by cafes and tapas bars in the shadow of an old cathedral, we knew this would be a great evening spot for us to enjoy dinner and for the children to play.

My husband, Kelly, and I had waited until our youngest was in third grade to begin supplementing our children's education with international travel. The first stop on my list was Barcelona. I was intrigued by Catalán culture, and the city ranged from the Gothic Old city to the modernist creations of Antoni Gaudí, Joan Miró and Picasso which appealed to young art appreciators. In addition, my fifth grader, Camille, was studying explorers and I thought it would be a great chance for her to see the jumping off point for explorers like Christopher Columbus. 

Our days were filled with modernist art in the Picasso and Miró museums and cable car rides across the bay. But each night we enjoyed our small square, ate tapas and got to know our neighborhood.  My son, Pete, was in third grade at the time and he was completely enthralled by the Roma street vendors who sold trinkets to the tourists every evening.  He wanted to buy everything they offered but the most intriguing was a light up slingshot helicopter that the young men could send soaring as high as the rooftops before it spun back to the pavement.   Kelly and Pete would haggle with the vendors each nights for helicopters- Pete always seems to need one more for himself or friends back home. We lost several on rooftops before my husband and son got better at aiming and shooting them like the Roma vendors.

On the last night we were enjoying wine and tapas in our square and my children were running and playing  while we waited on dinner.  We watched as two young men approached and then we watch them shake their heads before turning and walking away from my children. When they returned to the table we asked, "what did the men ask you?"

"They wanted to know if I wanted to buy any helicopters."

"What did you tell them?"

Pete replied,"I told them I already had cuatro en el apartmento.”

After that first international trip with our children, we knew that travel would play an important role in our children’s education.  They thrived on new experiences, interacting with other cultures, learning new languages.  As they have grown, we have seen how our trips have increased their interest in history classes where they recognized monuments or were able to relate to regions through their personal experience.  From Egyptian Pyramids to the Panama Canal, children learn about far off destinations and how they changed with world without ever experiencing them.  

Travel as a supplement to traditional education has always been a goal for my family.  Planning the next vacation was a family affair.  In preparation for trips, my children would write grade level appropriate reports in lieu of their household chores.  These were for our family use only- no extra credit from school.  On that first European trip to Barcelona, Pete did a report on Pablo Picasso, his A+ grade earned him $10 helping to buy him more helicopters.  My daughter completed reports on Joan Miro and Parc Guell.  Not only did these help me prepare for our trip, but they also helped me to determine areas of interest for my children which translated into fun daily itineraries where they could serve as “tour guides”.  

In addition to their presentations, I created simple worksheets for them to do after a day of sightseeing.  These easy crossword puzzles, drawing challenges, word searches, and scavenger hunts highlighted points of interest and light history helped reinforce what they had seen at a museum or monument without seeming like homework.  Often, they bought my husband and I an opportunity to enjoy a glass of wine and some tapas at a cafe while they worked.  These “learn on the spot” worksheets were never graded, and not for any school credit, just enrichment in real life through real experience.

Ultimately, these trips became the highlight of our family calendar.  We realized that we all looked forward to the next adventure, the next project, the next learning opportunity.  Sometimes I would be able to incorporate lessons from school into the planning.  For instance, learning about peninsulas in geography is much more interesting if you are planning to visit the Iberian peninsula.  An art lesson on Matisse comes alive if you have seen a recent exhibit on his cut outs at MOMA.  How much more engaging are Monet’s paintings of waterlilies when you have ridden bicycles to Giverny?  Soon, it became harder to stay at home, the desire to learn through exploration was encouraging us to chart new territory.

Leading us to the decision to embark on our biggest family adventure yet.  In the spring of 2016, our family will check out from the bricks and mortar school as we know it and embark on a semester long adventure.  Over 2 million students are currently enrolled in virtual school programs, a 75% increase since 1999.  Because of that demand, we found that many public schools now offer virtual programs.  In our case, my daughter will stay enrolled at her public high school but transfer into their virtual program, for free.  She even gets to keep her school MacBook.  Virtual courses are available at all levels.  In her case, she will continue with Advanced Placement and Honors level courses that keep her on track with her classmates as well as a novel study not offered in the school building and an opportunity for Independent Study- self designing her subject matter and projects.  The virtual modules are set up as a self-paced program that opens January 7 and closes May 16th and she can progress at her own pace.  Pete, now in 8th grade, will transfer to a public city school system that offers a broad range of electives and advanced classes for his grade level.  His options include French 1, Art History, Digital Photography and even PE credit for his sailing practices.  For most students,  online schoolwork is completed within 3 to 4 hours a day.  

In February, after a month of virtual school under our belts to work out all the bugs, we will move to Nice, France.  Amazingly, every hurdle was easily jumped.  

French long stay visas- check.  

Long term let on an apartment in the pedestrian only Vielle Ville through VRBO- check. 

Proctors for the end of term exams-Maybe.  

AP US History test sights in France-Still working on it.

  

My children, typical 13 and 16 year olds tied to digital devices, have traded in Insta-surfing for Duolingo, an app that allows you to learn languages through a quick, quiz like format.  The french language is already filtering into our conversations and plans made at breakfast are over side trips and potential adventures.

The deal breaker for Pete and Camille, being competitive sailors and lifelong residents of the Gulf Coast was-Where will we sail?  Luckily, one design sailing is the same one design around the world- we all send competitors to the same Olympic games right? Both the Nice and Cannes Yacht clubs have junior Laser sailing practices and teams available for my children to join.  Bonus:  they will receive PE credit through the virtual school with only a letter from the sailing coach.

Experiential learning is the cornerstone of a travel based, virtual education.  My goal for our family is perspective and exploration.  The perspective of our global society.  The internet has brought a globalization to our world that has yet to filter into our traditional learning systems.  Camille and Pete will be a part of a much larger world than the one I grew up in and it is important for them to understand and appreciate those other cultures.  In addition, the opportunity for exploration is limitless.  With that first trip to Barcelona, we saw a statue of Christopher Columbus pointing to the New World.  In their generation, there are still new frontiers for them to find, lessons to be learned and friends to be made.  Free from the traditional school format, they have time to find their passions and pursue their interests.  

A Montana Must-See

Hikers seem to spread out the higher you get on the trail.  Coming from sea level, my family gets a little quieter as well.  Every switchback in this area of Montana holds a new wildflower, breathtaking vista or potential wildlife hazard.  When we can catch our breath, we sing camp songs or chants hoping that the park ranger’s promise that parties of four or more never encounter bears because they make too much noise is true.  

The air is dry at that altitude.  A more lush forest floor gives way to alpine flora, tall spiky spruce and friendly fir trees.  It is not hard to remember to stay hydrated when a water break is also a great chance to catch your breath.  Rounding a ridge high up the mountain, we spot a waterfall about 30 feet up a creek bed and so we stop for a break and enjoy chipmunks stealing bits of hikers’ picnics.  

As much as I want to groan, “How much farther?”  I know that won’t help at all.  Distractions like the herd of mountain goats so migrating across the ridge above help me forget about my tired legs and burning lungs.  Every guidebook and ranger we consulted  promised the payoff is worth it but this is June and the last 1/4 mile of the trail is covered with a foot of unmelted snow turning the trail into a slushy mess.  The children think it is great, pelting each other with snowballs and running down the slope.  Every time I go downhill, all I can think is that I have to climb back out.

Finally, we cross a small snowmelt creek, round a patch of trees and see the bluest lake I have ever seen.  Iceberg Lake sits in the bowl of a glacier high above the rest of Glacier National Park.  The thrill of the summit overtakes everyone.  Hikers jog the last hundred yards.  Foolish teenagers try to surf the broken sheets of ice that remain from the winter.  We sit down, break out our picnic, liberate our feet from our hiking boots and  enjoy the day sinking our toes into water so cold it will give you an ice cream headache.