Every Adventure Begins at Home

I must be nuts.  Nothing else can explain it.  I am headed to Europe for seven weeks, and I’ve barely planned anything.  I thought that by not having a job outside the home I would have loads of time to plan, prepare, pack, see people, have leisurely conversations, feel relaxed.  On the contrary, I’m busier now than when I was working forty hours a week.  I’m trying to coordinate the schedules of six sets of friends to visit and/or meet up with while I’m in France.  My original plan was to buy a Eurail pass for the duration, but WOW! have prices gone up since I was an undergrad riding the rails over that continent; it’s now a whopping $908 for 10 days of travel in two months, and the prices go up from there.  I’ve been driving now for 30 years (yes, go ahead, do the math), and yet the idea of getting behind the wheel of a car (possibly that of my in-laws, no less) in a foreign country intimidates me more than a little.  But it seems I don’t have much choice if I want to save money, time, and have the freedom and convenience only a car provides.  Yes, rail travel is still fabulous in Europe, but the places I want to go are off the map somewhat, and I would be dependent on others to schlep me to and from the station, and I would be subject to train schedules, which in France means always going through Paris.  Gah.

My itinerary, you ask?  I begin by arriving at my in-laws’ house via plane, TGV, and a 45-minute ride from the train station in Le Mans, France.  A few days later I’m going to rent a car or take their car, kiss my son Gaël goodbye (he’ll have his own adventure with his grandparents for a while), and drive to a very tiny town in the Pyrenees, more than 900 kilometers away.  My friend Lynn, whom I haven’t seen since a friend’s wedding in the mid-90s, lives there with her French husband and an adorable little daughter.  I’ve been instructed to bring rillettes, a specialty of the Pays de la Loire (my in-laws’ region), and I’m already worried about how to transport this lovely fatty pork “paste” without giving everyone botulism.

After a few days with Lynn and her family I will venture 234 kilometers further to Barcelona, Spain.  Now, I’ve heard good things about Barcelona, but that’s about it.  Good things.  I think there’s something called the Sagrada Familia, but beyond that I know nothing.  And I’m driving there.  I don’t speak Catalan, and my Spanish is, well, practically non-existent.  I’m hoping for someone along the way who speaks English or Portuguese, because I will inevitably get lost.  My god, I’m so ill-prepared.  My primary purpose for being there, however, is to meet up with my friend Isabel who lives in Madrid.  We also haven’t seen each other since 1995.  Will we have anything to talk about?  Or, what I fear more, will we ever be able to stop talking?  Too many years to catch up on!  A weekend will be barely enough, and I want to make sure I have photos of my husband and son, since she hasn’t met either.  Oh, and my house, and yard.  Yowza.

After a weekend whirlwind, I will wind my way back to Poitiers, where I will visit Jean-Philippe and Regina, another Franco-American couple.  Fortunately, I’ve seen them more recently, a few times in France and a few times when they’ve made their yearly journey to Regina’s native Michigan.  I hope to get to hear some Irish music there, as Jean-Phi plays and Regina sings in an Irish group in Poitiers.  I hope to also pick up some of the fabulous chèvre and brebis cheeses from the Poitou.  Oh, and of course, the famous Pineau de Charentes, one of my favorite aperitifs.

Finally, back to Marolles-les-Braults, chez Prudhomme in-laws.  But just for a night or two, and to pick up my little man for another drive to another country where I don’t speak the language.  My friend from grad school, Raigan, lives with her family in Frankfurt.  She has two sons, one of which is about the same age as my son, so I imagine parks and soccer balls and apfelwein and catching up on old times.  I had dinner with Raigan and our friend Kim a couple of summers ago in Chicago, but it will be nice to see her place and her husband and children in their “native habitat.”

We’ll actually be able to spend a few days with Gaël’s grandparents after that, but then they’ll take off with some friends on vacation in their camper, and Gaël and I will set off to visit my dear friend Amy in Leuven, Belgium.  Amy and I email each other several times a week, and Skype every couple of weeks.  Her family visited us last summer.  She’s Gaël’s godmother and “aunt”, so he’ll enjoy being there with her and her husband and three sons, though they’re a bit older than he.  Then….back through Paris to meet up with friends Liz and Nate who are spending a couple of months there for Liz’s research.  Bastille Day in Paris!!  Oh, my, I AM nuts.  I dislike crowds and cities and driving in Paris.  But I think we should experience Bastille Day in Paris at least once in lifetime.

Returning again to Marolles-les-Braults, the in-laws will welcome Amy and her family down from Belgium, and we’ll do some day trips with the kids to some Loire Valley chateaux.  We’ll take a few deep breaths, and then we’re back on the plane home, bringing home my niece Aude for a month’s visit.  She’s 17, never been to the States, and I’m not sure about her English, but it will be the beginning of another adventure.

So….how am I preparing for all of this?  I’m cleaning my house.  From top to bottom.  Every grand adventure begins at home, you see.  Yes, I was one of those people who couldn’t study for finals unless my house was clean and my laundry done.  I’ve got a billion to-do lists, and I will get only a third of the things on them done, if I’m lucky.  I also have to clean my house before I go on any trip; I can’t stand coming home to a dirty house after an exhausting journey.  There’s just one catch:  after I clean the house this time, it won’t be left empty.  Someone will still be living here for the seven weeks we’re gone.  Granted, he’s a pretty clean guy, but he just doesn’t see the things I see.  Hopefully the house will be in good shape by the time we get back.  Keep your fingers crossed.

Actually, my surface worry of a clean house is masking my true disappointment that my husband won’t be with us for seven weeks, sharing our adventures.  He’s got to be here to work and take classes for his PhD.  I can’t say I won’t miss his quirky commentary.  I’ll miss his tendency to avoid the autoroutes and take the smaller roads so he can detour through tiny towns to stop at every bakery in France (flan, always flan; I swear that man has sampled flan from every department in the country. I personally go for the chausson aux pommes, the ultimate apple turnover).  I’ll miss our three-way chats with his mother.  I’ll miss the way he teases his grandmother.  I’ll miss our midnight star-gazing.

Oh, well.  Such is life, I guess.   Sure, we’ll Skype on the weekend, and email here and there.  Maybe he’ll even read my blog.

Oh, yeah, which brings me back to:  this is a new blog, hopefully chronicling my travel adventures in my “new” life.  Here’s hoping that my ill-planned European vacation is only the first chapter.  Follow me at your own risk…