As was the case for so many others on the planet, the global Covid-19 pandemic threw our plans into disarray and made every step along the way home more complicated than we had ever imagined. 

H started worrying about the logistics of our homecoming about three months in advance of when we’d planned to leave. Every morning he would check the status of our flights to see if they had yet been cancelled. He knew which airports were open to international travel, which borders were open or closed and he obsessively read the news to understand the daily, global changes that would ultimately affect our ability to depart France and arrive in Canada. 

There were so many open questions that it made our heads spin. For example, would our tickets be cancelled and if they were, would the airlines rebook us or force us to buy new ones? Flight prices were going through the roof and at one point H estimated it would cost us $35,000 to replace our tickets. We needed to give one month’s notice to vacate our apartment but with things changing daily we were afraid of finding that we could not fly home and ending up homeless in Paris, with the hotels closed. The health crisis was frightening and it seemed like everyone was telling us to come home as soon as possible but in Paris it looked as though the girls might get to go back to in-person school. If we left immediately, not only would we give up the chance to go back to school but the difference in time zones would mean the girls could not even participate in the online school they had. Would things like travel, restaurants and museums open up before the summer and would we have the opportunity to create some last positive memories before leaving France? H was less concerned about this as his mind was on getting us home but for me, I desperately hoped that we could have one or two more adventures before saying goodbye so that our last memories of France would not be of confinement and fear. 

Canada had imposed a two-week quarantine for all international travellers arriving into the country. We had originally planned to arrive home one week before H started work but realized now that we needed to be home two weeks in advance. The airlines would not allow us to change our flights without paying massive fees. They told us to be patient, wait to see if our flights would be cancelled (all evidence pointed to the likelihood that they would be) and then they would rebook us without charging additional fees. H continued to check the daily cancellations and we waited. 

For logistical reasons related to H’s need to travel back and forth for work over the past year, the girls and I were travelling home separately from him. This meant that the checking, worrying, scheduling and rebooking tasks were doubled. Eventually we got word that mine and the girls’ flight was cancelled. We decided to gamble that the same would eventually happen for H and rebooked ourselves with new dates and a new routing that would take us from Paris to London to Seattle and on to Calgary. It was going to be a long day but, as they say, beggars can’t be choosers. Eventually H’s flight was cancelled too and he was able to rebook his flight to leave within a few hours of us going from Paris to Amsterdam and then to Calgary. We felt better with this certainty under our belt. Little did we know that there were more changes coming our way. 

With travel dates booked, we turned our attention to winding up our apartment lease. Michelle, the agent who had helped us find our apartment and was assisting with the complicated process of giving it up, explained to us that it would be our responsibility to leave the place in perfect condition and anything less than that would result in the landlord withholding massive amounts of our significant damage deposit. What did perfect condition mean? A pristine cleaning including dusting the baseboards, and the all the moldings on the walls and very high ceilings; windows cleaned inside and out; all the sheets and towels washed and ironed; every item of cutlery, dish, decorative item and cushion inventoried and replaced if necessary; oven and all other appliances spotless; the grout in the kitchen and bathrooms clean, fresh silicone, and zero marks on the walls, floors or furniture. Of course, if damage existed before we took possession AND we had documentation to prove it, it was not our responsibility. Unfortunately, the person who took possession of the apartment on our behalf did not record any of the deficiencies and so we had to return the apartment as though it was brand new and in perfect condition. We shopped around to replace the odd broken cups and bowls. H became an expert in home improvement and the French vocabulary for cleaning supplies, tools and parts. If you need to know how to whiten grout, apply silicone, super clean toilets with years of hard water stains, repair gouges out of French plaster, clean an oven with years of buildup, or patch painted surfaces with your daughters acrylic paints, H is the man to ask.  

In the meantime, I took the lead on packing. We had managed to accumulate a few things over our two years in France but shipping items home had become complicated because of Covid. We did not have enough things to justify a shipping container but there was a service called Send My Bag that would allow us to ship a box or suitcase home. The problem was that we would have to personally pick up the bag at the airport within two days of its arrival. We could not do that because of quarantine so it was possible that they would send the bag back to France. We decided it was not worth the risk and the shipping cost was about the same as paying for extra luggage on our flights. We decided to travel with everything we owned. In the end we had 14 pieces of luggage: suitcases, hockey bags and duffels, plus our carryon suitcases and a backpack for each of us. We had a luggage scale at home and made sure that every bag was within 100 grams of their limit. This involved much packing and repacking. The heaviest things like books, the Staub pot and some French flour went into our carry-ons. In the end, there was not an inch or a gram left to spare. 

About a month before departure we received a message saying that the girls flight and mine had been cancelled again. After a long discussion with the airline, we got new reservations on flights that would take us from Paris to Dallas to Calgary. All of the stories in the news were about how Covid-19 was running rampant in the USA and the hotspot was Texas. To this point, my concerns had centered on the logistics of wrapping up life in Paris. Now I started to worry about the actual voyage home and how I would keep the girls and myself safe on the flights and during the layover in a toxic airport.

Our time in France was coming to an end. Our flights were departing at 11AM the next day.  Including carry-ons, we had 14 pieces of luggage between 50lbs and 70lbs all of which needed to be carried down a flight of stairs to the street level and then loaded into a taxi. Due to Covid restrictions, the taxi drivers would not be allowed to touch our luggage. We worried about starting an epically stressful day of travel with 700lbs luggage in and out of taxis and decided that we should spend the night before our flight in an airport hotel. This is when we learned that nothing about travelling during a global pandemic was simple: the only hotel in the airport was closed so we booked a room in a hotel 5 minutes from the airport; the bellmen would not be allowed to touch our luggage and the normally available option of the hotel storing the bags was not available; the hotel would allow us to put the bags on luggage carts and keep them in our room overnight but the room was not large enough for us and the bags so we would have to book an additional room; the hotel shuttle was not running so we would have to book private transport for us and our bags on the morning of the flight. In the end, it was still less stressful than staying in our apartment and having to deal with everything on the last morning so we booked it. 

Our last day in Paris finally arrived. Our bags were packed and stacked around the apartment like a fortification wall. The apartment itself was in tip-top condition and professional cleaners were booked to give it a final polish before the inspection. Michelle, our agent, would be there to meet the bailiff and landlord’s agent and hopefully secure our damage deposit. Our two taxi vans were booked to arrive at 5PM and a dear friend promised to arrive in time to help us bring all of our luggage downstairs. 

We had worked hard to get everything done so we could spend a pleasant last day in the city. We had a lunch reservation at Monsieur Bleu – a restaurant with a magical terrace looking out to the Eiffel Tower. H and I had dined there on our original reconnaissance trip and I had taken the girls there for Sophia’s 12th birthday dinner. We had a glorious lunch and were feeling celebratory and nostalgic at the same time: the stress of preparing to leave Paris was behind us and all we had to do was get through the travel and we would be home, ready to begin life again in Canada. After lunch we walked along the Seine to take the girls’ photo at the Place du Canada: a spot we had discovered two years previous and we thought it would be fun to take the same photo again to mark the changes in the girls in the time we had been in France. As we arrived at the spot my cell phone rang: it was the airline asking if the girls and I had American citizenship or some kind of documentation that would allow us to travel to the USA. H explained that as Canadians we were not required to have visas for the US and that we were not staying in the country but simply passing through on our way home to Canada. They suggested we call the American Embassy because according to the information they had, we would not be allowed to board tomorrow’s flight. The taxis were scheduled to arrive in 4 hours. We turned around to power walk home, our sense of celebration gone as the worst case travel scenario played out.  H called the American Embassy but they offered zero information, concern or assistance in our predicament. 

Back in the apartment we called the Canadian Embassy and left a message on their emergency line. I started looking at flight options online and H called the American Express travel service available through our credit card. While H was on with the travel agent, the Canadian Embassy called me back. They confirmed that, as Canadians, we should be allowed to transit through the USA but said they would call their contacts and confirm. While waiting for the return phone call we considered our options: we could take our chances at the airport the next day; we could buy new tickets to go home; we could let H fly home as planned and the girls and I could relocate to a friends vacant apartment that they had offered us and book more reasonably priced flights for a few weeks from now. H had reached his limit. He had been stressing about this possibility for months and had bourn the brunt of worrying about how to get us home. He could not imagine flying back without us and living with the uncertainty of how we would get back. He told the Amex travel agent to book us tickets to go home the next day. We got flights from Paris to Montreal to Calgary. Interestingly, premium economy was cheaper than economy so we got ourselves three tickets leaving about the same time as our original plans. The American Express agent was kind, calming and reassuring. She told H about a promotion they had available and encouraged him to check it out once back home and his blood pressure had returned to normal. It allowed us to use our points at a special rate to pay for the tickets. In the end, we managed to cover the price of one of our tickets home with all of our points. The next day, two hours before our original flights were scheduled to depart, the Canadian Embassy called us back. We would not have been allowed to board our original flight: days earlier, in response to Europe banning US travelers, the Trump administration had declared that European travellers would not be allowed to transit through the USA. Ironic, given that the pandemic in the USA was markedly worse than in Europe. Thank goodness H had booked us new flights home.

We brought our last bottle of French wine to the hotel that night. After the stress of the day, and surrounded by our luggage, H and I had a glass. I felt better about going home through Montreal and not having to deal with US customs and spending hours in an airport that was considered a global Covid-19 hotspot. H said he would not relax until he knew all of us were on our flights. They would be taking our temperatures before flying, we had a ridiculous amount of luggage, our carry-ons were severely overweight and there were still things that could go wrong.  

The day of departure we were able to take our time in the morning to shower and get ready for our day. There was no space left in our luggage. We tucked anything important into our carry-ons and threw old pajamas, toothbrushes and mostly empty toiletries into the garbage at the hotel. We managed to get all of our bags onto three luggage carts and Mavis was in charge of rolling two carry-ons. We got H checked in and ready to go but he had to leave us in the line-up for our flight with our huge stack of luggage. We kissed him good-bye and said we’d meet him on the other side. Boarding our flight, they took our temperatures and I remembered that I had forgotten to take the Tylenol that H had suggested. When they took Mavis’s temperature the flight attendant said, “Whew, she’s right at the limit”. Thankfully, she wasn’t over the limit and we got on board. The three of us had the premium economy section all to ourselves, save for one other person. Air Canada gave us a bagged lunch and came through every hour or so to offer us another bottle of water. By the end of the flight, I had an embarrassing stack of mini-water bottles beside me. 

We had to go through customs in Montreal and normally would not have to retrieve our bags but I was travelling with our collection of French wines that we were bringing home and when you have something to declare the airlines are obligated to see the bags. The airport was almost empty and there were more customs agents than passengers. The kindest customs agent I’ve ever met overheard me talking about the wine and about the number of bags that I was travelling with. He pulled me from the line over to his own station. He chatted Harry Potter trivia with the girls while asking me pointed questions that would allow him to not pull our bags out and force me to re-check them. He took my word for how much booze I had and what it was worth and he charged me the duty and sent us on our way. I did not have to retrieve, stack, carry and re-check all of my bags. I was so happy to be among Canadians again. 

Worried about the temperature checks, and without the planned Tylonel in my bag, before boarding our next flight, I bought Mavis a very cold bottle of water, which she held close to her chest. I don’t know if it was helpful but we boarded our next flight without incident and jetted our way back to Calgary.

We arrived in Calgary about 1.5 hours before H. My dad met us at the airport and we loaded a ton of luggage into the back of his car.  We could not hug him or ride home with him but it was still good to see him there. The girls and I went home in a taxi and with incredible relief, as soon as we arrived, we took off our masks. We had been wearing a mask for almost 21 hours straight. 

My parents had been to our house earlier that day to drop off groceries for us and there was a basket of freshly baked scones too. The girls were too tired to eat and just wanted to go to bed but first they had to shed their travel clothes and have a quick shower to get rid of any virus that might have clung to us from our travels. I waited for H to get home and then did the same. We all slept well that night. 

It was surreal to wake up in our home the next morning. We were quarantined there for the next 14 days: actually an ideal way to return home after two years away. My dad dropped our luggage off in the garage and I took my time bringing it in, one piece at a time, and putting away our things. We had set up a local grocery delivery service to bring us fresh produce and supplies. My parents had done a curbside pick-up from the Italian Market before our arrival. H had pre-ordered BBQ supplies so we could cook again on an outdoor grill. We received calls from the Canadian government to make sure we were complying with quarantine rules. Yes, we were and we were happy to do so. 

We took those two weeks to make our favorite meals, be outside in our yard, and rediscover our home. We were able socialize outdoors as long as our friends sat off of our property and on our neighbour’s lawn. We had outdoor fires. I did online exercise classes in our backyard. H cooked for us. A couple of time, we ordered meals in from local restaurants. The girls spent hours rediscovering their favourite books and toys. We were able to FaceTime Desmond with a two-hour time difference instead of six.

It had been a long journey home. Since March, when schools, then businesses and then borders closed we had been living with uncertainty. Wondering when and how we would come back to our friends and family. Now we were here, the chapter on France closed for us, for the time being, and a new chapter opening on our life in Canada. It was a blessing to be home, to be safe, and to, for the first time in months, feel completely at ease. 

On March 16, 2020 the French government announced that everyone had to stay within a 1km radius of their homes. Restaurants, shops, museums and schools were closed. We managed to continue to enjoy Paris through daily walks within our allowed perimeter, planning for and shopping for nice meals, learning to bake French pastries and relying on FaceTime and Zoom for social connection. It was a different experience but still a memorable one and I am proud of how well we made the most of our time in Paris, despite the restrictions.

Throughout the confinement, however, I held out hope that things would improve before our departure and that we would be able to have a few final experiences before saying goodbye to France. 

My wish came true and starting on May 11th, we were given permission to travel within 100km of our homes. H and I celebrated by taking a long walk along the Seine. It felt so good to be able to walk freely without the need to monitor our time or distance and saying re-bonjour to some of our favorite views filled us with joy. 

One weekend we rented a car, something we had categorically refused doing until this point because we were terrified at the prospect of actually driving in Paris. We carefully planned our route to avoid the Place de l’Etoile, the scariest traffic circle ever, and left Paris on a Saturday morning to a spot about 20km away. We spent the day flying through the trees at Parc Accrocamp: a high ropes and zipline adventure park. After months of confinement, it was the ultimate freedom to let go and fly through the trees. We brought a picnic lunch with us and marveled at the freedom of being outside of Paris and doing something fun while not wearing masks. The stress of the car rental was 100% worth it. 

Sophia headed back to school for half days starting at the beginning of June. She had managed online school tremendously well but it was like a light turned on inside of her when she got back to face-to-face learning. Mavis was reluctant to go back as her friends had left Paris and she preferred her online teacher but with two weeks to go, she declared she wanted to return. To their credit, though we were not supposed to be allowed to change our minds, her school welcomed her back. We felt so lucky that they both had the opportunity to return to their schools, even if only for a few weeks. They were able to say goodbye to their friends and teachers and put a dot on the end of their two-year school experience in France. 

On June 2nd restaurants in Paris were allowed to open their terraces. I made a lunch reservation for H and I to go to Girafe, a restaurant whose most beautiful terrace has the most spectacular views of the Eiffel Tower. With the girls, we only wanted to go back to the restaurants that had meaning for us. We went to Crêperie Chez Yannick where we had celebrated Sophia’s birthday our first year in Paris, where they had taken their grandparents for dinner when they visited and where we would sometimes go to sit at the few tables outside their door and soak up the ambiance of our local shopping street. We walked to Marzo, the Italian restaurant that served only pizzas and appetizers. It was the first place we found in Paris that made exceptional pizza and was one of the few places we could go that all four of us truly loved. 

On June 14th President Macron announced that Paris restaurants could fully re-open. While we were watching the televised address, I went online and made a reservation for a table at Frenchie. I texted the confirmation to H, who was sitting across the room from me on the couch, and as he read it, he smiled. If there was one restaurant we would want to go back to again before leaving Paris, one with a special place in our heart, it would be Frenchie.  

Travel started to open up again starting at the beginning of June. From June 2nd, we were given permission to travel anywhere within France and from the 15th the European borders would open. Although it was allowed, we decided we would not attempt any trips outside of France. We did not have a lot of time left and did not want the girls to miss school so we needed to be selective. 

We had a hotel credit to use at Les Hauts de Loire after having had to cancel our spring vacation. What could be better than to plan our last, exploratory weekend away in France in a gorgeous chateau with enormous grounds and a picturesque pool? We arrived the first night they opened after their forced shutdown and it felt extraordinarily safe after months of living in Paris. Sadly for H and I, we could not get a reservation at the double Michelin starred dining room but they had a lovely bistro onsite, and that is always more to the girls’ taste anyway. We toured the iconic Chenonceaux and Chambord Chateaux and to make up for the many others that we would not tour, we went to Parc Mini-Chateaux where we got to see models of the famous chateaux and Mavis got to ride in the mini Bugatti cars. It was as corny as it sounds but was a great way to get a sense of spectrum and grandiosity of the chateaux in the region.

Before flying home, we needed to make one more trip: it was to the South of France to visit some friends that had joined the mass exodus from Paris when the confinement was first announced. Pre-Covid, we had walked to school with these friends every day since we first arrived in Paris and we could not imagine leaving France without seeing them again to say goodbye. We booked train tickets to Toulon and spent a glorious weekend with them catching up, watching the kids play in the pool and visiting the beach all while eating and drinking well. It was everything we needed after months of isolation and it was hard to say a final goodbye not knowing when we would see them again. 

When the city shut down one of the things that I most missed was my regular guided tours, organized through the parents’ association at the girls’ school, and led by Dr. Kelly Spearman. Since the girls started school I had been participating in these tours at least once a month and through Kelly, I fell in love with Paris’s streets, bridges and monuments and the history of France. The tours were such a highlight for me that in our second year at the school, I volunteered to help organize them. I also booked Kelly for a number of private tours when friends would come to visit, or just for our family. Kelly’s business, as all tour guides during the shut downs, was heavily affected. As soon as they announced that museums would reopen in France, I wanted to book some tours both to support her and also to give us some last memories of the magic of her tours.  We chose to go to Les Invalides because Kelly had told me that it was one of her favorite tours to give and to the Chateau de Versailles because, while we had already been to visit the Chateau, it had not been with Kelly and I knew that with her, the history and the stories would come alive. We visited the Chateau on a Friday, just after the girls had finished school. It was the most incredible experience as we had the place mostly to ourselves. Normally crammed with tourists, we stood in the hall of mirrors, with no one else around. This was just days before we prepared to leave France and it felt both surreal and the perfect postcard ending to our time in a city full of history and beauty. 

There were many more small things we did to say goodbye including a last visit to the village of Montmarte, using up the images in the girls’ disposable cameras, last scooter rides, dinner with friends, stocking up on pastry making supplies, and trips to boulangeries that we had not yet managed to visit but we had to accept that many things on our bucket list would remain undone. Looking back, that is not such a bad thing. The day will come again when we are able to travel and we will go back to France. It will be an easy trip to plan because we still have that bucket list: restaurants and boulangeries left to try; experiences still to have; places left to visit and and an endless list of things to learn. So, in fact, it is not really a farewell to France but more of a “see you soon” to the place where we spent two years of our lives. See you next time, Paris.

Then we asked our girls what they wanted to make sure we did in Paris before going home to Canada and Sophia said she wanted to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I had dragged Sophia to many, many sights in Paris that she did not really want to go to so there was no question in my mind that it was my turn to “have a positive attitude”. It was only a question of how and when.

To answer the “how” we had to consider whether this would to be a low-key or a big deal event. There is a range of choices in how to visit the tower: anywhere from reserving a table at the Michelin starred Jules Verne restaurant to foregoing the elevator and climbing the stairs to the second level. It seemed like the most popular choice is to take the elevator, not the stairs, and to go to the very top.

We did briefly consider whether we should go all out and reserve a table at one of the restaurants. The Jules Verne had been closed for renovations since we had arrived in Paris but had recently reopened. It was pricey: the menu was 135 euros for lunch and 190-230 euros for dinner. We decided that fine dining was not important enough to the girls that it would be worth the money and that the girls would rather free to move and explore than sit at a table so we did not book either the Michelin starred or more casual bistro restaurant.

We regularly walk through the Champs de Mars, the park surrounding the tower, and had often looked at the length of the queues and said, “I am so glad I am not in that lineup”. Even the line for people with advance tickets was usually quite long and you had to buy them weeks or up to two months ahead. We decided we should take advantage of the fact that we lived in Paris, a 20-minute walk from the tower, and could go at an off-peak time. We would not buy advance tickets and risk getting a rainy day. We would walk up the stairs instead of using the elevator because this option is much less popular and the line-ups are usually the smallest. If you decide you want to go to the top, you can buy tickets onsite at the second level and go from there and there is not much of a queue.

Sophia agreed with this proposal. 

In early September, after the summer tourists had left town, the day before Mavis’s 10th birthday and on a Wednesday, when the girls had only a half-day of school, we had lunch at home, dropped off the school backpacks and took the quick walk across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. The sun was shining but it was not too hot. There was a beautiful, clear blue sky.

It was exciting to cross the barrier of the protective fence and actually stand underneath the tower for the first time. We had often noticed how the Eiffel Tower has such a different personality when you view it from a distance compared to when you are close up and can see the details in it’s construction. Getting closer than we had even been before, and looking up into it’s heart, it changed again and we were in awe, struck by the enormity of it. 

There was only one family ahead of us. After waiting less than five minutes, we bought our tickets and started climbing. It was 32 euros for the four of us to climb to the second level (tickets to the top in the elevator would have been almost 80 euros) Turns out, on the day we went, the wind was too strong and so the decision of whether to go to the very top of the tower was taken out of our hands. I do not know what happened to the people who had bought to-the-top tickets months in advance. Did they get a refund? 

We climbed the 674 steps, 410 feet, 116m to the second floor of the tower. They say it will take about 30-45 minutes to do the climb and there are motivating signs along the way to tell you how far you have to go. En route we could really examine the skeleton of the tower and were able to touch the massive screws and plates of metal. It was fun to watch the elevator go past us. We were lucky as, for most of the time, we were the only ones we could see in the stairwell and it felt like our own private, industrial, tower. We stopped at the first level where you can walk on the glass floor and read the interactive exhibits on the history and how the Tour Eiffel compares to other towers around the world. On the second floor you get to stand outside and get just stare at the views. We have a map of Paris on the wall in our kitchen and this was like looking at it in real life as we followed the boulevards, found the monuments and named the buildings we had visited. Even if you did not pay for the elevator on the way up, you can take it down for free. We decided not to and instead went back to the first level to relax for a while and soak up the view. There are a bunch of food options to choose from: the bistro for a meal, macarons and a bar for wine or champagne. We chose ice cream and chilled for a while in the lounge chairs while looking out at the Paris skyline. Many of the chairs were taken but it was not hard to find some. Again we were happy to be there at an off-peak time. It looked to me a lot of the people up there were locals who had chosen to come to the Eiffel Tower for something to do on a nice afternoon.

We walked the rest of the way back to bottom. It was much easier than going up and again, we had the stairwell mostly to ourselves.

I have heard many people say, and read in guidebooks and blogs that going up the Eiffel Tower is overrated. It was these comments that discouraged me from wanting to do it in the first place. I would now say that it was a good thing to do and I am happy we did it. I cannot compare our experience to what it would have been like in the height of tourist season but I would speculate that it was hugely different. We had room to breathe, space to relax, and spent no time waiting. If you can do it that way, I recommend it, but I know not everyone has that option. Even during peak times, I think I would choose the walk up option again. On the stairwell there will always be a certain amount of space and you are in the open air. I have not been in the elevator so cannot say for sure, but I feel like you might miss some of the magic by riding up and down. For us, I am pleased that we saved the experience for the second half of our time in Paris because it was so fun to look at our now-familiar-city from a new perspective. If someone was coming to Paris for a week, I would probably suggest saving the Eiffel Tower for the end of their trip for this same reason.

Thank you, Sophia, for making sure we went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I enjoyed our visit so much that I would go again. In fact, I thought our family might do a farewell visit to the tower before saying goodbye to Paris, maybe in the evening this time for another different perspective. Covid restrictions will likely make that visit impossible so we will likely say goodbye from afar, perhaps from our favourite lookout point, Trocadero, which is usually jammed with tourists but is eerily quiet these days. When we are back in Paris, we will go up the Eiffel Tower again and look down on a city and see how many monuments, boulevards, bridges and sites we can name. Who knows when this day will come but when it does, it will be a lovely way to say hello and see our beautiful city again.

I don’t know if you guys have read Diary of Anne Frank but if you have, you might have noticed that in it, she didn’t really talk about the war or how scared she was, but more about herself: her quarrels with her mom, her hopes, and little things like what she was reading and doing during the days. I didn’t really understand how all of that war stuff wasn’t constantly on her mind when I read that book but now I do. I don’t know why but I think that for kids it is easy to ignore stuff, the stuff we call boring but that can change the course of our life. I know that covid19 is a life changing experience but it doesn’t feel that big to me.

For me, I don’t think of what we are missing out on. As far as I am concerned, this is my life. Yes, it is different in that we are not going to school and that going outside has to be for a purpose but it still follows the rhythm of wake-up, work, eat and chill so I have adapted and now I just consider it normal.

While my parents busy themselves with getting us home, feeding us and trying to keep us happy, I sit down to do the mountain of homework I have, so I don’t really have much time to get all thinky. Every morning, I get up and, much to my dismay, I have to go for a run. I come home, eat breakfast and go to school (the very long walk from the kitchen to my bedroom!). Once “at school”, I work for about three hours, give or take, and participate in my online calls. I find that online school is not as engaging as being in the classroom. The teachers have to work really hard to get responses from the students and with all the muting and unmuting, things just take a lot longer. Typically, I am finished by lunch and I normally read in french for some time (my family would argue that I read for at least five hours a day and it’s possible that it is true). These days I am doing a little less reading and a little more art. I recently finished a watercolour of the view out of my bedroom window and I plan to keep it as a memory. I also did a knitting project: a purse for Mavis. Our evenings are used to chat with friends and family from home and to eat dinner which is sometimes made by me. I have made bolognese sauce, grilled cheese, and lots of breakfast items. Weekends often involve baking projects, movie nights and a lot more reading. I have learned how to bake cream puffs, macarons, financiers, molten chocolate cakes, french galette, crêpes and cookies.

Right now, going to school and hugging my friends hello feels like a dream and I am so looking forward to not having to go on a run every morning with my dad. I am excited to go back to Canada but I am disappointed that it has to be under these circumstances. Part of me is happy to not go back to school because I like waking up a little later, not carrying a 13lb backpack and being a little bit invisible to my teachers. The other part of me wants to go back so I can see my friends and say goodbye, even if it is under the “new-normal”.

When my mom and dad talk about moving back to Canada in worried tones, I find myself listening. Before we came to France and they would talk about all of these details, I would ignore them. I am curious about what is going to happen next. How stressed are my parents going to be? When will we move out of our apartment? How long will the flights be and how many layovers will we have to sit through? Will I have to wear a mask? Will we have to spend our last few days in Paris in a hotel?

I am so lucky to have a nice place to stay, a school that can continue teaching us, two loving parents and a little sister to annoy. I wonder if when I look back on this time if it will feel as insignificant as it does to me right now or, if I will someday realize that covid19 was an important event that changed me in some way.

In the French school system, students get a two-week break from school every six to seven weeks. Cleverly, they divide the country into three zones and leap frog the holiday weeks so the entire country is not on holiday at the same time. It really is a lot of holiday time. When you are on a sabbatical year, this is great. At any given time you are either planning travel, travelling, or doing a post-mortem on one trip in order to decide on another. If you happen to be a family with two working parents, the breaks seem more of a curse than a blessing. Many families rely on grandparents or organized “stages” to keep their kids entertained and there are even organizations designed around taking kids out of the city for breaks without their parents.

For us, the school breaks were a blessing and we wanted to make the most of them. Our first vacation, this fall, took us to Italy where we visited Rome, Florence, the Tuscan countryside and Venice. The Christmas holidays took us home to Canada to see our family. Last year we joined everyone else in France in planning a February ski break but this year we bucked the trend and decided to seek out warmer temperatures while adding to our list of European countries visited and cultures experienced.

We decided that Spain and Portugal were far enough South to hope for warm weather but would not rely upon it, as would beach vacations and coastal towns. We set an itinerary around Barcelona, Seville, Lisbon and Porto to give us a taste of a big city and smaller town in each country: kind of like a sample pack to see what we like more and where we would return to one day when our focus is on depth over breadth. To that end, in each city we organized one private tour with a local guide and left one day free for exploring. 

I am a huge believer in hiring local guides to learn about a city and, while it is pricier than group tours, I feel that a good, private guide is well worth the money you pay them. We will spend three to four hours on a tour and leave with a basic understanding of what is special and unique about a city, some excellent recommendations for how to spend the rest of our time there, local tips on restaurants, a feeling that we have gotten to know at least one local person, and some excellent memories. Every guide we have met is passionate about their city and it’s history and stories. H always quizzes them about the local political landscape. Our girls remember our travel experiences by the guides we have used and I find that their favourite locations seem to have more to do with how well they connected with the guide than what they saw or what they did.

We kicked off our vacation in Barcelona. Once again, we were struck by how different the architecture looked from our familiar Paris. In Canada, not much changes in a two-hour flight from our hometown and we continue to be surprised each time we travel at how a short time can transport you into another world. Our guide, Valentina, was a native Italian who had come to Barcelona to be with her boyfriend. As with so many of the Europeans we have met, she impressed us by being fluent in Italian, French, Spanish and English. Our first stop was La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona’s iconic site and, hands down, the most unique church (technically, a basilica) we have visited thus far in Europe. The yet-to-be-finished masterpiece by Antoni Gaudí was mindblowing: every possible surface on the exterior decorated and the interior was like a modern, real life Dr. Suess, spiritual oasis. Gaudí never expected to complete the project in his lifetime but believed that his job was to take the project to one level and that future architects would weave in their own visions and expressions. I loved the fact that this was conceived as a community project 130 years ago and built with the support and financial contributions of the townspeople. Valentina told us that the planned completion date is 2026 but given the number of cranes currently in use and the fact that the city is in an ongoing “negotiation” with owners of nearby apartments that need to be demolished in order to build the yet-to-come portions of the church, our sense is that we shouldn’t hold our breath. At the end the tour, Valentina took us to a local café for churros and chocolate. Had that been the only thing she had done with us, I think we still would have loved her and felt it was money well spent.

Gaudí became an unplanned theme of our time in Barcelona. There was such a sense of whimsy with his buildings and even the girls were fascinated by the lack of straight lines or corners. We ended up visiting the Park Güell, La Pedrera and, our favourite, la Casa Batlló. 

One of the things we have learned over the past year of travelling is that we do not appreciate too many nights in hotels and enjoy our time more when we have an apartment and the ability to eat at home. In Barcelona we found a new balance which we all loved: we cooked for the girls then H and I went out to enjoy the Spanish restaurants that were too late, too loud and too unfamiliar for them to enjoy. Tapas: small, sharing plates of different foods, are a brilliant way to dine. We loved the variety and the opportunity to spread them out over an evening. After ordering what seemed like many plates we were always pleased as we found we spent less and ate less than we seemed to in traditional restaurants.

Being two Spanish cities, I thought Seville and Barcelona would feel like sisters but we found they seemed almost unrelated. The architecture in Seville was an unusual and gorgeous blend of Moorish/Arabian and Gothic styles, heavily influenced from the time the city was under the control of the Moors. Our guide, Jamie, was born in Seville, married a local girl and they are raising their two children there. He explained that his parents’ generation did not learn any English, that his generation had some but limited exposure but that his children now get a good portion of their day in english instruction. Fortunately for us, Jamie’s english was excellent and he taught us a lot about the region. For example, 53% of the world’s olive oil is produced in Spain and much of it is actually shipped to Italy and sold as Italian olive oil. Spain also produces all of the world’s black olives. In Seville, they have one tree or plant for every two inhabitants. They are famous for their orange trees whose fruit is so bitter that Jamie told us we would regret it for a month if we tasted them but the city harvests them to ship to Scotland to be made into marmalade. While admiring the Royal Alcázar Palace, we learned that Spain’s royal family are treated as regular citizens, paying taxes and holding jobs, and that when they are required to fulfill royal duties they receive a salary to do so. We enjoyed the small town vibe of Seville and the sunshine which, well welcome in February, we understand is almost punishing in the summertime.

Our third stop, Lisbon, was another complete departure in terms of culture and asethetique from it’s neighbouring Spanish cities. When we first arrived in Paris we were struck by the depth of history in the city and loved visiting monuments older than our home country. Travelling to Portugal, we realized that Paris is really a spring chicken by comparison. Much of Lisbon’s city center was wiped out by an earthquake in 1755 and rebuilt giving it lovely gridded streets and beautiful tile covered buildings. We loved the arch giving entrance to the city direct from the river Tagus. It was easy to imagine how impressed travellers would be as they came to Lisbon by boat and experienced such a grand entrance. Our guide, Célia, took us out of the centre to visit the Belém district where we learned about the early Portugese explorers, visited a 16th century monastery and sampled the pastéis de Belém, a secret family recipe that still remains under lock and key. Learning about Portugal’s past it seemed that they really were the centre of the world in the 15th and 16th centuries and we marvelled at how many colonies they had during that time. 

En route from Lisbon to Porto, we made a quick stop in the tiny town of Óbidos. Today, it has a population of 100 people and two main streets to wander. Curiously, there are still four churches, plus one converted to a beautiful bookstore that is worth checking out if you are ever passing by. King Dinis gave this town to his bride as a wedding gift in 1282. Seems like a pretty nice gift to me. We spent about an hour exploring the nooks and crannies of the town and doing an obligatory tasting of ginja – a sweet cherry liqueur served in a chocolate cup, which you eat afterwards. I thought I would just take a sip of H’s but after a tried it I decided it was tasty enough to spend the 1 euro to get my own.

Everyone we met in Lisbon told us that we would prefer Porto and they were right. Porto’s Ribeira district exists since the middle ages and you can still wander the arcades and tiny pathways that been there since the 15th century. Our guide, Iolanda, told us that Porto has been experiencing a huge tourism boom over the past eight to ten years and as a result, the city center has become unaffordable for most locals. Many properties have been bought by foreigners as vacation properties or rentals. The locals have a love/hate relationship with the tourists who are both pushing them out of their homes while driving their economy. J.K Rowling lived in Porto for a few years and took a lot of inspiration from the town for her Harry Potter series. We visited the café where she liked to sit and write, the bookshop that inspired the Hogwarts castle and staircases and saw groups of university students who I thought were dressed up as Hogwarts students until I learned they were wearing the uniform they have been wearing for centuries and which inspired the wizarding story. It was fun to see the port houses across the Douro River and the Pont D Maria, the bridge designed by Gustave Eiffel but my Porto highlight was getting lost in the tiny stairways and paths between the buildings and crossing the Dom Luis I Bridge on foot and looking out at picturesque Porto.

What did we learn from the sample pack? We like big cities because they have lots to do and we like little towns because they don’t. The ideal vacation includes some of each. We prefer train travel to airplanes and did not like that this trip had us taking flights to move between one town to another. Accommodations should include some time in an apartment and, if possible, a special hotel with historical significance, as a treat for one or two nights. We have loved our times in places where we can sit in the same rooms that nobles enjoyed hundreds of years ago. Sampling the local boozy offerings is just as important as the local cuisine: green wine in Barcelona, orange wine in Seville, ginja in Óbidos and port in Porto - we loved them all! Sadly, as we were travelling with only carry-on we could not bring any home with us… except a bottle of Port I insisted on getting in the duty-free en route back to Paris. I enjoy it as an aperitif - who knew that was a thing?

After all of the travelling we have done in the past two years, and for the last of our vacances scolaires, we planned to spend it in France, putting in practice all we have learned about how we like to travel. This trip was to focus on Normandy and the Loire Valley and we were going to try accrobranching (obstacle courses in the trees), visit famous Chateaux, learn about D-Day and the second world war, camp on a local farm and visit an history themed amusement park. We had booked private guides and small hotels. It was to be the cherry on the gateau, so to speak. Alas, like everyone else in the world, we have had to cancel our plans. Our last school holiday was spent in France, but we were obliged to stay in our neighbourhood and, largely, in our apartment.

Thankfully, we have learned to love family travel and we have learned to do it well. I do not know when our next trip will be but I do know that France will be be here and so will it’s beaches, war memorials, chateaux and monuments. Planning a trip does take a lot of time and we were so sad to have to unwind this last vacation. On the bright side, when the time is right, we have our “last hurrah itinerary” ready to roll and can easily put it into action. That is our plan. A bientôt, France et à la prochaine!

The plan for our second year was for Drina and the girls to spend it in Paris, and I would work part-time in Canada.  During the girls’ February school break, we had enjoyed a lovely, albeit slightly chilly, time in Spain and Portugal.  Coronavirus was in the news, but not yet really a major concern outside of China.  Barcelona had signs everywhere about the upcoming World Mobile Congress.  By the time we got back to Paris in late February, the Congress had been cancelled.  Northern Italy was beginning to show signs of worsening, and France had a few news reports of cases.  I had to go back to Canada for one more stint of work but already had my return ticket to France for April 4th.  We had planned a road trip to Normandy and the Loire Valley for the April school vacation and were planning to take advantage of the multiple long weekends in May to visit a few more European cities.  

So it was that I prepared to leave for Canada on March 4th.  I remember saying goodbye to Drina and expressing that I was worried the Coronavirus situation would get so bad that I would be stuck in North America with her and the girls in Europe.  I never imagined what would happen in less than two weeks!

The day after I arrived in Calgary, Alberta had its first case.  As a habitual news junkie, and worried about the growing global pandemic, I was trying to stay on top of European news.  One week later on March 12th, I was at work when an alert on my phone said Emmanuel Macron, the French President, was speaking to the nation in a few minutes.  With the time difference, I was on a lunch break and could briefly listen as he declared that the nation was at war against the virus and announced that in a few days the country would effectively shut down.  European borders would be closed for a month.  After exchanging a few texts with Drina, I got back to work.  By the time I got home, she would be asleep, and I would have a little more time to think about our situation.

Desmond was in Toronto, Drina’s parents in Calgary, and while I knew my group would support me if I asked, I did not want to renege on my promise to work through March and cover spring breaks.  In Canada, I would wake up around 4:30 or 5:00am so I could chat with Drina before my day started.  We decided that I would stay put and see what the next few days brought.  It turned out they brought a great deal.

On March 15th and 16th Alberta schools and universities closed, a public health emergency was declared on March 17th, and by March 18th, Canada had essentially shut it’s borders to all non-Canadian travellers.  

The girls’ school in Paris had very impressively, literally overnight, started a structured online curriculum.  While they were not thrilled, the structure kept the girls busy and Drina was the conductor keeping the orchestra of life playing in Paris. As we considered what the next best steps would be, my first thought was that, if I went to Paris and joined them in our apartment, I would be disruptive to the rhythm of their life. I knew that Drina would have created a finely tuned engine that powered a sports car elegantly around a racetrack and that my arrival would be like asking the sports car to tow a boat trailer on a highway. On the other hand, I didn’t like the idea of us being apart for months as a pandemic swept across the globe.  

So, I did what Drina says I often do when I am faced with stressful situations: I became very task oriented. Every day I knew what flights were leaving Canada for Europe. Luckily for me, Calgary had been declared one of four airports in Canada still receiving international flights, and KLM, with whom I had a ticket, was still operating the odd flight from Calgary to Amsterdam. I also read French and European Union websites to familiarize myself with the rules and knew if the time came, I would have a good chance at getting through the closed borders.

Drina and I then had a brutally honest conversation about whether or not I would be additive or subtractive to their life in Paris; of course, that would assume I could even make it there.  I asked her and the girls to spend a few days thinking about it.  

The Luck of the Irish: Part 2

In the meantime, I needed to figure out Desmond’s situation and he and I had a few good chats.  The favorite part of my solo life in Calgary had been my dinners with Roy and Moira (Drina’s parents), and though I had already decided to physically distance myself from them, through daily phone calls and chats across the front lawn they were invaluable council. Between them and Desmond’s well-articulated reasons, I knew Desmond would do better in Toronto than Calgary.

Many people have asked me why Drina and the girls didn’t come home.  It was a multifactorial choice, but in very broad strokes it had to do with the amazing education the girls were still getting Paris and our boiler!  After the first few days of complaining, both girls got into the groove of online school and had told Drina that they didn’t want to go back to Calgary and be out of school for six months. We agreed with them. As for our boiler, it has to do with France’s strong tenant favoring laws. You see, tenants have lots of rights in France and with those rights, come some responsibilities that are foreign to us Canadians.  As tenants, we are legally responsible for our boiler and radiator system. If anything leaks or goes belly up, it is us who must have it fixed, and if water damages the building, it is us and our insurance that pays to fix it all up. If we abandoned our apartment for longer than two weeks without some proof that the boiler and water pipes were being maintained, our insurance would be void. Our boiler has been temperamental the entire time we have known it and we were not at all keen on the idea of having to pay for hundreds of thousands of euros of repairs to our elegant Haussmann building if anything went wrong. So, the only way we could leave Paris was to permanently unwind our legal obligations and move back to Canada.  Not a task I could in good conscience add to Drina’s long list of tasks she was already faced with as solo mom in French lockdown. 

While I was sorting out Desmond’s plans, Drina and the girls had many chats and weighed the pros and cons of adding me to the mix and in the sweetest way imaginable told me that my “intensity” needs to be tempered during a pandemic. I knew my ladies were bang on as their list was eerily similar to my own as I thought about why I was less like high octane fuel to their engine and more like a heavy boat trailer.  We agreed that I would do my best to follow the family quarantine peace plan.  I was pretty sure it would be an opportunity for self-improvement.

My final task was to confirm my ticket.  It appeared that my flight on April 4th was still scheduled to leave. I started trying to get a hold of KLM to explain to them that I was eligible to be on that plane.  After five hours on hold, an agent said that they only helped people who were flying in the next 72 hours and I was not in that category.  She suggested I use private WhatsApp and Twitter channels and wished me good luck.  I dutifully sent messages to both social media accounts and waited.  And waited.  Nine days before my scheduled departure, I got canned replies from robots directing me to the website with which I was already very well acquainted and asking me to resend messages again if I really wanted to fly!  So, I did and waited.

On Friday, March 27th, I got a voicemail that made my heart sink.  KLM had called my travel agency and cancelled my ticket and was offering me a refund.  I was at work and Drina and the girls had just sent me a message about the things we could do once I got there.  I decided to tell them the next day, so they’d have the weekend to process what it meant.  As a Hail Mary pass, I called my travel agency.  I explained to them that according to both French and EU laws, I was allowed to enter Europe to be with my wife and children, and that I had spent six days trying to speak to someone at KLM.  I begged them to help.  They said they would try.  Two hours later, they called me and said they spoke to KLM/Air France representatives in Montreal and explained my situation.  Not only did KLM re-instate my ticket, but they also offered me a ticket on the only possible flight from Amsterdam to Paris the evening I landed in Amsterdam.  They asked if I was OK spending the day in a shutdown airport.  Was I OK????  I was ecstatic and said I’d spend two days in the airport if it meant I could see my family again.  The travel agency is that of American Express credit cards and I will never again question the value of my annual fees!  By that evening I had received new tickets and an internal KLM/Air France email for repatriation of Dutch and French citizens.  The day had been a roller coaster of emotions the likes of which I have trouble remembering.

The final week in Calgary was a blur.  I went to work, got the house ready to leave, and prepared photocopies of documents I thought I would need at the airports.  This entire sabbatical project ended up becoming possible because I was allowed to live and work in France as the husband of a European citizen – Drina, my Irish wife!  The way I would be allowed back into Europe was the same.  When it came time to renew my status for the second year, the charm and charisma of our immigration consultant Moira got me a five-year carte de séjour.  So, per French law I was a permanent resident of France, and right there on my card it said I was married to a European.

My dear friend Dave dropped me off at the airport on April 4th.  The KLM desk staff spent a lot of time studying, having private chats about, and phoning people about my decidedly Canadian passport and French residency card and eventually let me on the flight.  Once on the plane, the flight attendants told me they were all surprised I was on that flight because the manifest showed me as a Canadian.  Once I told them our story, they told me how lucky I was as my flight was the very last KLM flight out of Calgary until further notice.  Two weeks later, I am still incredulous at my luck.

Some 32 hours after I got on that plane in Calgary, and two very thorough interrogations by border officers in both Amsterdam and Paris, I was sitting in a cab about to rejoin Drina, Sophia and Mavis.  

Not knowing what I was exposed to my last week at work and during my travels, I spent two weeks pseudo-quarantine in a corner of the Paris apartment.  So, in fact I was indeed the heavy boat trailer I imagined.  Other than taking Sophia for her jogs, I didn’t contribute to daily life and all was done for me, so I didn’t inadvertently infect a common object or surface.  There is a large debt to repay my ladies after quarantine.

The Eurythmics open Sisters are Doin’ It For Themselves with the lyrics:

Now there was a time when they used to say
That behind every - "great man"
There had to be a - "great woman"
But in these times of change you know

That it’s no longer true

Oh, how very palpably true those words are to me.  In these times of change, I am so truly grateful for my wonderful Irish wife.  Our Parisian adventure has made me a far better person than I used to be, and it is only because she is so very capably in front of me, paving our family’s path, that I got here in the first place and was able to get back to her.  In more ways than I can ever count, I have been blessed with the luck of the Irish.  Thank you, Drina!  I love you.

We are trying to absorb and adjust to the changes that have taken place over the past couple of months. Our world has become, bit by little bit, much, much smaller than it was before. Even after the French government made the decision to close schools and then non-essential shops, museums, and restaurants, we still had much in Paris we could enjoy. I had plans to take long walks to neighbourhoods I had not yet explored, to visit iconic statues and monuments, do some power walks with friends, visit our local cemetery (yes, really!), and take the kids to the parks to master ping pong. 

Then, on March 16th, President Emmanual Macron told the nation, through a televised address, that we could only leave our homes for essential shopping, medical needs, and brief periods of exercise. We could not exercise with others: goodbye to walks with friends or sharing games of ping-pong. We were required to carry an “attestation dérogatoire” along with our identification with us at all times stating our purpose for leaving the house. We had to stay within one kilometer of our home, limit our outings to one hour, and the police would patrol the streets and enforce a fine for those flouting the rules. 

Overnight, our Paris became a one-kilometer circle around our apartment. 

We are incredibly fortunate that within this radius we have access to wonderful food including bread, cheese, pastries, fish, seasonal produce including fresh strawberries, blueberries, asparagus and greens, and a butcher who prepares amazing roast chickens and potatoes. We also have a large format grocery store that has most things in stock. Flour can be difficult to come by so I am grateful that I stocked up early on. Trust the French to consider chocolate an “essential” and in the week leading up to Easter, the chocolate shops opened and allowed people to purchase without entering the stores, thereby ensuring that Parisians would not be without their beautifully wrapped treats for the holidays. 

Within our one-kilometer circle we can also walk along the Seine and cross a few bridges to get some iconic city views. The water in the Seine is looking much cleaner and fresher than it was a few months ago and with only cargo barges moving along it, it is very peaceful. We can get to Trocadero, the best place in Paris to look at the Eiffel Tower. Normally this spot would be packed with tourists, live music, people selling souvenirs and, often, protesters. These days we can enjoy the view without another person in sight. We will always have these private moments in our memories. If I stretch the one-kilometer rule just a little (I admit that I have been known to do that) I was able to run in the Bois de Boulogne around the two lakes and imagine that we are not in Paris at all. I bought a scooter so I could keep up with the girls and we found a few long wide boulevards in our neighbourhood perfect for getting up some speed. We also have the Jardin du Ranelagh where we can surround ourselves with lawn, plants and flowers and where they have a closed off road that is the perfect place for practicing our new favourite outdoor activity: skipping. 

Then, on April 7th, the city of Paris announced that all “activites sportives” such as jogging, yoga, and yes, skipping, would be prohibited between the hours of 10AM and 7PM. This has been the biggest adjustment we have had to make. We are still allowed out during the day to do necessary shopping and it is permitted to go for a short walk but the activities that made our outings “fun” are no longer allowed. They also closed the pathways in the Bois de Bologne, making our circle smaller. The police are out on the streets enforcing the rules. I have been stopped four times and have had to show my identification and paperwork. Terrifyingly, on a run, six police jumped out of a van and demanded H and Sophia show their documents. The fine if you are too far from home, are out too long or do not have appropriate documentation is 135 euros for a first offence quickly rising to up to 3750 euros plus jail time for repeat offenders.

Our days have a new rhythm and it is based on the rules, not on how we would like to structure our time. We need to ensure we wake early enough for us to take our turns getting outside for a run before 10AM. With distance learning, the girls are flexible on start time but we make sure they are home before their first call of the morning. The weather in Paris is glorious but we spend all day indoors with the exception of going out to do the shopping. We feel like it would be good for us to get outside again in the evening but between dinner, connecting with people from home, and needing to be in bed early enough to make sure the morning wakeup is not too difficult, we find it difficult to get out. 

In our new smaller world, life happens in the apartment. The girls do their schooling sitting in their rooms or at the kitchen table. They connect with their teachers and classmates using GoTo Meeting. Our kitchen has become our workplace and play space. In my last post, I spoke of butter, milk, flour and eggs and baking continues to be a bright spot for us. It has given us challenges and rewards and trying to recreate some of the French treats we have fallen in love with has helped me feel as though I am continuing to discover France, albeit from my kitchen. We share our baking when we can and have been thrilled to introduce our Concierge to banana bread (she loved the “gateau”!) or drop off cookies or cupcakes to people who live within our radius.

The family iPad and my computer have become our social life as we connect with friends and family from home or do online apèro with locals and through technology we have expanded our world. I am so appreciative of artists, creatives and companies who have created new or newly made available content we would never have otherwise discovered. We are using audiobooks, Mavis is making her own playlists on Spotify, we have connected with communities of bakers and cooks from home and from France, with French fashion bloggers, have listened to live lectures on Paris history, watched live shows by local Calgarians, and discovered new music through streaming concerts. I have made a list of some of our favourites below.

A friend pointed out that the word “confinement”, especially when you say it in French, is so much prettier than “lockdown”. I like the associations the word confinement creates for me too: it makes me think of “couchément” which is the French word for lying down and “cocoon”, our English word for getting cozy. Living in a smaller way, in terms of distances we can travel, activities we can do, things we can buy, has certainly focused our attention on home and loved ones and I think this is a positive we will take away from this time. Each evening we open our windows at 8PM to clap for the health care workers and the moment of sharing gratitude with our neighbours reinforces how fortunate we are to be able to stay at home. We are also confined here together for which I am grateful. H managed to get on the last flight out of Calgary and come to Paris. He has written his own blog post about the experience which I will publish shortly.

Today is day 38 of France’s confinement. The French government says that we will continue with the existing rules until at least May 11th after which point they may initiate the “déconfinement” starting with opening schools. They have declared that restaurants, museums and tourist sites will not open until at least July 15th but a number of France’s most well known chefs are appealing to the government to say that if they do not find another solution, France will not have a restaurant industry.

The list of things we do not know is longer than the one of things we do. We do not know when there will be flights available to take us home to Canada, how we will be able to complete the necessary steps to give back our apartment under the existing conditions, if our girls will really be able to go back to school, if we will see our friends again before leaving or if we made the right decision in not returning to Canada earlier. There is nothing we can do right now to answer these questions. We need to live inside of our circle. Our questions can live there with us and one day we will have the answers. In the meantime, and while we are living in our smaller world, we will continue to ask, how are you doing? And hope the answer continues to be, so far, so good.

Thank you to these wonderful people for making our circle brighter:

• Julie Van Rosendaal

  Local Calgarian, cook and cookbook author, we have loved using her cookbook, “Dirty Foods” while living in Paris because it is fun to serve things that are not French to French people. We are now loving following her on Instagram and being inspired to make the things she is making. She is also a positive, community minded person who brings the right energy into our days and our kitchen. It is because of her that I asked my girls to make homemade tortillas for my birthday.

  www.dinnerwithjulie.com

  Instagram: dinnerwithjulie 

• Molly Wilkinson

  An American, Cordon Bleu trained, pastry chef living in Versailles. We did a class with Molly in her apartment learning how to make cream puffs and have LOVED doing her surprise-bake-alongs where she tells you about the ingredients in advance but not what you are making. You watch on Instagram Live and bake along with her. I joined her first online pastry class and would definitely do more.

  www.mollyjwilk.com

  Instagram: mollyjwilk

• David Lebovitz

  American cookbook author and blogger who lives in Paris. I enjoy him as much for his stories about living in Paris as for his recipes. I bought his most recent book, Drinking French, at his Paris Book Launch and it is very timely. He is hosting a Live Apèro Hour every day on Instagram where he teaches us to make a French drink, sometimes non-alcoholic but often cocktails. His cookie recipes are amazing. I also recommend all of his books.

  Blog: www.davidlebovitz.com

  Instagram: davidlebovitz

• Yoga with Adrian

  I actually do not know much about Adrian or who she is but I love her. I started doing her 30 day Home yoga series on youtube and I think I might learn to love yoga because of it.

   Web:  www.youtube.com/user/yogawithadriene

• Dave Kelly Live

  A local Calgarian, Dave Kelly, that has taken his live show (that we loved) onto FaceBook Live for daily entertainment, insights and lots of laughs. We love it because it makes us feel connected to home. It is a morning show at home but for us it is during apèro hour at 6PM.

  Facebook: Dave Kelly Live

• Aloïs Guinut

  A Paris based Stylist and author of “Dress like a Parisian”. I love her low key approach to French fashion advice that focuses on making the most of what you have instead of buying more. She is posting Instagram Stories every day about how to wear different pieces you might have in your wardrobe. On Saturdays you get to ask questions!

  Blog: www.dresslikeaparisian.com

  Instagram: aloisparisian 

• The American Library of Paris

  We have always relied on the library for English books. Thank goodness I made a trip there the day before they had to close their doors. They are taking many of their programs online and we really enjoyed their talk with local author Elaine Sciolino whose book I am currently readying: The Seine: The River That Made Paris.

  Web: www.americanlibraryinparis.org

• The Earful Tower

  A podcast about Paris with host Oliver Gee. He normally talks about things to see and do in Paris but during this time has been talking about Paris during confinement. His interviews with people from around Paris give you a feel about what is going on the city outside of the neighbourhood you live in. He is also hosting weekly Pub Night Quizzes which have gotten quite popular.

  Podcast: The Earful Tower

  Instagram: theearfultower

• The Big History Project

  An online course that takes you through 14 billion years of history using videos and quick quizzes. We are watching and doing the quizzes together. Maybe by the end of the confinement we will have earned a Big Historian Sticker!

  Web: www.bighistoryproject.com

I got the news at 7:43PM when a friend texted me: are you listening to the PM? The order would take effect at midnight. All of the shops were already closed and they were not going to open the next day, or the next, or the next. Had I managed to buy everything I might need? Were we going to be ok?

Over the past week I had gone back and forth between feeling an overwhelming need to stock up to prepare for the worst and then talking myself back into calm. It was one week ago when I told myself that I had better go buy some of the supplies that were becoming scarce in case they truly did run out. I made a trip to our neighbourhood Monoprix and was shocked at the crowds. The aisles were packed with people with carts filled to overflowing. The toilet paper aisle was almost empty but I did come away with 12 roles of blue flowered paper: the plain white was all gone. I had no luck with hand sanitizer or hand soap. There was a woman loading jars of jam into her cart. I stood and watched. It was hard not to get caught up in the frenzy. I bought two jars of jam.

As the news got worse my sense of unease and foreboding grew. My head was telling me that there was no need to prepare for Armageddon but the question, “what if” kept sneaking into my brain. I decided to stock up on things that I knew I would eventually use anyway: pasta, tomato sauce, rice, lentils, olive oil and salt. I saw a woman buying eight cans of peas and carrots. The thought of my apartment crammed with food I did not want to eat made me feel anxious. I made a trip to Picard, France’s famous frozen food store, and bought as much frozen produce as my freezer would hold, which is not actually that much. I now have a supply of frozen raspberries, blueberries and peas and the tandoori chicken that we love. I bought a basil plant. Now I wish I had bought three.

If you could accuse me of stockpiling it would be in just one category: I bought baking supplies. I decided that if we were homebound for an extended period of time we needed something to do (baking), something to look forward to (eating), and something to motivate us (mastering new recipes). So I bought butter, flour, sugar and eggs: as many as I reasonably could without being called a food hoarder. Look forward to the Instagram photos of our creations!

The girls will be doing school from home. We don’t yet know what that will look like but Sophia thinks she will be calling in for each one of her classes once a week and she will have to complete assignments and submit them online. Mavis will also receive an account on Pronote, the school’s software, to receive messages and assignments from her teachers. I am grateful that I thought to go to the American Library to stock up on books before they closed and each of them have a good supply. I have some books I have been wanting to read too and the luxury of a Kobo if I run out. 

Both of Sophia and Mavis are sad to be missing school. We were already very aware that our time in France is running out and this makes it seem like even a bigger deal. Sophia is worried about the missed opportunity of being in her French school. Mavis is sad about all of the events that have been cancelled: her one week trip to England, Book Day and her French music performance. The worst though, she says, is that the math competition is only postponed! The girls were shell shocked when I picked them up from school on Friday with their backpacks full of books and some very loose instructions of how school would “continue at home” for the next, probably three, weeks. Up until that point, the virus threat had not seemed real. Now, it felt close and dangerous. Mavis had had a parent who worked at the Pasteur Institute come talk to her class about the virus, where it came from and how it spreads. She is now a wealth of knowledge and regularly reminds me that it is not called the coronavirus but Covid19. We took an evening to cocoon and not think about what was to come. We watched a few episodes of Modern Family which makes everything seem better.

The next morning we made ourselves a schedule that includes wake-up times, work and play times. We vow to get outside for some fresh air and exercise every day. We are going to buy as much fresh food as possible and cook it. H has set up our French AppleTV with funds so we can buy French content and we will research podcasts and get French audiobooks too. We will stay in touch with people from home and in Paris through calls and FaceTime. If possible, and for as long as we are still allowed to be outdoors, we will meet friends at the park to play ping-pong or kick a ball around. It needs to be something that allows us to keep social distance. Does that include drinking rosé with some of the other moms? Yes, I think so. 

I went for a walk along the Seine yesterday with a friend. She made an observation that I found to be very insightful: concerts, movie screenings and professional sports had been cancelled and, while it was disappointing, it was manageable. At the same time, the thought of our schools, grocery stores, public transit and internet service providers shutting down was putting us in a panic. It makes us ask the question about why one is paid (paid =valued) so much higher than the other when one is disposable and the other essential? A crisis makes us realize what is important.

I look back over the past seven days and think about how much has changed: we started the week feeling uncertain and have ended it in shock at what is happening all around us. Our dear friends who were coming from Calgary and our niece who was coming from Victoria have cancelled their trips; we cancelled our weekend in Amsterdam the night before we were supposed to leave; we have no idea if our upcoming school vacation will be spent exploring France, as planned, or in lockdown in our apartment; the girls are out of school for an extended and unknown period of time; H is in Calgary and we do not know if he will be able to come in three weeks time, whether he will be allowed to leave the country or if airlines will be operating their flights; Desmond’s school in Toronto has also shut down and he needs to figure out what to do and neither parent is with him to help him shop and prepare for what is likely coming his way.

Meanwhile, our experience of Paris as interesting cafés, shops and museums and constant stimulation has turned into living inside a small apartment; everywhere we look there is uncertainty and fear and we do not know if we will be able to continue to buy food and necessities or if the city will slowly shut down as stores do not have the staff to keep them operating. Kids home from school mean parents who cannot go to work. During school holidays, many parents can rely on grandparents but, in this case, they are high risk for getting sick and need to self isolate. Many companies are encouraging people to work at home. All my best wishes go to those parents who are now home with 3 and 5 year-olds and are trying to telecommute while keeping their kids entertained.

There are so many who are deeply affected by this crisis and it makes our hearts heavy to think of them. We have friends who are currently sick, we love people for whom this virus would likely be deadly, we know people whose livelihood has all but evaporated and we can read endless stories of how people are struggling. We are making the only choice we can which is to try to stay positive, not get carried away with fear or worry of the future or of the unknown and to focus on gratitude: my kids, my husband and I are all healthy and are low risk of becoming seriously ill as a result of the virus. We are prepared and hopefully well able to take care of ourselves during this time of uncertainty. We are armed with a plan including intellectual stimulation, fun projects, the ability to connect with friends and family and we have each defined some personal goals for the next few weeks. And, as if that were not enough, we have butter, flour, sugar and eggs. The possibilities are endless.

The quiet period beforehand makes the rentrée that much more animated. The first Monday of September the Paris streets are suddenly full of children on trottinettes racing to school accompanied by frazzled looking parents.  

This fall was our second rentrée in France and it was so much easier this time around because we knew what to expect. 

First of all, the list of school supplies is enormous and very specific. We are told how many cahiers to buy, what color each should be, their dimensions, number of pages, whether they are to be blank, lined or mixed and if they should or should not have a plastic cover. This is in addition to the pens, pencils, erasers, geometry sets and exercise books required. We learned in year one that you can bring your list of supplies to the local store and ask them to prepare it for you. I imagine we pay a premium for this service but after spending 20 minutes trying to find one specific cahier to fit the list, it was a no-brainer to have someone pull it all together for us. 

Step number two, after picking up your supplies, is to try to match the items on the list to understand what items are for which subjects. Then everything, absolutely everything, must be labeled. This year we knew to order our labels in advance from mon etiquette and to order enough of them that we could put a named sticker on every single pencil, pen, highlighter, and marker. 

The first day of school in Paris is not unlike our experience in Canada: the kids and parents swarm the door, anxiously waiting to find out who their teachers and classmates will be and the administrators try to manage the mayhem. This year was infinitely easier than the last as we knew which door to go to and we could understand French!

Last year our girls were in a special program called adaptation for students who did not speak French or who had recently returned to France from another country. The biggest reason for wanting to spend one more year in Paris was to give our girls the experience of being part of a regular French classroom with other French students. While exciting, it was also a little nerve wracking to know they would not be in their safe “cocoon”. Fortunately, the school allowed students to request one friend so they had the security of knowing there would be a familiar face in their class. 

The first week of school was devoted to adjusting to 7AM wake-up times, making daily trips to the local bookstore for more school supplies and books, and completing the forms. Both girls required a health form that needed to be signed by their doctor. Luckily we completed this in Canada, but other families we know paid 50 euro for the doctor appointment to have their child weighed and measured. Each girl also required four passport-sized photos, which you can get at any of the photo booths found in the Paris metro and train stations. They received their cards that allow the school to know if they are, or are not, allowed to exit without a parent being visibly present. 

Sophia, being in grade six, or 6ème, was entering college, or middle school. The jump from première (elementary school) to college is a big one. She went from having one classroom and two teachers (one in French and one in English) to having a different schedule every day, some days ending at 3:25PM and others one or two hours later. She moves between classrooms, has 11 teachers and is provided with an iPad to access all of her textbooks, communications with her teachers, and her homework. Her backpack is heavy and she carries it from class to class. While it is possible to rent a locker, there is not time to get to it, so the students also carry their outdoor coat with them throughout the day. 

She has more independence but the expectations are also higher. For example, if you are late to class the door will be locked and you will spend the period in the library and explain to your teacher the next day why you were not there. If you arrive at school with too-short shorts or rips in your jeans, you will be sent home. If a teacher does not show up to class, something that happens often enough that they tell you what to do in that situation, you can spend the time in the library or, if your access card gives you permission, you can go home.

Mavis has her own new adventures ahead of her. Last year, both girls ate in the school cantine where they offer a different menu every day with three courses including appetizers and cheese. Sadly, while it sounded impressive, the quality of the food was not good and this year Mavis negotiated that she would make her own lunch if we agreed to switch her to the “lunchbox” program. She is making her lunch every evening and washing her dishes every day after school. While it is a big time commitment she is passionate about her lunches and very proud of her creations. As a CM-1 student (equivalent to grade four) she takes Chinese class at school. So far, she has a few words and enjoys drawing the characters. From the class meeting, I know that she will have to recite poems in Chinese. When I shared that information with her, the look on her face was priceless. 

In Canada, the girls had physical education every day. At their school now they have sports once per week: for Mavis it is one hour and for Sophia it is three. They must wear sports clothes that day or they cannot participate. While they spend less time in physical education, both girls report that they have learned more sports skills in Paris than they ever did at home. We supplement the reduced hours physical activity with our daily commute to school but I still worry that they are not getting enough exercise. 

In the Paris public schools there is no school on Wednesdays. At our school they have a half-day of classes. The expectation is that you will use that time to participate in activities that are otherwise difficult to fit in on school days. Programs are designed around the Wednesday schedule and there are even centers where children can participate in two to three different activities over three hours. Our girls will spend their Wednesday’s taking art classes at the Musée des Arts Decoratifs, located just beside the Louvre. I cannot think of a more Parisian experience than to travel to the center of Paris every week to study and sketch works from the collections of its world famous museums. Like school, we were given an extensive supplies list, but for art class it was paints, specific types of pencils, watercolor pencils and sketch paper. 

The rentrée behind us, and looking forward, I am so excited for our girls. Last year was an initiation and a gentle entry into a new language and culture. This year they will move forward at full speed and experience life in Paris, maybe not as an insider, but as a local. They know how to manage the line-ups at lunch and how to survive recess in the crowded school playground. Their community, both inside and outside of school, has become much more French and less tied to the expatriate community. I can see that they are not afraid to use their language skills in daily life and I expect that having French friends will come with a vocabulary that goes beyond what they teach in the classroom. 

In some ways, year two will be more challenging than year one. We are already seeing that the academic expectations are higher and the teachers less “nurturing” than in last year’s adaptation classes. We have found a tutor for the girls that will help them with their French as well as life as a student in Paris. She is a second year university student who speaks seven languages and understands the toll the rigour of French schools can take on a child. This year Houman has to travel back and forth between Paris and Calgary for his work and we will miss him when he is gone. We are also finding that some of the things we found “novel” when we arrived, like the metro system, are losing their shine as we grow fatigued of packing ourselves into the cars during busy times. There will be some hard days. 

Houman often says that he believes learning another language is a door into another world. Last year our focus was on learning a language. This year we get to use it to open the door to French culture and briefly step inside. I have no doubt that this year will leave an imprint on our girls for the rest of their lives.  I look forward to being with them along the path.

We have lived almost exactly twelve months in Paris, through four seasons and a year’s worth of holidays. We survived the summer heat waves and a cold, damp winter. We discovered new holiday traditions and found ways to celebrate our own in an unfamiliar country. We saw France’s men’s football team win the world cup, witnessed the gilets jaunes take to the streets to protest social inequality and watched Notre Dame as it burned. We acclimatized to French school and work schedules with longer days and more homework. We travelled on metros, trains and airplanes and had more family adventures in one year than we have had collectively in our girls’ lives to this point. We bought our fruit, vegetables, fish, meat, cheese, bread and desserts in small specialty shops and outdoor markets, mostly minutes from our apartment. We learned to speak French and to notice and appreciate beauty. We fell in love with long dinner parties and the famous French cheese course. We walked much, much more than we are used to and drove much, much less. We missed our family and our friends from home and made new friends from around the world. Our perspectives widened, our world views were challenged and we collected a years worth of experiences which have changed us forever.

We are back in Canada for the summer. We are mostly looking forward to seeing the people we have missed. The girls are also excited to play in our local playground and have pizza from our favourite restaurant. I am excited to see the big Alberta skies and to sit in a quiet spot outdoors and enjoy the fresh air. Houman is looking forward to being away from the stifling Paris summer heat

People ask us: how was your year in Paris? The simple answer is, it was amazing. But the real answer is that it was amazing for 1,001 reasons and not just because we were living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and not just because it was always easy. There were hard moments of homesickness, frustration, and fatigue. The blessing is that these moments brought us closer together as a family and that they were counter balanced with the excitement of all our new experiences.

Taking a year away from your regular existence is a gift. We know how exceptionally lucky we were to be able to do it and to have the opportunity to spend another year in Paris is the icing on the cake. Our next year is dedicated to deepening our experiences: more learning, more travel, and forming a deeper relationship with the country we have fallen in love with. Coming home to Canada is the perfect pause, giving us a chance to reconnect with what we love while thinking about where the next year will take us. Happy summer, Canada and à bientôt, Paris

La Nocturne du Samedi at the Louvre

The Louvre started a new initiative, opening it’s doors to visitors for free on the first Saturday night of the month. As an Amie du Louvre (after my first visit I bought a membership card that allows me to come and go as many times as I would like in the year) I signed up ahead of time to give us access to a special entrance and programming. The doors opened at 6PM and when we arrived at about 6:30PM, the regular line-up to enter was snaked around the museum, up and out the stairs. We made our way to the “special entrance” and were inside within five minutes. Membership has its privileges!

It was magical to experience the Louvre without the crowds. Sculptures glowed in the early evening light in vast rooms with only us and a few other people in them. Though the line-up to get in was long, the museum itself felt largely empty. There were queues for the visites à la torche, where you could be guided through an exhibit in the dark with a flashlight. There were also concerts available, different kids activities using art, books and games and many guides available to answer questions. I learned afterwards that the guides came from the Ecole du Louvre which may have explained their enthusiasm: we were incredibly impressed with a young woman who gave us an impromptu, half-hour semi-private experience explaining the linkages between archeology and bande-dessinée or comic books. We chose to avoid all the line-ups and seek out the quietest areas. We discovered the code du Hammunrabi and Sophia became absorbed trying to decipher the legal code from the 18th century B.C. engraved on the tablets. Our favourite discovery was Napoleon III’s apartments, the over-the-top ornate rooms built for Napoleon III, including the state dining room which could easily host dinner for 50 and some chandeliers that are larger than most people’s kitchens in Paris.

American Library in Paris

I am 100% confident that when girls look back on their time here, one the places that they will remember most fondly will be the American Library in Paris. We discovered it during our first week in the city and have returned two to four times a month ever since. It is a haven of English books and English speakers. Sometimes we bring a picnic lunch on a Wednesday when the girls have a half-day of school and we spend the whole afternoon looking for and reading books. A trip to the library was essential during our vacation week, not only because they needed to stock up on things to read, but also because it is the first thing they mention when I ask, “what should we do today?”. I negotiated that we would spend a morning at the library, in English, if we could commit to something more ambitious, in French, for the afternoon.

L’Atelier des Sens

I have been blown away by the number and scope of activities offered to children in Paris. They come in form of ateliers and they are essentially two to three hour-long experiences kids can participate in, led by engaging instructors. You find ateliers at all of the museums. They are typically available on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons as well as during the school vacations. There are also cooking, art and sewing schools that offer specialized ateliers and businesses that specialize in them and you can choose from a roster including coding, circus, theatre, English lessons, and many, many others. Other than English lessons, they are all offered in French. This makes complete sense as they are designed for French school children and families, but it means that our girls have been reluctant to participate as they were not sure their language skills would be good enough to, in the worst case, avoid catastrophe and, in the best case, actually enjoy the activity. 

Sophia’s birthday gift this year was a cooking class she would do together with me. When we were choosing it, I pointed out that we could do the “tourist classes” in English or the “authentic classes” in French. My brave girl chose the French and so we signed up for a morning of making homemade pasta and bolognaise sauce and nutella cookies. The experiment was a success and hoping to motivate the girls to make the leap into French ateliers, I found one at the same cooking school. In two hours, they would make madeleines, financiers and mini-muffins. I was so sure they would love it that I bought five hours worth of lessons for the bulk discount. When I came to pick them up they were sitting with another girl from the class, full of smiles. Sophia told me they had chatted in French the whole time. They were both so proud to bring home a box of their creations. 

Marché du Tissu

At Mavis’s request, one of our planned outings for the week was to go to the fabric stores in the Montmarte area to buy materials for her to make clothes for her Barbie dolls. 

Before exploring the square at the base, filled with fabric stores, Mavis and I walked up the hill to Sacre Coeur and, for the first time, actually went inside the church. We did not pay to go to the dome where we’ve been told that the views are spectacular. We instead looked down on Paris from the outside of the basilica to see what buildings and monuments we were able to recognize and were pleased that our list had grown considerably from our first visit the previous summer.

We returned to the Place St. Pierre, the home of Montmarte’s fabric stores. Here, the streets are an endless row of shops overflowing with fabrics and some specializing in buttons, bows and every possible sewing related bobble. We admired the vast quantity of fabric bolts in every color, style and price range you could imagine. Then we headed to the bins which sell small sized fabric pieces, or coupons, that you can buy for anywhere from one to five euros each. Mavis managed to find a number of pieces she thought would suit her Barbie dolls well and one she thought would make a good shirt for herself.  We replenished her with a freshly made crèpe sucre citron and she agreed to participate in some “random wandering” through the streets of Montmarte before heading home. 

Versailles

I had been to the Chateau Versailles with my parents when they were in town but the girls had yet to see it. The fact that we can get from our apartment to the chateau with such ease continues to astound me. Using our Navigo cards, we took the RER C to Versailles-Chateau-Rive-Gauche, a ride just under 30 minutes. We walked from the train station to the chateau imagining that we were French royalty in the 1800’s and approaching the Chateau in our carriage. This visit was much busier than my first which makes me realize that it really does make a difference when you arrive at 9:30AM versus 12:00PM. It is worth arriving early to avoid the crowds. We used the audio guide which I found interesting but which failed to impress the girls. Their description of the chateau was that it was “big” and “fancy” but not in a way that made you think that being big and fancy was a positive thing. Even the famous Hall of Mirrors failed to make much of an impression. They were more excited by the grounds: the open space had the effect it always does on them: they opened up like flowers and broke out running. Indeed, the scope of the gardens is striking. We lunched at the charming café, La Flottille. It was not fine dining but you cannot beat the location, looking out the window at the gardens of Versailles. The girls’ cheese pizza and my galette were lovely. As my objective for most outings is to “end on a high note” we ordered a banana split for the girls to share and it worked like a charm.

Centre Pompidou

We capped off the week with a visit to the Centre Pompidou. We have walked by this modern museum in the Marais many times and the girls have been intrigued by the colors, modern architecture and the escalator running up the outside of the building. When I went online to buy tickets I saw that they were offering ateliers for children and on a whim I decided to sign both girls up to participate… without telling them about it. While discussing the day’s schedule at breakfast, I said something about how we could plan to go the museum anytime but we’d like to be there at least a bit before 2PM. Sophia, always sharp, immediately asked me what was happening at 2PM. 

I had purposely said nothing about the atelier in order to minimize the time for complaining, but when I was put on the spot, I had to confess. Long story short: Mavis went to the altelier and Sophia explored the museum with me and H. Sophia felt quite redeemed when we went returned for Mavis who declared, thankfully with a smile and her good spirits intact, that the atelier had been awful and that she had hated it. We have a new agreement going forward: I will not sign them up for anything without getting permission beforehand and they will agree to start exploring some of the museum ateliers. 

The day before going back to school we reviewed the vacation and all gave it two thumbs up. Looking back at our week in the city, I was struck that the majority of our outings, with the exception of the day in Versailles, were not typical tourist experiences. We could not label our list, “the top ten things to do in Paris” and could not give it to visitors as a suggestion for the best outings. This pleased me. It means we are moving beyond the obvious sights and experiences and starting to dig a little deeper. Our goal is not to avoid the mainstream activities: we want to do it all. We have some obvious hits still on our list such as going up the Eiffel Tower and taking a Seine boat cruise. But I love that we are populating our memories with some more personal experiences too: ones that will help me, H and the girls to have our own relationship with Paris when it is time to say goodbye. With the winter vacation behind us we have started to think about what we want to do with the warmer weather. When we go back to Canada, I think we will have done most of the items in the guidebooks and I hope, as with this vacation, we will have added a few more chapters of our own.

All that being said, I admit that I am not a big fan of skiing. I learned to ski when Desmond first started and although I have logged many, many hours at the hills, I have always had a greater appreciation for après-ski than for braving the cold and the slopes. When H said that one of his bucket list items during the sabbatical year was to have a European ski vacation, I was not bubbling over with enthusiasm. I was supportive though, for a number of reasons: I know H really loves skiing; I had heard that European skiing is very different from North American and I was curious to experience the difference, and; the girls were excited to get a fix of “real snow” and test their ski legs. Looking forward to French style après-ski also helped fuel my enthusiasm.

Talk of where to go started in earnest in October when we were told that if we planned to ski in February, we’d better book a place now. We talked to French families to find out where they were going. We heard names like Val d’Isère, Courchevel, Méribel and Chamonix. Some families preferred large resorts while others recommended small, quaint family focused options. People were renting chalets or apartments, on the hill and off. It was all quite overwhelming and we felt pressured for time. H stayed up late at night to read about different options and their pluses and minuses.  You could choose something with higher or lower altitude: at the higher altitude there was a risk of colder weather (my worst nightmare) but at the lower there was a chance that there would not be enough snow. 

Ultimately we relied on a recommendation from my well-travelled sister-in-law who had loved their family trip to Tignes when they were living in Europe. We booked the last available family suite in the hotel Levanna and felt relief to have secured our spot. It was too early to book train tickets so I set an alert to have SNCF message me as soon as they were ready. When I received the text I went online ASAP and already the earliest trains were “complet”. I raced to get the last non-adjoining seats on a train from Paris to Bourg-Saint Maurice leaving at 9AM on a Saturday morning.  Necessary tasks completed, we put the ski holiday on the back burner until after Christmas.

It was not until February that we started thinking about the holidays again. The hotel emailed us to ask what we wanted for ski passes and gear and then arranged it all for us so that we only needed to show up. We took an inventory of what clothing we had brought with us and made a trip to Decathalon, the French sporting goods store that is similar to Mountain Equipment Co-op in Canada, but even more affordable and more ubiquitous. We bought goggles, ski long underwear for the girls, ski buffs for all, mitts for me and a ski jacket for Sophia for around 250 euro. This counted as one of the few bargains we have found in Paris.

On the day of departure we took a taxi to the Gare de Lyon. Normally we rely on the metro but we were travelling a little heavier than usual with two large suitcases that we didn’t want to carry up and down the metro stairs. We had heard nightmares about how busy it was going to be: people who were driving to the hills expected a five hour drive to take ten hours; they expected massive queues for renting their gear and buying their food at the grocery stores. I thought we should get to the train station a little earlier than usual, just in case. What we learned is that getting to a train station early is not really helpful because they announce the platform just as the train is ready to board. You end up waiting but not necessarily is a good position because you don’t know where you will ultimately need to be. The early arrival gave us time to buy a perfect train breakfast: croissants and pain au chocolats from the Pierre Hermé kiosk. I had packed a picnic lunch to enjoy on the six-hour journey so we would not need to buy food on the train. We have found the train food to be overpriced and not very good, with the exception of the single serving bottles of wine which are quite lovely on an afternoon ride. 

The train was full to bursting. Every seat was taken and luggage was stacked everywhere it was allowed to be and a lot of places that it wasn’t. H and I were sitting separately and were able to spend the journey looking out the window and working on, in my case, French and, in his case, studying his medical textbooks. The girls shared two facing seats and an iPad but they were also drawn into the scenery, which, once out of Paris, looked just like home with fields in the forefront and snow-topped mountains in the distance. 

Arriving in the mountain town of Bourg Saint Maurice, we took a twisty 30 minute taxi ride to the hotel, got settled into our family suite with a cute little loft space for the girls, picked up our ski gear and lift passes and then toured around the mountain resort. Our fears of crowds and queues were for naught: everything was smooth and we didn’t have to stand in line for more than a few moments. It was fun to watch the girls get excited about the snow. They have missed snow this winter, a concept that I struggle to understand, and they lit up at the sight of it, running, jumping and sliding. 

The week of skiing exceeded my expectations in every possible way. It seems that most French children enrol in the ski schools to work on achieving their “étoiles”. They spend a morning or an afternoon with an instructor and on Friday complete a test to see if they can move to the next level. Children come back year after year to move through the system. I encouraged the girls to enrol, thinking it would be good for their French. Ultimately, we decided not to participate in any formal programming and just ski together. It meant that we could have breakfast when we wanted, head out to the slopes directly from the hotel when we wanted and not have to worry about start times, lunch times or pick up times. Coming from the structured race club life we were used to, it was such a gift to approach skiing as pure recreation.

The resort was enormous: 2 glaciers, 300 km of slopes with 159 runs and a vertical drop of 1900 metres. We were worried about getting lost, or worse, losing one of the girls. We put our hotel and personal phone numbers in their pockets and hoped for the best. 

It was so warm that we needed none of the cold weather gear we had brought with us. Sophia skied in just a windbreaker and I wore a light puffy that was my warming layer back home. Each day we had bluebird, clear skies. Lunches were outside at one of the mountainside restaurants of which there were many. Two days we brought up a small picnic and ate on the exposed rocks looking over the vast expanse of mountains. One day we went to the summit: la Grande Motte at 3546m. Getting there required a series of chair lifts and gondolas, eventually loading into a téléphérique, a cable car that can take 100 people to the top of the mountain, gaining 400 m in altitude and travelling two kilometres in five minutes. The run, Génépy, from the summit to the base was 20 km of the most enjoyable skiing I have ever done. Another day, H, our fearless guide, led us from the Tignes resort to the neighbouring Val d’Isère. It took us a full day to ski from one resort to the other and back. Navigating, sight seeing and skiing at the same time was a new experience and we were rewarded with our first sightings of trees (Tignes is above the tree line), lovely rest stops, and literally skiing through the charming ski village of Val d’Isere. The lift line-ups were sometimes long but large and fast moving chair lifts meant they moved very quickly. Some of the runs were extremely busy but we found that if we stuck to the red or black runs (in France the progression of runs goes from green to blue to red to black) we had lots of space.

I had made restaurant reservations for us a couple of weeks before we arrived at the resort. After asking the hotel for suggestions I booked us into each of the three places they recommended. Our first night was at La Ferme des Trois Capucines, a warm, character filled restaurant completely off the beaten path and serving fondue and raclette with their own cheeses produced on their farm. We tried fondue for the first time as a family and found something new that all of us could enjoy together. Another night we went to Coeur des Neiges, which was cool because the girls got to sit in an upcycled ski lift chair. The third restaurant turned into a bit of an adventure. 

We showed up at La Table de Jeanne on the last night of our holiday for an 8PM reservation. It was our latest dinner but since we weren’t skiing the next day we thought it would be fine. We walked across a frozen lake in falling snow to get to the cosy, tucked away little restaurant that looked as if it had been there for 100 years. The bad news: they told us we did not have a reservation. I insisted that I had called and made a reservation for 8PM that night. They were very apologetic and offered that we could sit in their cozy lounge space, wait until 9PM and they would get us a table. They offered us a free charcuterie board to tide us over. The girls were exhausted and disappointed not be sitting down right away. We settled into our waiting spot and ordered some drinks. They offered us a menu so we could be ready to order. I took a look at the menu and thought, “this is not the menu that I looked at online”. Saying nothing, I subtly looked up the restaurant on my phone to compare the menus. It was then that I realised that the restaurant that I had booked was not in Tignes but in a town called Pavilly. When I confessed to my family what I had done, H confirmed that the place we were supposed to be at was 600km away. 

It was at that moment that the server delivered us the enormous charcuterie board they were offering us because of their mistake. Feeling awkward but not wanting to confess, we accepted the food. We didn’t want to appear ungracious by not eating it but neither I nor the girls are huge eaters of cured meats so H was “obliged” to eat his weight in meat. Thankfully, he said it was the best charcuterie he had ever had. Sophia and I pitched in a little and I did enjoy the saucisson, a french specialty and a regular during l’apero, but my turn came when we finally sat down at our table at 9PM. By the this point, the girls were exhausted and didn’t feel like eating. H was stuffed with charcuterie. We felt that we needed to order enough food to justify us being there so we chose to share a fondue for two people. When it arrived it looked as though it was enough for four but I did my best to work our way through it with a little help from the others. On the walk back across the frozen lake on the way home, H full of ham, and me full of cheese, my family teased me about my mistake. As I find myself saying to myself all too often this year, “well, I won’t make that mistake again”.

The cold weather rolled in the last day we were in Tignes. Back in Paris for our second week of les vacances, I  received constant notices: I still had the Tignes application on my phone and they were sending out alerts warning of high winds, of lifts being closed and of the need to bus people back to their resorts. Had we skied the second week instead of the first, our experience would have been completely different. We would not have been able to go to the summit and overcast skies would have obscured the views. The skiing itself would have been less enjoyable in the colder temperatures and strong winds and we certainly would not have taken lunches, rosé and hot chocolate on the terraces both at the tops of the mountains and the base.

We were grateful for having experienced the French ski week tradition. My expectations for the holiday had been relatively low which made the outcome all the more sweet. We loved the simplicity of travelling by train and not having to worry about traffic or bad roads. We could not have been more fortunate with the weather. The long runs and the scenery took our breath away and the family owned restaurants and Savoy cuisine added an element of luxury. The biggest gift for me though was the discovery that skiing could be fun. Having five days in a row without a program, agenda or obligation was a revelation. I see more ski holidays in our future now, perhaps not immediately in France, but we will add this to the continually growing list of gifts we take home with us to Canada. We have always said we were a “ski family” but it is only now, after experiencing the French “ski week” that I feel it is really true. Next time we go to plan a ski retreat, I’ll be the first one to say, “let’s go”.

Sophia adores her school English teacher and I am now a big fan of hers too. She gave the class an assignment to find examples of street art in Paris that may or may not have a political message. Sophia could have walked out the door of our apartment and found five to ten examples of various tags and murals: it would have taken all of 15 minutes to get some photos and complete the assignment. However, we have been intrigued by the street art since we arrived in Paris and this was a fantastic excuse to dive more deeply into it. We turned the assignment into a Sunday afternoon adventure and ending up having one of my favorite days in Paris.

Looking for guidance, we went online and found articles written about the best spots to spot street art. There is an organization called Street Art Paris offering guided tours to those interested in gaining a better understanding of the graffiti scene. While it was too late to book a tour in time to complete the school assignment, I have added it to our Paris bucket list. We learned the names of some of the famous street artists in Paris such as Banksy, Shephard Fairey, Mosko et associés and Kashink and got the point where we might be able to recognize their work if we came across it. 

We have been fascinated by the pixelated images we spot all over Paris that look like little space invaders. They are sometimes in the most difficult to reach and obscure spots and the girls love to point them out on our travels. We learned that they are the creation of an anonymous artist who goes by the name Invader and the images are indeed inspired by 1970s and 1980s video games. We thought we had made a unique and niche discovery but have since learned that Invader has created more than 1,000 mosaics in Paris alone and has done installations in 77 other countries around the world. In fact, his work is so well known that, in Paris, there are instances of his art being stolen and reportedly resold.  

We could easily have the spent the day doing online research, following links and watching videos featuring different artists but decided that the point of all of this was to actually be on the street. Knowing that there were many places we could go, Sophia and I decided to take a metro across town to the 11th arrondissement. 

Our first stop was Le Mur, a former commercial advertising space that had been targeted by graffiti many times over. The owner finally decided to donate the space to the city of Paris and now it is an association-coordinated showcase of street art. A new artist is invited to take over the space about every two weeks, covering over the art that is already there with a new creation. We saw the 275th iteration of the wall and plan to come back one day to watch a new installation in progress. 

Another happy discovery was PNY Burger where we stopped in for lunch. Sophia misses burgers from home but we may have found a solution to her problem. The burger we had was one of the best we’ve had in Paris and they also had excellent fries and pancakes on the menu, which we noted but did not try. We initially said no to dessert but when the table across from us ordered oreo milkshakes we decided we needed to try one too. It was the right call: the milkshake was delicious and Sophia had me take photos so she could incite some jealously from her sister at home.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering and looking for art that we liked. Sophia took over the camera and captured some of her favorites. We think we saw some examples of the known names in the street art world but as we are newbies we cannot be sure. The signatures are not always evident especially when the installations tower above our heads. We wandered and weaved our way from the 11th to the 20th arrondissements finding cute cafés, flower shops and bookstores along the way. The sun was out and the streets were not busy as we were off the beaten tourist path.

Without a doubt, my very favorite way to explore Paris is on foot, with a very loose agenda and time to get lost. The city is overwhelming in its richness and there is always something to see, big or small, that will take your breath away. Family explorations are different from when Houman and I get to go out on our own. Heading out with “the girls” offers its own joys and when I have just Sophia or Mavis to myself it is again a completely different and magical experience. I love them all, including when I head out solo. Whether the motivation is street art, a great burger, a read-about green space or a historical monument, the gift is that it gets us out the door and opens us up to discovery. They say it is not the destination; it’s the journey and based on my favorite days in Paris thus far, I agree.

P.S. Here are some other loved street art and graffiti images we have collected from our time in here.

Last week I went out by myself in the evening. This rarely happens but I am in the process of looking for a volunteer job and I had an appointment at 6PM. It turned out that the volunteer organization was not a good fit for me. They were looking for volunteers to provide social and emotional support to people living with HIV and my French is not strong enough for me to be an asset in that kind of a situation. While it hadn’t been fruitful, I was feeling pleased that I’d had the meeting and conducted it in French.

Heading down the stairs into the metro I noticed that it had a different feel than what I was used to. I thought it seemed a bit dodgy. Waiting for the metro, I was looking at my phone and when the train arrived I put it into the front pocket of my coat and, I think, but maybe not, closed the snap.

There were no seats available and so I stood holding the bar as I usually do. Right before we started moving I found myself tightly surrounded by a group of men. I was aware that they were close around me on all sides and I couldn’t move. They also smelled quite bad. I pulled my arms in close to me, tucked my nose into my scarf, and pinched my bag by my side. 

At the next stop a few people exited and I moved myself to another spot on the car to find a little more room. I heard a phone alert and put my hand on my pocket to see if it was mine. There was no phone there. I checked my other pockets. I looked in my bag. I checked the same pocket a few more times, disbelievingly. It hit me. I realized what had happened.

I rode the rest of the way home looking at the other people on the train, watching the ads at the metro stops, thinking about what I should have done differently. I felt a little sick. There was absolutely nothing I could do besides sit there and think.

We had bought me a new phone before coming to Paris because we wanted one of us to have a good camera. H didn’t get a new phone. We couldn’t justify two. I thought about the fact that I wouldn’t have the good camera anymore. I wondered when I had last backed up my photos. I wondered if the thieves would find a way past the Face ID and if they would be able to access our personal information. I dreaded going home to tell H and the girls that I had fallen victim to the oldest trick in the book.

My technologically astute husband ensured that the phone would be wiped the moment it tried to connect to a network. He saved any photos that hadn’t already been backed up from Photostream to his phone. I changed my passwords for our banking websites. I notified the cell provider that the phone had been stolen, had the number disconnected and a replacement SIM card mailed to me. 

I had a rough week coming to terms with the fact that I had lost my phone. It wasn’t the object: I am not vested in having the latest technology. It was the inconvenience of being disconnected, the hassle of not having my lists, my podcasts, my online French-English dictionary and the dilemma of what to do about replacing my phone, but most of all it was the shame of not having been street smart enough: to have let myself be a target.

I have no hard feelings towards whoever stole my phone. I have told myself a story that might well be true and it helps me to feel better. I imagine that the young men live on the fringes of French society, have not been given a lot of opportunities, and have little hope for the future. I hope the day they got my phone was a good one for them because it was newish and in good condition. I imagine that they sold it on the black market, got themselves a bit of money and felt flush enough to buy burgers and fries for their families that night for dinner. I hope it made a tiny difference. 

It took a week to work through all of that. Now I am focusing on the positive:

1. We live. We learn. I won’t make this mistake again. 

2. Going cold turkey is the best way to learn how not to spend too much time looking at a screen. I am appreciating that I cannot check email except when I am at home. I am not tempted to read the news or look at Instagram while waiting for things: a metro, the girls leaving school, or a line-up.. While walking, I focus entirely on my surroundings. I am liking it and vow to maintain my low-screen lifestyle.

3.  I have learned that you can get a refund on unused AppleCare. 

4. This forced me to really think about my values. Do I replace my phone or buy something as cheap as possible? After much deliberation, I finally decided that I would replace the phone because of the pictures I can take. We are only here for a finite period of time and I want to remember it forever.  I expect that our girls will want a record of their time here too and our old phone doesn’t take pictures even remotely comparable to the one I had. A phone is a phone but pictures are memories.

5. Our American friends graciously agreed to bring me a phone from The States. I get to save the premium we would have paid on the same phone in Europe.

6. Now I can call myself at least part Parisian.

 P.S. I still do not have a new phone and have another week to practice my low-screen lifestyle. If I haven’t responded to your texts or WhatsApp messages it is because I have not received them. I don’t know if I ever will or if all the messages from this time will be forever lost in the ether. 

P.P.S I also had my wallet stolen in Paris. In the Fall. It was stolen out of my purse when I was at a restaurant. I learned from that mistake too. Hopefully I won’t have to experience every sort of theft before developing my street smarts. 

It was wonderful to have you home over the holidays. We know that you don’t think of Paris as “home” and that you would have loved to be celebrating Christmas in Calgary. But for now, Paris is home to us, and squeezing you into our apartment and the bunk bed in Mavis’s room made us very happy. Our family was complete.

Thank you also for the Christmas gifts. The shortbread was delicious but the gift for which we are most grateful was “our day”: the day that you spent with the girls so your dad and I could spend it together in Paris. 

By way of a thank you note, I am sending you a list of ten memories of that day. Some are highlights. Some not.

1.  We discovered a lovely little coffee shop called Coutume where they served fabulous breakfasts. We plan to go back with the girls to order the pancakes. Normally we don’t get out of the apartment in time to go for breakfast so this was a treat and it has inspired us to do it again.

2. Celebrity spotting #1: As we were walking towards the bridge Bir-Hakeim, your dad noticed a woman who was walking with her market cart. This is a pretty regular siting on a Saturday morning in Paris. This woman happened to be Christine Lagarde, the head of the International Monetary Fund, and we were tickled pink that she lives in our neighborhood.

3. After breakfast we randomly wandered around the Saint Germain neighborhood. It didn’t really matter what neighborhood we were in, although Saint Germain was lovely and we haven’t spent much time there, but the fact that we wandered without agenda or destination was special. Random wandering is one of my favorite things to do and, understandably, is one of the girls’ most hated activities. We don’t enjoy it much either when it is accompanied by ongoing questions of when it is going to be over. 

4. Whilst wandering we witnessed a crime! We saw a man sprint from around a corner, holding a purse. He stopped to grab the wallet out of it, tossed the purse on the ground, and kept on running. A few of us stopped to stare at the purse and look around for its owner but there didn’t seem to be a victim in sight. While we were wondering what to do some police drove by and some French people flagged them down to handle the situation. What a drama!

5. We discovered an area full of interesting twisty streets and art galleries. One of the people admiring a gallery window was the father of the artist. He also happened to be Dominique de Villepin, former Prime Minister of France. Celebrity spotting #2!

6. A massive line of Gilets Jaunes were protesting again that Saturday and blocked our passage across the Seine. I was tempted to walk along with them for a while but your wise father insisted that we keep our distance. We managed to get through the crowd and not ten minutes later we heard loud bangs which we thought was tear gas being set off but have since learned that it was little grenades that explode with pieces of plastic and are meant to disperse the crowd.

7. We’ve walked by the Hotel de Crillon countless times but have never been inside. This day, we decided to go in for a drink. It was chilly in Paris and after lots of random wandering we were cold. We debated between tea in the stunning dining room and a drink in the bar. The bar won. Your dad had a cocktail and I had a glass of wine. They were the two most expensive drinks we’ve ever had and were worth every centime as we relaxed in the bar for a couple of hours and chatted about things in the way that you can only do when you have no time constraints. Leaving the hotel, the Place de la Concorde was filled with Gilet Jaunes. The hotel staff were busy moving luxury cars to safety and clearing items from in front of the hotel that could be used as projectiles. Stepping from the decadence of the Hotel de Crillon into the streets filled with France’s disenfranchised speaking out against social and economic inequities and injustices was an interesting perspective. It seemed to illustrate the complexity of problems facing France these difficult days and what we have come to see as the enchanting surface of Paris with the difficult realities underneath.

8. I’ve been fortunate enough to see bits of Paris through guided tours offered by the school and also with my fabulous Parlons Paris class. I wanted to show your Dad some of my “finds”. Walking through the covered passages of the Passage du Panorama and then the Galleries Vivienne we discovered a gem of a combination wine shop and bar. We went inside for a drink (two times in one day!) and were lucky enough to get coveted seats at the bar. Your dad was absorbed by their massive wine list, a tomb, which listed many hundreds of wines.

9. There is a restaurant group here that is extraordinarily popular called the Big Mamma group. None of their restaurants take reservations and it can be difficult to get a table. Your dad and I went to Mamma Primi when we did our reconnaissance trip and loved it. On my apartment hunting trip with Eloise we went to Pink Mamma and loved it. We haven’t gone with the girls because we don’t think they would love it and with a potential two hour wait to get in, it isn’t the kind of place where we can leave them at home alone and enjoy going out. “Our day” seemed like the perfect time to try for a table. Our plan was to be there for opening time at 7PM, very early by French standards. But we lingered in the wine bar and so didn’t get there until 8PM and then joined the massive lineup. It appeared to be moving and we were encouraged but then someone came to tell us that the restaurant was completely full for the night. There was no chance. A little dejected, we thought we’d just go home as we had no dinner reservation and we thought anywhere good would be full. But then we wandered by a cool looking pizza spot called Pizzou and decided to try it. It was casual, cheap and delicious. Turns out it is also reviewed in our Le Fooding guide as one of the go-to pizza spots in Paris. Dinner saved. 

10. The whole day was one big highlight: it was the gift of time. Time to wander, time to chat without worries that we’d take a wrong turn, or that the girls would get tired or bored. We could pop into whatever little shops we wanted and sit in beautiful spaces and enjoy our surroundings. We walked 17KM through maybe five different arrondissements and saw a huge variety just within Paris. What made it even better was knowing that while we were having our day, you three were having your day. The “day with Desmond” is a highlight for both Sophia and Mavis and we hear stories about your own adventures. The failed dessert crepe and the lock project are two repeating themes. 

We know that you are happy to back to school and we are thrilled that you love your school, your program, your city and your friends. Our apartment is a little quieter without you. There is more room on the couch. Mavis’s Barbies have reclaimed their space in her bedroom. But we miss you.  We look forward to the next time we will all be together again. 

Lots of love,

Mom & Dad 

Our girls were accepted at the school for one year with no guarantees they would be allowed to return. Very shortly after the school year began we saw how energized they were and how happy and engaged they were with their learning. School was harder, there was more homework, and they had to wake up much earlier than they were used to but at the end of the day when I would greet them with their goûter, they were glowing, bubbly and full of stories. As we were integrated into the school we learned that at the end of an adaptation year the kids would be “functionally fluent” but not necessarily fluent. A second year would make a big difference.

When the school offered us the opportunity to stay we were excited and anxious. The girls were proud that they were strong enough students to be accepted into the mainstream French classes but it meant we had some decisions to make. We explained to them that if they took the opportunity to do an additional year in France, their chances of having French as a language for life would be much higher. They have met so many people here that speak multiple languages: it is not uncommon for kids their age to have two to three and everywhere we go we meet people who have three to five. Being surrounded by multilingual people has definitely inspired them to want to count themselves as, at least, bilingual. 

We took the weekend to think about our choices and on Sunday night we asked each girl to write their wish on a piece of paper. It was hard. They were torn. They miss home and really, really miss their friendships. As we took their tiny slips of paper they didn’t make eye contact. Both of them said they’d like to do one more year. I think they surprised even themselves.

So that is our new plan. We are going to have two years in France: one to learn how to speak the language and a second to use it. We have promised each other that there will not be a third year and we have promised the girls a visit back to Canada this summer. H is in the process of figuring out how to manage a job in Calgary and a family in Paris.

We think one of the reasons we love our life here is because we know it isn’t permanent. There are a whole lot things you just don’t worry or think about when you are living in a time limited bubble. Our two year plan will not change that: we still want to make the most of our time here, to be thoughtful and purposeful and soak up as much of the experience as we can. And when we go home it will be all the sweeter for having milked everything we can out of our sabbatical year(s).

Then all of the Christmas trees started to appear on the Paris streets. They were stacked outside of flower shops, markets and even grocery stores. They came complete with stands: a half log with a hole in it and the trunk of the tree carved down to fit in the hole. They were available in every height from two to ten feet. How could we resist?

I declared that we would get a tree and one string of lights. I had already planned to continue our tradition of buying a new Christmas ornament for each child. That meant we would have three for our tree. We were lucky enough to be gifted a few more.  Our little Paris Christmas tree was charming and beautiful in its simplicity.

Christmas, for us, is usually defined by family, snow and skiing. This year we would be just five and have neither snow nor winter sports to keep us busy. To combat the homesickness I feared would set in, I focused on finding those experiences that would make our Paris Christmas as memorable as possible. 

To kick things off, we brought home advent calendars from the local chocolate shop. Mavis and Sophia ask for advent calendars every year. Every year I refuse because I don’t like the idea of a chocolate a day and we don’t celebrate advent. This year was different and the girls were thrilled: Christmas in Paris was looking good.

December was full of festive activities. We visited our first Christmas market, beside the Tuileries garden, and tried, for the first time, hot wine and roasted chestnuts. We visited Santa Claus, or Père Noël, for the annual Christmas photo and yes, he did speak to the girls in French. The department stores, Printemps and Galleries Lafayette and The Bon Marché, were decked out for Christmas and it seemed all of the shopping streets around Paris were dressed up with lights. We experienced the best of the Christmas markets on our memorable weekend in Strasbourg and stocked up on food for the holidays. One of my French teachers insisted that we go see the Feérie Des Eaux at the Grand Rex Theatre where they have been showing a holiday film with a water show to French children for over 60 years. At the girls’ Christmas performance at school we were astounded at the French songs and poetry they were able to perform. Wow! They are actually learning French. They sang carols on our morning commute and perfected their version of Vive le Vent. Mavis went to a gingerbread decorating party and we decorated cookies one evening at our apartment for a dinner party dessert. We started sampling Bûche de Noël.

Choosing the Bûche de Noël for Christmas dinner seemed almost as important as the meal itself. Our new French friend, Alexandre, came home with three small Bûche de Noël from the famous patisserie Cyril Lignac. His family was to sample each and select one for Christmas Eve. We debated ordering one from somewhere famous and decided that we would take our chances, go to our favourite patisserie on Christmas Eve, and choose the one that called to us.

We asked the French families we’d met what they were doing for the holiday. We learned that it was typical to have their celebratory meal on Christmas Eve and then have a lunch on Christmas day. Many would go to mass on the 24th, perhaps at midnight. It was common to serve seafood, fruits de mer, and we saw lots of people leaving the markets on Christmas Eve with their cold seafood platters. Alexandre bought a single truffle that they would shave on their pomme purée and some truffle cheese for their cheese course. Mom, Maryline, shared some of their rose de Noël. She stored them in her “Paris fridge”, a shelf outside her kitchen window, for easy treats over the holidays. There are chocolate shops everywhere in Paris and I started to notice the line ups out the door. Apparently buying chocolates was also a holiday tradition.

Our most anticipated event was Desmond’s arrival from university in Toronto. Sophia had made a countdown calendar a month ahead and the girls could barely contain themselves in the days before. Even though they had another week of school, it felt like holiday time. We got out the board games and started the Christmas puzzle.

Our Christmas dinner was the source of much discussion. We received a generous invitation from some new friends to their Christmas lunch but the kids declared that we needed to stick with our traditional breakfast and a dinner that involved turkey and cranberry sauce. We were to spend Christmas at home as a family.

I managed to buy cranberries at The Grande Epicierie where they carry a huge selection of expensive, gourmet foods as well as some hard to find items that are desired by expats. H spoke to our local butcher about how to cook a turkey that would not fit in our fridge or oven. He came home with a deconstructed bird which we would cook overtop of traditional stuffing. 

Although we were still missing friends and family from home, it seemed that we had enough festivity with the five of us. Then right before Christmas I received a text: Hootan, H’s brother who lives in Berlin, had bought a ticket and was arriving on Christmas Eve! It had been two years since we last saw Uncle Hooty and his arrival made the holiday even more special.

On Christmas Eve we went skating at the Grand Palais. It was our first time inside this incredible building that was constructed in 1900 for the world fair. We admire it and it’s cousin, the Petit Palais, often, on our walks by the Seine. Mavis examined the buildings and declared that she thought the Grand Palais was bigger than the Petit Palais. Even Desmond, who doesn’t speak any French, got a good laugh out of that one. 

It felt great to be on skates and it was surreal to circle the ice under the incredible rooftop of the Grand Palais. Walking home, we strolled through the Christmas Market at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Sitting in the heart of Paris, drinking hot wine and hot apple juice with my family on Christmas Eve was magical and is a memory that will always stay with me.

At home, everything was ready for Christmas Eve. Earlier in the day, we had picked up oysters from the stand set up on our street and they were staying cold just outside our kitchen window. We had fois gras and spiced breads from Strasbourg and a variety of tapenades which we have decided we love. Friends had brought us a case of Champagne produced by friends of theirs and I practiced my new found skill of opening the bottle without wasting a drop. Afterwards, we made Canadian style smash burgers, which are, ironically, one of our new favorite meals in France.

Christmas day was quiet but perfect. The kids opened their stockings and we had our traditional breakfast, including the requested cinnamon buns, which sadly were a flop. I took this as a sign that I should not try to bake in Paris. Sophia and Mavis had handmade gifts for all of us: truly one of my favourite Christmas traditions. In the afternoon, we took a long walk along the Seine, the Champs-Elysee and Avenue Montagne, the glamorous home to haute couture in Paris. We admired Paris along with the thousands of other people who had chosen to walk the streets that afternoon but who could blame them? It was beautiful.

Our traditional dinner of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce was familiar and delicious. The local touches included French wines, our chocolate caramel Bûche de Noël and the accidental lateness of the meal.

There was some disagreement over what pan we should use to cook the turkey: the low, wide pan where everything could be spread out, or the much nicer, but smaller, pot, where everything was tucked in close together. H felt confidant and insisted we use the pot.  When the rest of the dinner was ready but the turkey was still raw he sheepishly admitted that perhaps we should have followed the recipe’s suggestion. We joked that we had become truly French as we sat down to the table at 10PM.

The days following Christmas were devoted to exploring Paris and crossing items off of our bucket list. H and I went to see the Cinderella Ballet at the Opera Bastille and decided that the “new” opera house pales in comparison to the old. We resolved to get tickets to something this year at the Opera Garnier. The On the Wall exhibit of Michael Jackson at the Grand Palais was a little too “out there” for us but we were completely enchanted by the Cirque d’Hiver. This classic circus took place in the building where they have been performing circuses for over 150 years and it felt as though little had changed between now and then. Mavis finally got a barbe à papa, or cotton candy, that she had been coveting since coming to Paris. We had a family photoshoot on the bridge Bir-Hakeim and went to see Mary Poppins on New Year’s Eve on the Champs-Elysées. On the first day of 2019 we went for a walk on Paris’s coulée verte: an elevated pathway through Paris’s 12th arrondisement following an old railway line and the inspiration for New York’s highline. We bought our first Galette des Rois. Desmond found the fève in his piece and so had the privilege of wearing the crown. Afterwards, the girls went to a baking class and learned how to make their own of these traditional cakes.

On our last night together, before the girls started school and Desmond boarded his airplane for Toronto, we shared highlights. I loved hearing what was special for each of us as we all recounted simple, family moments and experiences that we could not have had anywhere but in Paris. I will remember the ritual of sharing a glass of champagne, of shopping and cooking together and of heading outdoors to experience the beauty around us. I hope these are memories we will take home with us and, along with our new French tree decorations, bring them out every year.

It turned out that our choices were fortuitous. The Gilets Jaunes protests in France started in November and were becoming more violent and destructive every weekend. We didn’t know what to expect on our travel weekend. Everyone in Paris was advised to stay home. The monuments and museums were closed for fear of damage by protestors. The famous department stores: Galleries Lafayette, Printemps, and the Bon Marché were closed on what is probably one of the biggest shopping days of the year and many small, independent shops boarded up their windows. People were advised to make sure they had enough food at home, just in case. We were happy to be getting out of Paris. We were somewhat concerned about running into trouble at the train station but decided that our 7AM departure was probably early enough to avoid most of the protestors. Even so, we had to plan our route to the train station around the various metro stations that were closed.

We arrived at the beautiful, modern, Strasbourg train station at 9AM, ready to begin the day. Walking though the town on the way to our hotel we were astounded at how, just two hours from Paris, Strasbourg felt like a different country. The characteristic Paris Haussmann apartment buildings were replaced by half-timber frame homes and instead of grand boulevards there were twisting cobblestone streets. After dropping our bags at the hotel we went for breakfast at the Christian Selon de Thé and had our first Alsatian mannele: a brioche in the shape of a gingerbread man. 

Saturday was spent exploring the Christmas markets around town: there were ten of them on the map. Each market had charming wooden huts where we found Christmas decorations, wooden toys, cookies, candles, miniature models, raclette, bretzels and hot wine.  It was buzzing with energy and you couldn’t help but get into the spirit of it all.

In the center of town was the stunning gothic cathedral, incredibly ornate and imposing in its height compared to the all the buildings surrounding it. We waited in line to have a look inside and were fascinated by the statues of women with their angry faces and their long spears that seem to be inflicting pain on the bodies beneath them. What bible story was this coming from? Even though the famous astronomical clock was under restoration it was still astounding to imagine how something so intricate could have been built in the mid-1800’s. 

The girls were saddened by the lack of snow in Strasbourg because, in their minds, snow and Christmas go together. It was still plenty cold and by Saturday afternoon the markets were getting so busy that it was difficult to see anything, especially if you were Mavis. We went back to the hotel to warm up and have a break before heading out again to appreciate Strasbourg after dark. At night, the lights were magical: it was like walking through a postcard. We went to the Place Kléber to see the Grand Sapin, the enormous lit up Christmas tree. 

Sunday morning we explored Petit France, the historic quarter of the city of Strasbourg. Here the river splits into multiple channels and the canals, locks, narrow lanes, and bridges divide the sloped roofed, half-timbered houses. The girls found a petit playground to make them happy while H and I wandered the streets. 

Fitting all of our Christmas goodies into our single carryon suitcase and backpacks was a challenge. We came back to Paris with local Alsatian beer, wine and crémant: a sparkling wine that is produced outside of the Champagne region and therefore must be called by a different name. We had a variety of tea, little cookies, nuts, candies, foie gras, and spiced breads. We felt fully stocked up with treats to enjoy over the holidays. Before catching our train home we had a lunch of local tarte flambée and more local riesling which we liked far more than we anticipated. 

We were again struck by how easy it is to travel in Europe and were grateful to have seen another part of France. What a big, beautiful country with incredible variety in culture. Even being so far from our own decorations, foods and traditions, we felt as though the Christmas season had begun and were excited for the holidays. 

Two days after our return we heard the news of the gunman’s attack on Strasbourg and of the people hurt and killed in Place Kléber, the square where we had admired and photographed their Grand Sapin. It was shocking to have terror strike and feel a personal connection to the place where it happened. We couldn’t help but think that if things had been slightly different, it could have been our family who was standing in that place at that time. 

Our experience of Strasbourg is now colored with the sadness of the shooting but we are grateful to have had the chance to visit the town when we did. When we opened our bottle of Alsace Crémant it was to toast the town of Strasbourg. When I light my candle bought in the market I will always think of the town and its people. For many, Christmas in Strasbourg will never be the same.

We will remember Strasbourg for the gifts we received: a sense of celebration and joy, the pure delight we took in the markets and their discoveries and of the Christmas spirit we found when we were far from home. Merry Christmas Strasbourg and our heartfelt wishes for a peaceful 2019 full of hope and healing. 

Easier planned than done.

Houman’s French is excellent. He is working every day in a French hospital, talking to French colleagues and patients. Watching the TV news at home, he thinks he is getting about 95% of it.

My learning curve has been considerably flatter. For the first few months, I was comfortable being uncomfortable with the language. It was to be expected: I was new here and trying to understand the menus and the markets was a novelty.

It wasn’t until recently that I became deeply aware of how affected I am being on the outside of the language I am living in. I think my French has improved since arriving. I would hope so: I am taking two private lessons a week. I also go to a small group lesson called Parlons Paris which is more like a cultural immersion: two retired school teachers share their love of French language and culture with a one hour session in a café followed by a one hour walk-about in a new neighbourhood. We learn some history, some interesting expressions and some grammar all while exploring Paris. I have also started going to a conversation group with other parents from the school. We talk in French for an hour and then English for an hour. I tried one intensive week at the Alliance Française but found that with the large class sizes it was not as effective as I would have liked. I am listening to podcasts, watching French television, and practicing as much as possible. 

That being said, I still open most conversations with, “desolé, mon français n’est pas bien”, and it is true: my French is not good.  I am now brave enough and skilled enough to ask questions of people but sadly my comprehension is not always strong enough to understand their answers. This can lead to some awkward moments.

What I didn’t predict is the feeling that comes from spending your day surrounded by people that you can only understand if you really, really concentrate and sometimes not even then. I can’t pick up conversations from the people around me. I can stand on a busy metro with people talking and not know a thing about what has been said. The overhead announcements are a mystery to me. I understand some billboards and signs but for others I need my dictionary. This slows the pace of understanding. My exchange of daily pleasantries with the people around me is limited and if someone says something to me more than merci, bonne journée or au revoir, I may not catch it in time to respond. I fear this makes me seem rude. I don’t have the simple little phrases that we all share in daily life and I don’t dare to attempt humor. It is like I am living underwater. 

I am reading “Paris to the Moon” by New Yorker writer Adam Gopnik. He talks about his experience in Paris as an expatriate. The book was written in 2001 but many of the sentiments from his essays still ring true for me. He writes, “Even after two years of speaking French all the time, I feel it. We breathe in our first language, and swim in our second.” This sums up how H and I sometimes feel, me more often than him: It is hard to have a personality in French. It is difficult to make meaningful personal connections. It is like your personality is dulled a little. I can express simple sentiments but anything complex is left unsaid.

I will continue to try but have adjusted my goals somewhat. I hope to be functionally fluent in French before I leave this beautiful city. I hope to exchange daily pleasantries with people and completely get over my blank stare responses. I would like to take a class in French and learn something from it. I would like to enjoy a French museum tour. I would like to live my day to day life with zero anxiety about being unable to communicate in any given situation.

I don’t expect to read a French novel for pleasure. I don’t expect to have an intensely intellectual conversation in French. 

I don’t expect to breathe in French. I just want to improve my swimming.