@AmericanAirlines - You Broke a Mother's Heart Last Night

 I can't tell you how excited I have been for the past few weeks as I anticipated Spencer's visit to us in France.

Spencer visited us in 2018 before we moved to the South of France

He has never been here and my hope is that when he walks in the door he feels that same relief, the feeling of coming home, that I do when I visit my parents. 

He scheduled a week off work. That's not easy as an American. We don't get that many weeks. He paid for his own ticket, choosing a slightly more expensive flight so he could limit his airport time. He paid for a checked bag and an aisle seat. 

We planned to pick him up in Barcelona then to drive to Roses, Spain, a beach community on the Mediterranean to spend a night before returning to our home in the south of France. 

We filled out the required forms for him to enter Spain. He got to the airport in Columbus two hours early to check in and he waited for his flight to Philadelphia where he would board his 7:30 flight to Barcelona, arriving there around 9 on Sunday morning. Then he learned the plane from Columbus to Philadelphia was going to be late, then later. Finally, he realized he would miss his connection in Philadelphia. 

He went onto American Airlines chat hoping for help. He stood in line at the American Airlines desk hoping for help. Finally, the agent told him there was a solution. He could catch the Philadelphia flight Saturday evening. Wait in the airport overnight. Take a flight to Boston the next morning at 9 a.m. then wait in the Boston airport for 12 hours before flying to Barcelona and arriving there on Monday around noon. 

That sounded like hell. An extra 27 hours in the airport. 

He called me on FaceTime. I had been lying in bed texting with him as the clock ticked past midnight here. When he called, I scurried from the darkened bedroom to a room with light. His handsome but frustrated face looked at me from the screen. What should he do? 

Spencer and Tucker leaving Paris in 2018

I didn't think anyone deserved 27 extra hours in the airport when they had scheduled a 12-hour flight. He decided to cancel and go home. And that's when my heart broke, realizing I wouldn't be able to hug him, to chat with him as we sat on the beach, to introduce him to all the friends we have made here, to show him amazing castle ruins or take him on bike rides. 

I slept for a few hours then woke up, worried about him, his disappointment, my disappointment. I wondered if he could get a flight from Cincinnati. It has more international flights and is only 90 minutes away. 

I sent him a text, and even though it was the middle of the night for him, he got on chat with American Airlines. No, they told him, he had asked for a reimbursement so now they couldn't help him. 

No take backsies. 

I tried to convince him, via text, to use his charm, but he was pissed by then, and most of us would have been. 

Sunday morning, Earl and I went on a 20-km bike ride hoping it would help relieve some stress, but it only made me sadder.

 The airline should help him get to Barcelona. Why couldn't they arrange a flight for the same price he paid when we booked six weeks earlier? We weren't booking last minute because of our poor planning. It was their last-minute cancellation that caused us to need a last minute flight. 

So many companies could boost their image if they made some sensible choices by helping clients where they can. I'm not asking for a reimbursement of the hotel costs that we paid for rooms in Roses. I  only want my son here for a week, even fewer days now that the original flight was canceled. 

I just want to give him a hug. 

Isolation and Socialization

We’re not very good at isolation. 

We had every intent to isolate 10 days. Then a friend said the rules say 7 days, but they’re a suggestion. 

We let our friends know we’d be happy to see them in the garden if they felt safe. 

But the weather was rainy and chilly that first day so Lou and Steve brought us dinner, and Derrick and Kris joined us, all of them with their dogs, so 4 dogs and our surly cat roaming around. We ate and played board games until 9 pm when I put away the wine and kicked everyone out. I figured I’d done well to stay awake that long. 

Quillan is preparing for the Tour de France to visit.

On Monday, our friends Sue and Steve came for drinks. Drinks turned into dinner before they raced home to beat the 9 p.m. curfew. 

I suggested that Jo might want to drop by for a glass of blanquette on Tuesday after I finished teaching, and then invited her husband Matthew to join us for dinner as well, so they both arrived and we grilled chicken on the grill and talked late into the evening, including a bit of poetry recitation (thank you, Matthew.)

On Wednesday, the bars and restaurants opened outside in France for the first time since October. Did I have a choice but to meet Derrick early at a café where we had a café crème on the terrace overlooking the river Aude. 

The flowers grow out from the bridge each spring. 

I'd already asked the belly dancing group, which meets outside on the tennis courts, if they would feel safe having me there since we dance outside. Everyone was fine with it. Meanwhile, the husbands of the belly dancers were gathering for a drink at an outdoor bar and asked Earl to come along. 

When we finished learning some Bollywood moves, my friends urged me to join the husbands for a drink too. So, I did, drinking a monaco, beer, lemonade and grenadine, glowing a beautiful red. 

I returned home to work on taxes where my frustration grew, as you can see from my previous post. 

On Thursday, I met Derrick for a coffee again and then a drink later that day, all outside. We talked about dinner, and agree to combine our meals -- I had pork in the crock pot and he made potato salad. We made an attempt at playing Password, but my brain apparently is not over jet lag. Earl and Kris did quite well, so maybe it isn't jet lag. 

After I finished teaching on Friday, we hosted my friend Linda from Frenchless in France and a friend. It's always fun to catch up with friends from far away. 

Friday was fish and chips night. The van parks in Quillan near a local bar, the PMU. The PMU provides the drinks while the van doles out fish and chips which we must order ahead of time. We hadn't seen our American friends Jim and Theresa yet, so were happy to meet with them and walk over to fish and chips. Some red wine, some greasy chips and breaded fish. Earl and I share one order and that is plenty.  

Saturday, technically seven days after we arrived, is another market day, that meant more coffee alongside the river, plus coffee from the van that kept us in take away coffee throughout the lockdown since last October. And finally, our first real meal out in France since October 30th. We returned to Les Platanes, the restaurant we last ate at. 

The nine of us sat at two tables, a limit of six adults is in place even for outdoor tables. I ordered duck and fries, something I haven't eaten since October. We were all so happy to be out for the evening, although we remained aware of the 9 p.m. curfew. The duck was a bit overdone, but the wine flowed and I enjoyed ordering a café gourmande, a mix of desserts and tiny cup of espresso. 

Earl finished his dessert and looked my way. I loaded up the remaining cake, ice cream and chantilly (whipped cream) and sent it his way. 

It was in the midst of this week that Earl began asking when we would have a day off - and day without anything scheduled. Like a race horse in mid-stride, it took me a minute to remember that maybe he didn't feel the urge to catch up with everyone like I did. 

But we'd already committed to an afternoon at Sue and Steve's on Sunday, an afternoon that ended shortly before curfew with way too much cheese and nibbles. 

And on Monday, we planned an outing. We ended up going to the sea in the morning since the weather forecast warned of higher winds in the afternoon. The water was cold, so I satisfied my sea urge by walking in the sand. Earl and Kris went in and they report the water was breathtaking, not in a good way. 

The sparkly sea. 

After being told all the restaurants along the beach were full, it was a bank holiday, which meant no one was at work and many people were at the beach, we drove into Beziers. We'd enjoyed a stop in Bezier four years earlier when searching for a place to live. 

We found a restaurant with outdoor seating. I tried duck again and was much more pleased by the thick magret de canard cooked rare and juicy. I shared only a bit with Derrick and with his dogs, eating the whole thing. 

Yum. Hand cut fries, duck and salad. 

We finished the meal and went walking along the park that stretches through the center of the city, Plateau des poètes. A lovely walk in the sun admiring all the poets who were born in the area. The fountains are impressive. 

A moody sky over the fountain

And finally, today, Earl got his wish. A day without dinner plans. I met my friend Isa for coffee in the square this morning.

Cappuccino with chantilly

 And I might have gone to meet some other friends for a drink after they signed papers on a new house. But other than that, an evening for two stretches in front of us. 

As my British friends might say, We're rubbish at isolating. Luckily, we were vaccinated and tested so felt safe that we weren't spreading Covid. 

Travel Snafus

There was a time in our lives when our basement held several sizes of crutches and a kid-sized walker. I tore my ACL, Tucker broke his ankle on a trampoline, Spencer broke his ankle playing football. I liked to claim that we weren't accident-prone but just really active and that's why we always had medical emergencies.
Perhaps the same thing is happening now with our travel plans. It's not that we're unlucky, but that we just travel so much -- we're bound to get glitches.
You may recall that the strike in France caused havoc for us when we were headed to the States back in December. After our train was cancelled, we rented a car and zipped up to the airport early before the freeways were closed, spending three extra nights at an airport hotel so we could catch our flight. All's well that end's well, we got back in time for Christmas and Grace's wedding.
Earl is scheduled to fly back to France on Saturday. We both have tickets, but I plan to stay on and teach until the end of February.
This morning, I opened my email and Icelandair informs me that a big snowstorm is expected January 19 and 20 so flights may be cancelled. Where is that big snowstorm going to be?
Reykjavik.
I realized as we flew over from Paris to Reykjavik then Reykjavik to Orlando that we had come way out of the direct flight path.

My estimation of our flight line from Paris to Rejkjavik to Orlando

I had forgotten that we would be in the arctic as we flew over, and we never saw the sun that day after we left France, landing at 2 p.m. in the dark of Iceland and then flying to Orlando, never catching the sun.
Since then, I hadn't even thought about the dark of Iceland, until I received that email about snowstorms and possible delays.
Icelandair is being proactive; they'll let us change our flights to leave Thursday or Friday to avoid the snowstorm.
The only problem is that we aren't in Orlando to catch the earlier Icelandair flight.
Originally, Earl and I would have driven back to Florida with Mom and Dad after the wedding, spent a few days then caught the flight in Orlando.
Since I wasn't going back, Earl opted to stay in Ohio with me and the kids.

The family

 He has a flight scheduled for Saturday to fly into Orlando then to catch the Icelandair flight to Rejkjavik, then Paris -- unless it's cancelled.
I checked to see the cost to move his Orlando flight. Since it's last minute, the costs are high, more than we paid to fly to Paris.
He could rent a car and drive to catch the Friday night flight, but then we'd have the rental car cost, the gas and a hotel as he drove 16 hours to Orlando.
The real question is, where is he likely to be stranded?
In Orlando, he can rent a car and go to my parents' house an hour away.

He can relax in the sunshine while stranded

Reykjavik is a bit more difficult.

Landing in Rejkjavik during some daytime hours

  If he gets stuck in Rejkjavik, we already know that the price of two cheeseburgers is $31. Will he sleep in the airport? How long until he gets out to travel on to Paris?
One of the reasons he is headed back on our regular flight is that we had a hotel room reserved for two nights in Paris and we can't get a refund for them, so he is forced to spend two nights in Paris, sitting in cafes, visiting museums. Sounds dreadful, doesn't it? If he is stranded in Iceland, there go the hotel rooms.
And he has a train scheduled for Tuesday, January 21st. Although the strike is still ongoing, SNCF assures me that 9 out of 10 trains are running. We might lose money for that cost, too, if he doesn't make it back.
Traveling is expensive and cancellations are even more so.
I have tweeted Icelandair asking when we will know if the flight is cancelled. Perhaps we could get reimbursed for the flights, and he can return to France later with me, but that is 37 days away.
Before I opened the email this morning, he had sighted heavily and bemoaned that he wasn't looking forward to six weeks away from me. It's more like a month, I had reassured him.
Still, if it's between staying in frigid Ohio or returning to the South of France, I know what I would choose.
Our friends Derrick and Kris Facetimed us this morning, and as Derrick stepped out of our construction zone house, the brilliant blue sky shone above him. He had a winter coat on, but there was no denying the twinkling sun above him.
So here is us again, stressing about travel plans but knowing that wherever we are, huddled inside in Ohio, under the sunshine of Florida, or in the construction zone of our house, we're lucky to have friends and family close by -- everywhere but Reykjavik that is.

Foiled Travel Plans

Is it just us or are travel plans always complicated?
We had planned to go back to the States for Christmas and stay for Grace's wedding in January.

Grace and Jack just got some engagement photos back. 

At first, we thought we'd go back to the States in the middle of December. Then, I realized we wouldn't have a full week at Mom and Dad's in Florida, so I suggested we move the date earlier.
Now we're set, flying to Orlando on December 9th and staying with my parents, in the warm Florida weather for a week before heading to Ohio.
I purchased our train tickets more than a month ago and settled down to enjoy November and the first week of December in our French home.
Last week, Annamarie, an older French woman, began warning us of the upcoming strikes. She used the word "méchant" which I had always thought of as "naughty," but it apparently can mean wicked and nasty. The strike could last for a month, she predicted. Trucks that deliver food and fuel won't be able to get through!
"Close your drapes and blinds before you leave for your trip," she cautioned an English friend who was flying to England for a week. "You may not be able to get back for more than a month."
I had seen the notification that there would be a strike on December 5th. Then Toulouse warned of strikes on December 7th and 8th.
Our train to Paris was scheduled for December 8th so we could fly out the next day to Orlando. I got a little nervous, but no one else seemed alarmed.
Earl and I considered trying to fly to Paris if the trains might not run. But the big lines usually run -- the TGV.
Monday night at French lessons, I asked the teacher, who agreed that we might not be able to get to Paris.
"Should we fly?" I asked.
"Maybe the planes won't fly," she said.
"We could rent a car and drive!"
"But the truckers and the farmers often block the highways so you would need to take back roads. Then, you are in Paris. A bigger crowd means even more trouble!" she said, warning us of the black bloc protesters who throw projectiles at cars and cause mayhem at protests.
Plus, she added, you may not be able to get to Carcassonne airport to rent a car. The gilet jaune (yellow vests) will block the roundabout so you can't get through to the airport.
As Earl and I walked home from class, we decided to look for a backup plan after our guests went home for the evening. We had some friends over for apero -- drinks and nibbles.
But during our friends' visit, Earl received a text saying our train on Sunday had been cancelled.
Now we had no hope of a train ride to Paris. If the trains weren't running, would the planes be flying?
I talked to the airline to see if we could move our tickets up before the strikes began on Thursday.
We could. Icelandair was very accommodating, even waiving the $250 change fee, but we would still need to pay $545 for the extra price per ticket. Gulp. That was a bit pricey, plus we'd still need to catch a plane from here to Paris.
I called our credit card company to see if they could help with the extra costs or allow me to cancel the tickets and buy new ones.
The poor young woman with the southern accent sounded distraught for me as she searched and found a warning about disrupted travel in France. In the end, she could only help if the flight is cancelled on Monday.
Finally, I seized on the idea of renting a car on Friday and racing for Paris before the weekend strikes. It's possible that the strikes that begin on Thursday will rollick into the weekend, including Friday, but so far, no one is talking about Friday.
I have to teach until 2 p.m. Then we're getting a ride from our friend Jules up to Carcassonne -- an hour away. I have reserved a rental car and we'll have to figure out a way to bypass the gilet jaune to get to the Carcassonne airport.
Once we have our rental car, we'll drive toward Paris, about a 7-hour drive from Carcassonne. We'll pray for no highway closures and should reach our hotel near the Paris airport before midnight.
We chose to stay near the airport in case the trains or taxis aren't running from downtown Paris when it is time to get our flight.
It might not be the best time we've had in Paris, no runs along the Seine

Last January we spent a few days in Paris and it snowed. 

 or meals at the restaurants along Rue Mouffetarde or  Avenue des Ecoles

but hopefully we'll be ready and our flight will leave on Monday.
If not -- we'll be foiled again.

Ch-ch-changes

The bedroom is still dark as I open the closet door and slip my feet into my brown Maryjane crocs. I can't see them, and I don't need to see them because they lay where they always are when I put them in my closet.
That's when it hits me. Once we move out of this house, how long will it be until I have a home where my shoes are always in the same place?

Me looking as close to anxious as we have a
picture of while traveling in France. 

If we move out at the end of September, we will have three months of patchwork living here in the U.S. before Earl retires. We might stay with friends, or several groups of friends so we don't wear out our welcome. We might share an apartment with Grace and her boyfriend, leaving our things behind in a spare bedroom when we depart for France. We could simply rent AirBnbs for the next three months.
And then, having lived like gypsies in Columbus, we'll be off to France, moving from housesit to housesit, staying with more friends in between or spending nights or weeks at AirBnb properties.
It sounds like a marvelous adventure, and I plan to enjoy it.

But I also need to come to terms with the fact that it might make me anxious, not having a closet door to open, knowing that my brown Maryjane crocs will be there.

P.S. --For those of you worried about my fashion sense in France,  I'm not actually planning on taking my crocs with me -- they're just representational of my realization that nothing will have a set place until we put down roots again.

My Morning

So many things to blog about but I don't want to spend my vacation blogging, so I thought I'd share a few pictures before we continue our exploring.
I'm usually an early riser, but I've been lollygagging a bit -- it is vacation.
We're on a 6-hour time difference from home.
Apparently Grace was still awake at midnight and she texted me, assuming I'd be up at 6. I was awake, planning to get up to see the sunrise this morning -- I've missed it every other morning.
So after her text, I took a few pictures.

And then a few minutes later as the color continued to spread.

It has been confusing to me how the sun can rise in the east behind the mountains and set in the west behind the mountains, but a hike today affirmed that this little village is nestled with mountains all around.

This is a panorama photo on my iPhone. It goes about 180 degrees around the path that we were walking this morning, but I could have continued to take the picture all the way around to show the mountains surround us.
We walked for an hour this morning, about three miles.
And then I ran back to the apartment -- uphill, while Earl went to the boulangerie for our breakfast.
I haven't run much here because I have found flat areas to run. I don't mind running uphill, although I'm not in shape for it, but running downhill is a killer on me.
As we decide where we want to live in the future, I'm torn.
I love walking in the mountains, the views, the feeling of the mountains embracing me to their bosom, swaddling me.
But I wonder if my running years will be limited with so many downhills.
What do you think running friends?
No matter what I did or didn't do to my knees this morning, I got a lovely pastry for breakfast when my husband returned from the bakery.
I usually go for a chocolate croissant or a plain croissant, but he knows that I've been obsessed with cafe eclairs, so he got one for me for breakfast.

Yum.
Hope you're having a lovely day too.
We're off to another market.

Dreaming of France -- Three Things to Know Before Traveling Abroad

Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.

This is a blog post I wrote as a guest post for my blog tour.

No doubt, the easiest way to travel to Europe is in a book.
In my novel, Paris Runaway, single mom Sadie chases after her 17-year-old daughter, who has run off to France. Sadie has never traveled out of the country before but feels compelled to follow Scarlett, who might be in danger.
Sadie has no time to think about the things that might make her travel abroad easier, but you do. Go ahead and grab your passport, but take a little time to smooth the way once you get off the plane.
Transportation: Figure out how you’ll get from the airport to your hotel without breaking the bank. In Paris, you can walk between the airport and the train station, just pulling your suitcase behind you. And when you arrive at the train station, you’ll see a huge electronic sign that announces departures for places like Budapest and Milan. It all feels so cosmopolitan. For about 10 Euros, you can buy a ticket to take you into the center of Paris.
Hotel: When you are travelling to a big city like Paris, or during a busy tourist season, like summer, arrange your hotel ahead of time. Sadie didn’t arrange a hotel. She pictures showing up in France, finding her daughter and returning home. But it doesn’t work out that way. After being awake for about 36 hours, she’s forced to beg for a hotel room.
Here’s an excerpt from Paris Runaway:

Then I wandered along the street until I spotted a little hotel just two windows wide in between the packed-tight Paris buildings. Exhaustion led me to stumble in, and I tried to remember some French words from my long ago high school French classes to ask about a room. “Une chambre?” I said, and the proprietor shook his head. I didn’t know if he couldn’t understand me or didn’t have any rooms available.
So I tried again, “S’il vous plaît,” I pleaded. I knew my brown eyes were ringed with circles that shone a pale blue amidst the crinkled lines that had formed over 50 years. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept.
I looked at the man behind the counter at the hotel again. “Please. Any room will do. I’m so tired. Maybe if I sleep, I’ll be able to figure it out.” I’d spoken in English.
I didn’t know if the man understood anything I said, but he pulled out a ring full of keys that clanked heavily. He turned down a hallway behind the counter and motioned for me to follow as he walked toward the interior of the hotel, away from the street. 

Sadie got lucky. Hotel rooms are difficult to come by in Paris during the summer. In the rest of France though, I’ve traveled from town to town without hotel reservations. Each town has a tourism office. Stop in the tourism office and ask if they can help you find a room. Tell them how many rooms you need and what you want to spend, and they’ll do their best to book a room for you. We always had luck with that, even as we rode our bicycles to French towns.

Language: Most places in Europe, people speak English, but they do appreciate it if you try to speak their language. Some of the basics you should learn are hello, goodbye, please and thank you. A recent Facebook sign shows French restaurateurs informing patrons that a cup of coffee is cheaper if they begin their order by saying hello, “bonjour” and please “s’il vous plaît.” It’s important to know that French shopkeepers expect everyone to say hello when they walk into a store.
Don’t follow Sadie’s lead and show up in France without some basics, like in this excerpt from Paris Runaway:

“I’m in Paris searching for my daughter who ran away.”  The words stuck in my throat and melted away in the empty hotel room.
I wished I’d had time to practice those lines in French.

I hope you’ll take a trip to Paris in my novel, Paris Runaway. Then afterward, maybe you’ll be inspired to try some actual travel too.

Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France today. Please leave your name and blog address in Mr. Linky below, and leave a comment letting me know what  you think about my love affair with France, or your own love affair. And consider visiting the blogs of others who play along so we can all share the love.

Anyone Want To Go To France?

Here on the last day of July, I wanted to post once more for Paris in July.
So many people dream of traveling to France. One of the saddest stories I've heard about someone who wanted to travel to France was about an author, in his late 30s, early 40s, who finally had a book published. In the dedication, he wrote, "To My Wife, Who Will See Paris After All." Then two months later, his wife died. She never saw Paris.
I want to shake people and say, "What are you waiting for? Go grab your dreams, whatever they are!"
So, a blogger friend of my mine, Delana Nelson, who grabbed her dream of  moving to Aix en Provence when she was 50, has started a business to help other people who may be afraid to travel to France alone.
Travel Solo Bootcamp is designed to help people who have no one to travel with. It will help women get over the fear of traveling alone. I can't explain it very well, but I interviewed Delana and here's how she explained her new business.

Q. What is Travel Solo Bootcamp?

Travel Solo Bootcamp is a week spent in Aix en Provence which is designed to give women the opportunity to learn how to travel alone. It’s a mix of fun, support, and travel-solo assignments. Our hope is that at the end of the week, our recruits will be able to say “Yes, I’m going” when faced with that great deal for a weekend in New York City, after reading an article about a colorful sea-side town in Italy, or hearing about a fabulous beach in Croatia.  There are always hesitations about taking a trip, whether it be money or time, but we don’t want traveling alone to be part of that equation. Being able and willing to travel solo is an exhilarating freedom.

Q. How’d you get the idea to start Travel Solo Bootcamp?

My founding partner, Marcia, had the idea. She and her former boyfriend had previously done week-long painting workshops here in the region. Her clients were mostly women and by spending so much time with them, she learned about their fears of traveling alone .  Initially, when she brought up the idea of some sort of seminar,  I thought it was crazy. For me traveling alone is not a problem. But as I thought about it, I realized how many of my close friends were in the very same position. They want to travel, they’re in a financial and family position to travel, but they’re afraid of the unknown and their inexperience. These are reasonable, educated, creative women.  So I interviewed them as well as others, asking questions, researching etc., and realized there really is a need for this. So voila, this baby was born.

Q. Bootcamp sounds hard. Is it?

Here's one of Delana's promotions for her bootcamp

Ha, ha! That depends on your definition of hard. Hey, a week in the south of France can never be that hard!  I have traveled a lot and traveled alone, so for me it would not be difficult. But for some women who have either never traveled or have always been with another while traveling, something as simple as eating alone in a foreign country is something to be avoided at all costs. I can’t tell you how many people say they would prefer to eat a sandwich in their room. OMG! Eating is the best part of traveling, isn’t it? Getting on a bus or a train all by yourself and going to visit small villages can be equally difficult. One needs to get these things “under their belt” so to speak.  Once that happens, freedom begins.

Q. Is this travel experience only for women? Why?

We are marketing it to women because our research tells us there are so many women that find themselves alone by chance or by choice. It could be divorce or widowhood, perhaps they have a partner but he or she is working or not willing to travel, their children have left home….or any other number of reasons. But they do not want that to deter their dreams. We will welcome men if they would like to come. But they need to be over 6 feet tall, like to cook, and be well-mannered (oh whoops, that’s another list!)

Q. How is traveling with Travel Solo Bootcamp more advantageous that traveling alone?

We allow and expect you to do things and make your own experiences. However, as we say, “we’ve got your back”. Every recruit gets a cell phone when they arrive so they can contact us for any reason. The group meets once or twice each day for mini-seminars and support. These include coffee and croissants or aperitif, so you can see we’re not exactly your average “bootcamp”.

There are many organizations they cater to women traveling solo. But they involve group travel, or “adventure” travel, or they are simply too “nuts and granola” for many. Not everyone wants to climb a mountain or see the world by mini-bus. This allows women to dip their toes in the water before they do their swan dive.

Q. What are you most looking forward to during the bootcamps?

I love meeting the recruits; getting to know them, learning their story, and having the opportunity to “play” with them.  And this also allows me to look at my world through their eyes. As a new place, an exciting adventure, perhaps a new life. That just makes me happy.

So what are you waiting for? If you want to go to France, go!

Terrific Review of My Novel

I can't help tooting my own horn and directing you all to take a look at Sim's review of my novel I See London I See France. She reviewed it on her blog Chapter 1 Take 1.
Here's an excerpt:
Perhaps because the main character, Caroline is so richly drawn, flaws and all, and because her story is so relatable, I See London, I See France really resonated with me, frequently bringing me to tears.
Tears? It's like an author's dream -- not that I want to make people cry, but I love the idea that people are moved by the characters I write.
The travel caught her imagination too:
Deftly preventing the tone from becoming too melancholy, the author packs the book with all the charms of travel, making me feel like I was on the trip too, my suitcase squeezed into a corner of the hotel room, ready to see the sights
Sim has asked me to write a post about who I envision starring in the movie of my book.
That is so much fun.
I'll let you all know when that post is up.

$50 Amazon Giveaway -- One Day Only

Buy my novel I See London I See France on Amazon ($4.99) by noon on Saturday and share it on Facebook, tagging me, Paulita Kincer,(Writer) and you’ll be entered to win a $50 Amazon gift card. The contest runs from now until noon on Saturday, March 15 (Eastern Standard Time). Enter now!

Contest details: Buy my novel in Kindle or paperback form from Amazon (or Barnes & Noble). After you check out, Amazon offers the opportunity to share your purchase on Facebook or Twitter. Share, tagging my author page, Paulita Kincer(writer). 

If you don’t/can’t post on Facebook, take a screenshot of your receipt and send me an email at paulita at paulitakincer dot com. The odds of winning depend on how many people participate. If you’re the only one who plays, you’re the winner of the Amazon gift card. If two people play, your odds are 50/50. If 100 people play, your odds are 1/100.  I’ll enter all the names in a random name selector and select the winner at random on Saturday, March 15.

In a few weeks, I’ll do another giveaway for everyone who posts a 4- or 5-star review on my novel on Amazon or Barnes & Noble, so if you don’t win this time, you’ll have another chance. 

The Key to Happiness

The most exciting email ever arrived last night. It said:
"You've won: Spontaneous Happiness."
Really? I won that? So whenever I want, I can tap into spontaneous happiness? It's mine. I won it.
Turns out, I won a book from Vicki's blog. The book is called Spontaneous Happiness and it's by Andrew Weil. So that's still exciting, although not as exciting as winning happiness.
According to Amazon, the book explains that happiness comes from within, so I guess I'll never be able to win it. But the book does lay out a plan for "attaining and sustaining optimum emotional health."
I'll let you know if this book hands me the key to Spontaneous Happiness.
Then again, I may be too happy to write my blog any more.
Here are some things that make me happy:
Traveling with my husband


My family


Coffee with friends


Running with friends


And cats stuck on screen doors

What makes you happy?

Christmas Miracle

For awhile now, I've been wishing that we hadn't made Grace's reservations home so late in the month. She was feeling uncomfortable staying with the French teenagers who made her feel like an imposition.
I called the Airlines and they said the change fee was $250-$275 plus whatever the flight difference was.
I called AAA and talked to a travel agent who said she couldn't do anything to help.
Tonight though, Grace and I were both wishing we could be together, and the French teenagers emailed her to ask if she could find another place to stay next week because they have tests coming up. (You can imagine that Grace is a really noisy person who would keep them from studying.) So she messaged me in a slight panic.
I'll fix it, I messaged her.
I would have to bite the bullet and pay the high change fee.
So I called the Airlines again. I got a man with a super deep voice and told him I wanted to find out what it would cost to change my daughter's ticket. He immediately seemed sympathetic.
I asked him for a flight any time between now and Dec. 19 and the cost to change it. He searched for a minute and talked to me about his son in a private college in North Carolina.
"How about Wednesday? Your cost would be $1," he said.
"One dollar plus the $250 change fee?" I asked.
"No, ma'am. One dollar."
Wednesday doesn't work because Grace will be on a train back to Paris, but the helpful deep voiced man found the next available date and said, "That one's going to cost you $26."
"I'll take it!" I said.
And so, Grace will be home by the end of the week.
Now, I just have to figure out how to tell Tucker that he doesn't get a room of his own anymore.

A 19-year-old's Adventures in France

I can't believe that Grace left for France a month ago.
The time has flown past for me, here in Ohio.
At first, I was afraid that this was going to be one of those experiences that Grace could look back on and appreciate, rather than enjoying it now. She was tired and frustrated with the language. She panicked when it came time for Earl to come home without her.
I got texts, I got Skype calls. Her eyes were wide and darting around as if searching for the exit.
I talked to my friend Michelle and was surprised to learn that her daughter had felt similar despair while in France the previous year. She suggested I go with the 10-day plan.
"Let's give it 10 days," I told Grace.

And after a few days, when she seemed about to sink into the mire again, unable to negotiate the big city in a foreign language, I read her the riot act.
"Get out of your room. Go get a Metro pass. Make a plan to do something."
And she did.
She's captured days like this where the sky was incredibly blue and no one could be sad or lonely.

Not every moment has been happy since then. She caught a cold and spent a weekend sniffling in bed. But she has embraced the idea of traveling and exploring.
Most everyday she ventures around the city and discovers some small joy.
Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work, she messaged me on Skype:

oh my gosh!!! best day for the early part of today, cant wait to tell you about it

That made my heart soar.
Later I found out that she discovered a market and explored it. The little adventures are adding up.
I'm so glad that she can enjoy these moments and know that she'll be able to look back on them with pleasure too.

Saturday Snapshot -- Mont St. Michel

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.
My husband accompanied my daughter to France. She has gone for three months; he went for a week to make sure she got there safely because she hates flying. They visited Mont St. Michel while in France so here are a couple of photos.
Here's an interesting detail shot that Grace took:

The tide was low, which allowed everyone to park in the lot until the tide comes in.

And here's a shot of Grace back on dry land:

France Travails

Grace's travels in France, and the accompanying angst is making me re-remember some of my own journeys. When I think back to those three months in France, I look at the entire experience and how it changed my life. I don't remember the daily struggles.
But first, Delana asked if I had a picture of myself in the pink fishnet anklets with the pink skirt. Indeed, I do and here it is:

So Grace is feeling frustrated about not understanding a language that she has studied and she is feeling shy about speaking French. I get that. The first two weeks I was with the French families, I hardly spoke at all. And they talked about me, right in front of me for a few weeks until I started to understand what they were saying. I promise Grace every time that we talk that it will get easier.
When I went to France, it was a last minute thing. I was 22 years old, working as a reporter at a daily newspaper in Middletown, Ohio, and dating a photographer. The photographer had a sister who was married to a Frenchman, Jose. (That J is pronounced zh instead of the Spanish way.) They had two little girls, Brigid and Claire, whie the wife was pregnant with her third child. The tickets to fly to France had already been purchased when the wife started to have complications. Someone needed to go with the girls to France and stay at their grandparents' house with them. That's where I came in.
I had only a few days to prepare so I didn't have time to panic. I filled a very, very big suitcase and went.
The father, who is a doctor, came along at the beginning for a medical conference. We flew into Paris and stayed at the grandparents' apartment in Viroflay, outside Paris in the direction of Versailles. The grandparents weren't there at the time, so when Jose left that morning for his medical conference, the girls and I were alone in France.
Maybe there's something about being responsible for other people that made me step up to the plate and take action. When the phone rang in the apartment that morning, I didn't answer it though. No way was I attempting to speak French on the phone. Brigid, 4, answered and it was her uncle Vincent, who spoke very good English.
After Jose had gone to the conference, I was responsible for getting the girls ready and meeting him at Luxembourg Gardens for lunch.
I dressed the girls in matching yellow overalls because, as a 22-year-old, I thought that was so cute. But their long sleeve shirts quickly became too warm on our outing so they ended up wearing the overalls without shirts underneath which looked a little white trash.
I have no idea how we made it onto the RER and got the train into Paris then switched to the Metro to meet Jose at Luxembourg Gardens. Somehow we did. The trips I took alone with the girls all run together, so I'm not sure if it was that day or another day that I went through the gate at the metro, with my one little ticket, pushing the girls in front of me since they were free, and they got stuck on the other side of the gate. There I was on the outside; the 3 and 4-year-olds were on the other side. The gate was closed. I panicked.
"Wait right there," I said. I imagined that I needed to run back to the window to buy another ticket to get through. Luckily, a woman behind me, who was wheeling a suitcase, took pity on me and let me go through on her ticket so I didn't have to desert too little girls in the Metro station.
When we met Jose at the Luxembourg Gardens, we had ham sandwiches with butter for lunch. I can still taste them. We fed the extra bread to the fish in the pond.
Then Jose went off to his meeting and he told me to take the girls by bus to his grandmother's apartment. Well, apparently, we got on the bus going in the wrong direction. The entire hot afternoon was spent climbing on and off buses going farther and farther away from Jose's grandmother's apartment. At one point, we got off the bus and I herded the girls to a cafe for a Coke. We all needed to raise our blood sugar a bit.
The cafe was chic and the people around us were very polite. They admired the girls and they asked about our trip. But when I asked them about taking the bus, they all shrugged. None of them were bus users.
I admonished Claire to be careful not to spill her drink then I promptly spilled my Coke and it flowed off the edge of the glass table.
Could the day get any worse?
Somehow, some way, we eventually got to Jose's grandmother's apartment, which is where I met Marguerite, who is still my friend today.
So, although I may tell Grace that my travels in France were the best times of my life, the individual days were a challenge. Maybe I didn't appreciate them until I came back, and maybe she won't either.
Until then, I'm encouraging her to find one good thing everyday to appreciate. I'll do the same here in Ohio.

France Blog

Yay! Grace is blogging again. This time, about her trip to France.
Take a look to see France through the eyes of a brave, yet frightened, 19-year-old American.
Grace's Blog: Life Allons-y!

All in a Muddle

I think I spend my life saying things will settle down when...
But I need to be honest, things are not going to settle down.
Lately, things have been more hectic than usual. I've been mired in numbers trying to get Grace's trip to France organized. Maybe she'd fly over with Sheila when she went for fashion week. Maybe Earl and Spencer would go over with her for a week? Would she go alone? Would they fly into Milan and visit the Italian cousins before going to Paris? Maybe Frankfurt would be better. Maybe they'd fly into Milan and fly out of Paris. But Earl would be leaving much earlier than Grace so how would I make sure they sat together on the flight out?
I spent days on travel websites. I'd go from Kayak to Priceline to Expedia then to the airline's website: British Air, Air France, American Airlines. I had every possibility written in a little notebook. Then we had to add in train fares and hotels. My mind spun with all the possibilities.
In the midst of it, I started another semester of school at one college and was busy moving toward exams in the other. That's when Labor Day arrived. A time to rest and catch up.
Only, as I was fixing brunch for Earl's family on Monday morning, I received a text that my friend from work, Rini, had a stroke. I made plans to go visit her the minute the relatives departed at 12:45. At about noon, I was walking around the block with baby Caroline when I saw what looked like Spencer standing at the intersection at the top of the hill. That tall boy with the cut out tshirt was definitely my son and he was standing beside his car talking on the phone. Then I saw the police car and the flashing lights. Oh, no. Had he gotten a ticket?
I left Caroline with Grace and raced ahead. The front end of his car lay on the street and green radiator fluid leaked onto the street in front of it.
He had an accident while crossing the side street to our house. The small truck he hit looked fine. A little scraped on the side.

Spencer told me later that the truck basically drove over his front end. But the accident was his fault. Now we started dealing with car insurance and juvenile court to face the ticket for failure to yield.
In spite of the accident, I headed to the hospital at 12:45 and saw Rini. I feel so helpless when people are sick. There's rarely anything I can do to help. So I jumped right in and told Rini that I would grade her remaining essays and give the final exams for her classes.
Well, I'm getting tired just telling this story. Picture me chained to a computer grading papers, searching for airfares while looking for used cars to replace the totaled car, when suddenly I remember that I have to figure out the cell phone dilemma for Grace too, so I start researching that.
On Tuesday morning when the English department called in a panic that no one had finished Rini's grades, I jumped on the computer again rather than going out for coffee with Grace and finished Rini's grades.
Grades are done for one college job. Tickets are purchased for the trip to France. The phone is ordered. The insturance money for the car is in the bank, although we are still a one-car family for now. Rini remains in the hospital waiting for a spot in a rehab center.
Now that I think about it, it seems a little selfish to complain about all the work I have to do because my friend had a stroke and my daughter's headed to France for a few months. I'm grateful that I can help out my friend and that I have a daughter who's about to experience the trip of her life.
I'll quit whining when things settle down...