Free Falling in Europe

Last year my 5 year old daughter, 8 year old son, and I went to Berlin, Germany for a week. Then took an overnight train to Carnoux, France (not far from Marseille in Provence) and stayed for a week. And then spent two nights in Paris. My first international travel since having children. International travel was the one thing I really missed from my pre-children life. I wanted the trip to help me unearth the freedom, adventure, and spontaneity that I had buried in order to do some serious mothering--since that's what good mothers do, right? Ack wrong. I knew I had been distracted and distant from my children for years as I went through a frustrating (is that the right word for something that makes you bite through your own tongue?) divorce from their father. I wanted them to know the traveling, free, adventurous, spontaneous me--not the short tempered, frazzled, overeating, overworking, yelling me. So this was a high stakes trip.


So while my son did some heavy milk drinking, in case they didn't have milk in Europe, I obsessively planned. Most things were obvious. 

• Pack light. I tried the one travel tip I retained from all my travel reading: after you pack, take out half the stuff and double the money. Well at least I took out half the stuff. I do commend myself on this one. We went to Europe for two weeks with carry ons only. And in winter! 

• Take entertainment for the children. As much as I want them to be dreamy, quiet little erudites observing their surroundings politely at all times, they aren't. They can be sometimes sort of . . . if I squint my eyes or have a couple cocktails. But alas, they sometimes need their screens. Me too. The great thing about an iPad is it can carry all of our entertainment--books, music, games in one slender gadget. And it makes for a great negotiating tool (with the kids, not foreign police officers or Interpol).

• Prepare your hosts. We were staying with friends--a couple without children in Berlin and a couple with children in Carnoux. I felt no need to warn the French hosts. And even though our hosts in Germany included my best friend since I was five, practically my sister, in fact we used to call each other's parents Aunt and Uncle and my kids call her husband Uncle--even with all that foundation, I was very nervous about imposing two children on these kind, generous, innocent people. Not like my kids were going to bite their ankles or stand next to their beds with crooked fingers saying "red rum, red rum." But many people without children have not grown the additional thick layer of skin and extra inner ear padding that protects from immaturity, repetitiveness, whining, and, worst of all--the "huh?-not-listening" disease of the child species. Even with these adaptations, many parents cannot survive without many, many crutches. So I definitely had quite a few emails and conversations with my best friend before the trip. Together we prepared, planned strategies, and decided where to keep the vodka.

• Take something familiar. Even if it's big bulky pink Barbie headphones. Even if it's a skateboard. This one seems ludicrous, especially after I bragged about how efficiently we packed our carry ons. But part of the magic of traveling is putting on your best look. Who doesn't daydream about arriving in a new country and being checked out by foreigners who come to quick, clean conclusions: Oh he's a skater dude. She's so cosmopolitan. She's a sweet, savvy mother who is so connected to her children and so living in the moment. But seriously, I think carrying something that makes you feel cool or comfortable is essential for traveling as a kid or with kids.

• Plan something for everyone. This one I am an expert at. We practice every weekend. It usually works out that Saturdays are for each kid's class or sports and then we do chores. On Sundays we each get to pick a thing we want to do. And the others have to go along sans complaint. It's not a perfect system, particularly for me as my chore list from Saturday usually ends up being my "free choice" on Sunday. And by the time we get finished with their free choices on Sunday, it's time for dinner which I have to make and it is neither on my chore list nor on my free choice list. So actually I am not an expert at this afterall. I am bamboozled every weekend.

So I took all of the "obvious" steps above and felt a bit superior in my planning. I was sure I had thought through all possible scenarios. So I allowed myself to spend the months before we left fantasizing about how great our trip would be. I imagined the three of us chatting with German and French strangers on a train or at a cafe. I figured people would talk to us. People often stop me to say how beautiful my kids are . . . and that is here in a frazzled, distracted life. In Europe I just knew I would be so calm, present, luxuriously eating the meaningful moments like spoonfuls of creme fraiche. 




I did temper these fantasies with reminders that children need sleep or they get Tasmanian devilish; they will need some familiarity so I should read to them before bed and let them play their gadgets even when I want them to look out the window and see the landscape passing by; they will need some decent food before they devour their own weight in chocolate. Ok yes I will still have to be the mother, but how much happier we will all be when we are traveling--free, adventurous, spontaneous. So we left for Europe with carry ons, an iPad, friends armored and ready in our foreign destinations, Barbie headphones, a skateboard, and a list of things to do that would dazzle any kid or adult. 

Because of all this precise planning and strategizing, we arrived ready and raring to go--giddy and delighted with everything we saw. The Euros, which for some reason my son kept calling Gotchas, were like gold coins from the end of the rainbow in our hands. They had free coffee in the Munich airport! The vibrant graffiti! The little cars like toddler shoes! They have Aldi just like us! And despite the frigid temperatures and the dusting of snow, my son was skateboarding in Europe. 



In Berlin we took him to an indoor skatepark called Skatehalle Berlin. Twice! It was a great place--in an industrial area but off the streets and tucked back in alleyways that were all painted fantastically so you felt like you were in a fairy land or a Magritte painting or some modern German street artist painting (the last being true...duh). My son was dazed. Skateboarding and street art!!







Skatehalle Berlin has a cafe with beer and hot cocoa, a TV, a friendly dog, brightly colored walls. My daughter was satisfied...and this wasn't even her "free choice." Maybe it's her age, but she is usually content to go along with the majority. It's not that she's a push over, she just flows well. 








Next to skateboarding, my son's favorite thing is chocolate. We went a chocolate restaurant. Fassbender & Rausch in Gendarmenkart has a chocolate store downstairs and a restaurant on the second floor with nothing but chocolate on the menu. My children literally could have eaten their weight in chocolate. In this photo, the building behind them is made of chocolate.







As we sat down, we noticed behind us a faucet left open with chocolate streaming out of it into a sink. My friend ordered a little cup of melted dark chocolate. My son wanted one too. But horrors upon horrors, it didn't come in milk chocolate. Trying to appease him, my wonderful best friend bought milk chocolate in the store below the cafe and melted it into a little cup for him when we got back to her house.

Shockingly, toward the end of the first week, I realized I hadn't thought of everything. My son starting acting .... unappreciative! And kind of grouchy! I thought my strategies were bullet proof. He had his skateboard, he was doing his favorite things, eating his favorite "food," being spoiled and catered to, no rules, no routines--free falling with nothing to catch him but an undulating ocean of chocolate.


The day came for us to do his sister's "free choice." We went to a castle in Potsdam called Sansouci. Frederick the Great had it built in 1745 as a place to escape the formalities of royal life--san souci (no worries). My exact goal of this trip--to have no worries. Unfortunately Europe was having one of the coldest winters on record for years. We had winter coats, we borrowed scarves, and we bought gloves and hats. But it was really cold. My daughter's little heart covered Vans were the equivalent of thin socks in this cold. It'll be OK we thought as we walked the castle grounds--we'll go in for a tour and warm up. Well the castle was not heated. It actually seemed refrigerated. I carried my daughter as much as I could...not easy in a crowd that is squeezing through little corridors, stopping to listen to a tour guide who sounded like the adults in Charlie Brown--wha wha wha wha--because our ears were frozen.

As soon as it was over, we went across the street to a cafe where we ordered delicious tomato soup and crunchy bread sandwiches. And that's when my son's bad attitude started creeping up around us like a fungus. He wasn't do anything terrible--just dampening the mood. Dampening, soaking, then drenching the mood. He wanted to go to McDonalds. Oi. His sister was finally thawing and enjoying her lunch during her free choice time, but he sat there fuming, oozing bad vibes all over us. I was baffled. All the skateboarding, chocolate, freedom...wow my friend even let him make pirate's maps and burn them in her fireplace. How could he not be content like a cream-fed pig lounging in warm mud? 

We mustered our courage and forged on. The next stop was a candy factory. But still the boy whined for McDonalds. What should I do? Did I really have to count him to three? On vacation? Yell at him? On vacation? Threaten to take away a privilege? On vacation? Punish him? On vacation? We're supposed to be free, easy, spontaneous. SANS SOUCI!! So we went to McDonalds. 

They have grapes and beer at McDonalds in Berlin. My friend waited in the car. 

As the week in Berlin went on, there were more and more moments like this. He tested the limits. I mistook no consequences for freedom and spontaneity. He free fell. I did not catch him.

By the time we got to France, it started to dawn on me that he was not necessarily enjoying the limitlessness. 

Our first day in France was another food orgy. 

My friend made these amazing chickens with chestnuts and a frangipane tart that was pure butter and almond bliss. My daughter hid under the table while my friend pointed to each piece of frangipane and my daughter called out one of our names. We each tried our randomly selected piece of the tart. My daughter got the piece with the little angel in it and so she got to wear the paper gold crown. This was an Epiphany tradition. That day there was also chocolate--chocolate cake batter, chocolate cake, and Nutella. That night my son threw up chocolate. In his sleep. 

The next day, he was crankier than ever. He wanted to go to an outdoor skatepark even though it was covered with snow. This was the first snow in Provence in eight years. We watched the French news, laughing as they pointed to an inch of snow and gestured in panic. The buses weren't running. No one had shovels. It was supposed to be 40 or 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The poor little lemons were snowed on.

And my poor little son was a sizzling hot mess. I finally realized what I had to do. I had to mother. I had to stop the free fall. He needed structure. He needed to know there were limits. He needed to know I was not going to let him eat his weight in chocolate. He needed to know I would make him get his sleep. He needed to know I would take care of him and not let him go wild and spin off the earth. So I told him to shape up or we were not going to the skatepark. He did not shape right up. We did not go to the skatepark. He cried. I ignored him. Ugh. Not good on vacation. 

But it worked. It was one nasty afternoon in France. But then it was over. He found his respect, his patience, his good humor. The rest of the trip was sunny days and smooth sailing...or should I say snowy days and skateboarding?