Our Around The World Trip

Dispatch # 41 Home

"A year to go around the world! A whole twelve months of scenes and curious happenings in far-off foreign lands! You have thought of doing this, almost promised yourself that when you got old enough, and rich enough, and could "spare the time," you too would go around the world. Most of us get old enough; some of us get rich enough; but the time! the time! - to spare the time, to cut loose from goods and lands, from stocks and dreary desks, quit clients, patients, readers, home and friends - ay, and our enemies whom we so dearly love! Full many a promise must be broken and few the voyagers round the world."
D.N. Richardson, 1888

Dispatch # 41
Home
July 2005

As we were preparing to head home, we found that our conversations had become more nostalgic and our viewpoints more philosophical. We had learned so much about the world and ourselves. Our journey had not only made us appreciate many of the things we left behind, but perhaps more importantly, it had helped us to understand and appreciate the things that we have discovered over the past year, about ourselves and about the world around us. We visited magnificent places, saw amazing things, were exposed to fascinating cultures and religions and met many wonderful people along our journey. It will take time to fully reflect upon, and completely absorb all that we have experienced.

Now is not the proper time to begin to draw any meaningful conclusions from our experience, that is an exercise more appropriately left for some future dispatch, one written after we have had an opportunity to fully reflect on our adventure. I will, however, offer one personal observation at this time. The past year has been one of the happiest of my life. If there had been a camera running continuously throughout the trip, it may not have always have seemed that way, but all in all, the time elapsed images would show a man growing in understanding of, and appreciation for his wife and children. Being together 24/7, for good and for bad, gave us all a deeper understanding of each other. Arguably, we didn’t need to travel around the world to accomplish this, but being separated from both the comforts and distractions of family, friends, home, work, school and normal activities added greatly to our insight and education and accelerated the natural bonding process.

Speaking for the moment only as a father, the trip afforded me a priceless opportunity to spend time with my children. Although I have always tried to be active and involved as father, the normal time constraints of business, and the children’s time commitments to school and activities often left me with a few precious hours each day to enjoy the company of my children. In the absence of our world trip, I am sure that I would have had opportunities to experience many of the moments that I shared over the past year with my children, but not with such spontaneity and certainly not with such regularity. Add the excitement of sharing these moments in new and interesting surroundings and faraway places and it was the recipe for a true “once in a lifetime” parental experience.

More than ten months after we had left the United States and over a year since we had lived at home in Chicago, our 747 wide body began its slow descent towards the landing strip at O’Hare International Airport. For all of us, but perhaps mostly for Elizabeth and I, the last moments of our trip were a jumbled bag of strong emotions. We were excited to see family and friends, proud to have completed our circumnavigation without any real incident or injury, and energized to start a new chapter in our lives. At the same time, we were filled with intense feelings of melancholy and sorrow, sorrow that our trip of lifetime had come to an end.

Our travels took us through twenty-five time zones to fifteen different countries on five different continents. We traveled over fifty-two thousand miles, most covered by our forty separate flights, but thousands of those miles were explored at ground level in a variety of vehicles. We stayed in over sixty different apartments and hotels. Along our journey, we traveled on planes, from large commercial jets to small twin propeller planes; helicopters; cars and vans, from mini-vans to Range Rover safari game vehicles, trucks and buses, from campervans to rickety, smoke belching buses, to the open flatbeds of Thailand’s ubiquitous songtaos; trains, from bullet trains and subways to slow chugging steam engines; boats, of all sizes, shapes, and modes of transport, from motorized ferries and cabin cruisers to outboard driven Thai longboats, as well as by more graceful vessels like the New Zealand tall ship, Wm. Tucker Thompson, and the Egyptian felucca. During our travels we expanded this list to include river and ocean kayaks, canoes, bamboo river rafts, Japanese rickshaws, Thai tuk-tuks, and an assortment of cable cars, gondolas, trams, bicycles and carts.

From time to time we found ourselves on the backs of lumbering elephants, both Asian and African, swaying camels, braying donkeys, lively horses, and even an ostrich. We swam with dolphins, sea turtles and penguins, as well as swam, snorkeled and dove among an astonishing variety of marine life in places like Hawaii, Thailand, South Africa and the Great Barrier Reef of Australia, especially the Great Barrier Reef of Australia. We saw an amazing array of wildlife all along our journey, but none more spectacular than that which we encountered in the far corners of the damp Australian rainforest and while on safari in the arid wilderness along the border of South Africa and Botswana.

We visited dozens of World Heritage Sites, witnessed great natural wonders, marvels such as the geothermal wonderland of Hawaii Volcanoes National Park; the sacred Aboriginal grounds surrounding the imposing monoliths of Uluru and Kata Tjuta in the Australian outback; the Great Barrier Reef teeming with life and color; the vibrant rainforest of the Queensland Wet Tropics region of Australia; the majestic mountains, glaciers, sounds and fiords of southwestern New Zealand; the stunning beauty of places like Cape Town and Knysna, South Africa, the Spanish Costa Del Sol, the islands of the Phuket Sea off the coast of Thailand and the Bay of Islands in northern New Zealand; the verdant rolling landscapes of the Cape Floral Region of South Africa and the Ring of Kerry in Ireland; Victoria Falls, the awe-inspiring natural wonder shrouded in its veil of thundering mist; and the fertile and captivating landscapes of southern Spain, Italy’s Tuscan region, the Burgundy and Normandy regions of France, the countryside of western portion of The Netherlands.

We were also fortunate to have had an opportunity to see some of the many spectacular man made wonders of the world, wonders like Sydney’s iconic Opera House and Harbour Bridge; the ancient temples, shrines and pavilions of Kyoto, Bangkok and Chiang Mai; the spectacular jungle-encircled temple complexes of Angkor Wat, Cambodia (truly one of the highlights of our trip); the magnificent Pyramids of Giza, the great Egyptian temples of ancient Thebes, and the splendid monuments of Philae and Abu Simbel; Roman architectural masterpieces, The Colosseum and The Pantheon; The Vatican with its towering basilica and its breathtaking Sistine Chapel; the beautiful historic centers of Pisa, Sienna, San Gimignano and Florence, Italy; the imposing Moorish castles and fortresses of Spain, especially the Alhambra in Granada; the magnificent cathedral of Seville; the ornate Palau de la Musica Catalana in Barcelona as well as the whimsical architectural achievements of architect, Antoni Gaudi, including Sagrada Familia, which dominated Barcelona’s cityscape; the French medieval fortress towns of Mont-Saint Michel and Vezelay; icons of the Parisian skyline like the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur and the Cathedral of Notre Dame; famous English tourist destinations such as Westminster Abbey, Parliament, Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle and the Tower of London; Hong Kong, the tribute to modern urban planning on steroids; and monuments like those we found in Cambodia and on Robben Island, off the coast of Cape Town, South Africa, testaments both to the cruelty of man and the never-ending power of the human spirit.

Periodically, we took a moment to voluntarily inject ourselves with a dose of adrenaline with activities like zip-lining, skydiving, scuba diving, bungee jumping, riding mountain luges, surfing and bridge climbing. Still other times, our adrenaline came most unexpectedly, finding ourselves on the receiving end of an elephant charge in South Africa, being herded off the plane after our flight from Cairo because of a bomb threat, and perhaps the most harrowing of all, riding in cabs through the streets of places like Bangkok and Cairo. Sometimes our exploration would take us on a subterranean adventure like climbing through glow worm caverns in New Zealand, or through narrow, dark and dusty entrances leading to the burial chambers of some of the great pharaohs of Egypt.

We enjoyed a lifetime’s worth of memorable sunsets. Glorious sunsets of yellow, orange, pink and purple reflecting off of blue waters and white sandy beaches in places like Hawaii, Australia, Thailand and South Africa. Dramatic evening displays set against a variety of stunning natural backdrops such as the rainforests of Australia, the green, lush jungles of Cambodia, the majestic, snow capped mountains of New Zealand, the tawny grasses of the savannah of South Africa, the rolling vineyards and olive trees of Tuscany and the fertile undulating hillsides of Ireland and France.

We were definitely on vacation, and I would not want to suggest otherwise. However, some of the most memorable experiences we had came when we diverted ourselves from the tourist trail to the back streets and country sides, where we had the most genuine encounters and memorable experiences. We saw many wonderful things along our road, but we also took time to expose ourselves and our children to the situations of those less fortunate in places like the black townships outside of Johannesburg and Cape Town, South Africa, the rural villages of Zimbabwe, Thailand and Cambodia and to urban poverty in places like Bangkok, Thailand, and Cairo, Egypt. Some of our most memorable experiences resulted from visits to places like an orphanage in Soweto, a Cambodian village and a simple rural schoolhouse in Zimbabwe. Less than a month after the devastating tsunami, we spent three weeks in Phuket paying witness to the incredible resiliency and indomitable spirit of the Thai people.

Throughout our travels we met intriguing people, made many new friends, were treated with exceptional compassion and found ourselves on the receiving end of many random acts of kindness. We tried, with varying degrees of success, to immerse ourselves in the culture at each of our destinations. Regardless of the result, we thoroughly enjoyed the effort and we returned home with a much deeper appreciation for countries we visited, their people, their history and their culture.

Inevitably, we found ourselves making lists of our favorites. In many instances, picking a few from the many was a difficult thing to do, but here are some of the categories we chose and our top picks:

Top Airlines
Perhaps the only category in which a consensus was easily reached. The best airline in the world is Cathay Pacific. We also agreed that we would give special honors to Bangkok Airways and Qantas.

Top Destinations
On safari in Madikwe on the border of South Africa and Botswana
Angor Wat, Cambodia
Cape Tribulation and the Great Barrier Reef, Australia
Canal Boat Trip through the Burgundy region of France
Chiang Mai and Phuket, Thailand
Kyoto, Japan
San Gimignano and Siena, Italy
Aswan, Cairo and Luxor, Egypt

Favorite Lodgings
Tau Game Lodge-Madikwe, South Africa
Waikoloa Hawaiian Village-Big Island, Hawaii
Ferntree-Cape Tribulation, Australia
The Conlon Mill, Ireland
Ryokan-Kyoto, Japan
Marriott-Phuket, Thailand
Alahambra Parador San Francisco, Granada, Spain
Dromoland Castle, Ireland

Favorite Cities
Sydney, Australia
Paris, France
Queenstown, New Zealand
Cape Town, South Africa
Tokyo, Japan
Madrid, Spain
London, England

We all enjoyed an incredible learning experience. By stepping outside of our comfort zones and into unfamiliar environments, we received a unique education, one that has forever changed and expanded our vision and understanding of the world around us. As parents, Elizabeth and I were able to witness the development of our children as they gained confidence by living outside their normal routine. We marveled as they met the daily challenges of adaptation and understanding and as they developed a mature appreciation for other countries, their people, customs, cultures, religions and histories. To have seen some of the world, and to have been able to see it not only through our own eyes, but also through the astonished eyes of our children was truly a unique and wonderful experience.

Thank you all for joining us on our own personal “Walkabout.”

Dispatch # 40 Ireland

“Dance as though no one is watching you, Love as though you have never loved before. Sing as though no one can hear you and Live as though Heaven is on Earth.”
Gaelic proverb

Dispatch # 40
Ireland
June 2005

“Brilliant Scenery, Lovely Days and Grand Company”

Following a very energetic week in London, we spent the last ten days of our trip relaxing and soaking up the ambiance of Ireland. Few have visited this island and not returned smitten by this beautiful country, its gregarious people and lyrical heritage and we were no exception. Our relatively short time on the Emerald Isle was highlighted by a stay in a majestic Irish castle and, thanks to the generosity of my business partner, Sean Conlon, and his sister, Fiona, five glorious days on the picturesque grounds of their Irish manor.

Before we departed on our trip, one of the anticipated highlights for the kids was our plan to stay in an authentic Irish castle. After landing in Shannon, we rented a van and headed towards Newmarket-on-Fergus in the County Clare. Our destination was the venerable Dromoland Castle, the former home of the O’Brien family, one of the great noble Irish clans who, at times, ruled southern Ireland.

The castle and its grounds were spectacular. The enormous, slate gray, towering and turreted structure was a wonder to behold. We had promised the kids an authentic castle and Dromoland delivered. It had everything that we could have hoped for, centuries of rich history, impressive battlements, magnificent interior furnishings, enough suits of armor to outfit an army and a few ghost stories thrown in for good measure. We immediately set about exploring the thousands of square feet of dramatic Gothic architecture. There were high-ceilinged great halls, galleries lined with giant oil paintings of the O’Brien family lineage, and plush sitting rooms complete with crackling fires in oversized stone fireplaces. Our rooms were meticulously furnished with beautiful wood paneling and trim and decorated with wonderful period furniture and historic accoutrements. Once we had recovered from our initial awe struck state, Elizabeth and I sprung into action. Assuming that the proprietors adhered to that bothersome international accord of “you break it, you own it,” we quickly went about the room moving the numerous crystal and other delicate pieces up and out of harm’s way.

From our rooms, we had a direct view of the main section of the castle and the surrounding rolling green castle grounds. While we were admiring our view, the porter, a gregarious old Irishman named John, delivered our bags to the room. He was a delightful gentleman with an easy laugh. However, the tempo of his rapid fire and animated conversation, combined with a thick Irish brogue made him nearly impossible for us to understand. So, we nodded our heads a lot and made sure to laugh whenever he did. It was an experience that would repeat itself often during our stay in Ireland, and one best summed up by Bella after John had left when she said “Geez, I thought they spoke English here.” Periodic difficulties with translation aside, we found the lyrical nature of the native accent pleasing to the ear, and the legendary Irish humor and imaginative expressions to be infectious. Among the many lyrical adjectives that we enjoyed hearing in conversation were “brilliant,” “grand,” and “lovely.” These adjectival descriptions were used frequently, applied to people, places and things, and were always offered in a manner that was not only pleasing to the ear, but also seemed to exemplify optimistic Irish spirit that we encountered on a daily basis.

After we had secured our baggage from the porter, we set off to explore the grounds that included woods, ponds, a river, archery and clay shooting areas, and a world-class golf course. We went swimming in the indoor pool before retiring to the castle for lunch in its gallery full of overstuffed furniture set around a crackling fireplace. A smell of wood smoke and old rugs and tapestries hung in the air which was periodically broken by a rush of cold, damp outside air as guests passed through the nearby doorway.

It was Father’s Day back home, and there could have been no finer setting for one to be King for a Day. That evening, in anticipation for our formal dinner in the castle’s dining room, we all dressed up as best we could given our limited wardrobe selections. Before we left, Maddie assigned each of us a royal title for the evening. Having been bestowed with regal monikers befitting such an evening, the Lords and Ladies set off for dinner. Although I was politely asked to borrow one of the castle’s dinner jackets, everyone else passed inspection and we enjoyed a wonderful, five-course meal complete with candlelight and harp music. Slow, formal dinner affairs such as these are not designed with children in mind, but our kids did a great job of being patient and minding their manners. The children were so well behaved in fact that they received numerous compliments from our neighboring tables as we departed. Back in the room, with the kids in bed, Elizabeth and I finished the enchanted evening snuggled up in thick white robes, sipping Celtic Crossing, a delicious honey flavored Irish whiskey, and gazing intently across the lawn at the majestic profile of the moon lit castle.

The next morning we bid farewell to the castle and our kind hosts. Our next destination was to be Kenmare, but before we started our drive in earnest, we elected to make a stop at the Bunratty Castle and Folk Park. Bunratty Castle is one of Ireland’s more popular tourist attractions. The great rectangular castle with its imposing square corner towers, built in the early 1400’s, had been restored to its original medieval glory complete with drawbridge. Surrounding the castle was a delightful folk park with meticulous re-creations of early Irish villages, complete with working shops of period craftsmen, schoolhouses, farmhouses, and thatch roofed cottages. One of the highlights for the kids was the schoolhouse where a kindly, silver haired schoolmaster provided the kids a short course in Gaelic and a brief history of the prehistoric, Viking, Norman and native Irish societies. Overall, this side trip was perfect for the kids and we all had a great time exploring the grounds in the bright sunshine of a (rare) cloudless, blue-skied day.

From Dromoland we drove through beautiful countryside on our way to the town of Kenmare passing along beautiful expanses of rock strewn green hillsides, distant gray mountains, thick woodlands, rushing waterways and blossoming flora.

The Shelburne Lodge in Kenmare was a lovely 18th century country house set within ample grounds which included flower and herb gardens, an orchard, and, most importantly, an enormous, sprawling old evergreen tree that served as a make-believe castle and fort for the kids and provided hours of outdoor entertainment. During our stay in Kenmare, we began each day with a generously portioned, full fry Irish breakfast. After recovering from the post-prandial lulls brought on by these triple-bypass breakfasts, we would set off on day trips which included explorations of Kenmare and the surrounding countryside as well as a road trip along the famous Ring of Kerry and the Iveragh Peninsula.

Kenmare itself was a wonderful, historic town with brightly colored one and two story wooden buildings with traditional hand painted signs, housing a wide assortment of shops, restaurants and pubs. In the middle of town was a pleasant triangular public green full of local activity. Adjacent to the green was the grand Holy Cross Church, the spires of which we would periodically use to readjust our bearings as it could be seen from any part of town. One of the days we were in town was a market day and the public green and surrounding streets were full of vendors selling their produce and crafts. After a filling “halftime” (noon) lunch at one at a quaint little diner in town, we set off to explore the local outdoor market.

One vendor in particular was selling framed, hand painted verses inspired by the Irish national treasure, the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells, completed by Irish monks in about 800 A.D., is an elaborately illustrated and ornamented manuscript, and is one of the most famous books in the history of Ireland. Isabella was particularly interested in what this vendor had to offer. Elizabeth and I found it altogether appropriate and fitting that after careful consideration, our deeply sensitive and refreshingly free spirit, Bella, chose the following framed verse:

“Dance as though no one is watching you,
Love as though you have never loved before,
Sing as though no one can hear you,
Live as though Heaven is on Earth.”

It was the perfect verse for Bella. She has such a fun and free spirit, and we have often found her alone in a room signing and dancing in a celebration of her wonderful imagination. As an adult, I find myself marveling with pleasure at the spontaneity and imagination of my children. I often wonder when, and perhaps more importantly, why, I lost the wonderful ability to act spontaneously, to sing or dance in public for no particular reason, as though no one was watching. Whatever the explanation, one of the joys of parenthood is watching my children celebrate life without inhibition, walking into a room to find Bella twirling, or Maddie singing, or Carmen acting out a scene from her imaginary tale, or to witness Frankie explode into his “happy dance,” sometimes announced, but always spontaneous. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had the ability to launch into a happy dance whenever the mood struck us?

One of my favorite experiences during our stay in Kenmare was an evening spent sampling a couple of Kenmare’s many traditional Irish pubs. We took the family to dinner at “Casey’s,” a relatively upscale pub and eatery on the outskirts of Kenmare. While we enjoyed our dinners of meat and potatoes and fish and chips, we were treated to a performance of traditional Irish music by a three-person ensemble playing accordion, flute and violin. The lyrical folk music alternated between festive and the soulful. It wasn’t long before Bella, true to her motto, was dancing and twirling around our table in front of the fireplace. Our other children joined in the festivities and soon all were dancing to the approval and pleasure of the local patrons, and with a ferocity that would have made the Lord of the Dance, Michael Flatley, proud.

Later, after we had the children back home and in bed, I ventured back into town for a pint. I purposely chose the most dilapidated pub that I could find. I pulled up a stool at the bar, ordered a Guinness and enjoyed the ambiance. That evening, the pub was a men only affair. There were ruddy faced, silver haired old patrons, racing forms in hand, periodically drowning out the fiddle music as they regaled their mates with loud, animated stories. In the corner was a group of younger men playing darts and watching a televised soccer game. The atmosphere was perfect for this accidental tourist. Before long I had made my acquaintance with the gregarious old man seated next to me at the bar. He wanted to know all about life in the United States. He bought me a beer, but when I tried to reciprocate, he appeared offended, so I chose not press the matter any further, and accepted his hospitality.

It took my full concentration to understand him, his already thick Irish accent amplified by the noticeable effects of a several Guinness. He told me all about his friends and family members that were in America, seemingly expecting me to recognize one of the dozens of names he offered. Although he had never been to our country, he spoke of it with a sense of kinship and enthusiasm. After a couple more pints of Guinness, the only thing clear to me was it was time to take my leave, but I did so with the satisfaction of having experienced a small part of Irish culture.

While we were in Ireland we enjoyed reading some of the editorials in the national Independent that concerned the recent debate in Irish Parliament concerning the proposals to combat drinking in the country. The tenor of the articles suggested that lawmakers had lost touch with the common man in their efforts to appear politically correct as a card-carrying member of the European Union. Although the authors were serious, the contents of some of the articles provided some wonderful entertainment. One author offered the following lament, “Women are making these things happen. The decline of the Irish pub reflects the decline of the Irish male, and his pleasures, which were once sacrosanct…we don’t even seem to speak the same language anymore. Since when, for example, did having four or five pints become a ‘binge?’ We used to have to drink vast quantities of alcohol over several days, starting perhaps in the center of Dublin and waking up on the outskirts of San Francisco, before we were officially on a ‘binge.’ And only if you made a habit of it, committing a few ‘spectaculars’ along the way could you be classified as a ‘binge-drinker.’ Women want to eat and men want to drink. It is an ancient struggle.”

Another author asserted that the new law’s definition of binge drinking meant everyone was an alcoholic. Here are excerpts from his article, “It used to be that an alcoholic was a reclusive guy, one who drank in private all day long. Alcoholics were not people who drank with other people. They were rarely known to get pissed full stop. There is joylessness to their drinking. The lad who periodically lets off some steam, celebrates, gets pissed, acts like a maggot, embarrasses the family and gets into a fight is not an alcoholic. The café bar proposal is confusing. This is a plan whereby lots more places would be licensed to sell drink, but they would sell it in a different environment. It is apparently a healthier context for drinking, a more European way of drinking, which apparently is better and does not constitute the demon binge done in order to lighten the mood. However, I would assert that it is a more alcoholic way of drinking. Alcoholics are not romantic hell raisers of legend, but depressives who tipple away all day long keeping themselves topped up. I’m not sure why the French have become some kind of great role model for drinking. Go to Paris and look at businessmen popping in throughout the day for a glass of champers. Just because we do all our weeks’ drinking in one go doesn’t make us any worse than someone that tops off throughout the day. And who says the Spanish who seem to stay vaguely pissed all the time are any better than us. The bottom line is I’d rather go out and get locked now and then, than sip my way through each day.” Perhaps only in Ireland could such passion be openly expressed over a subject like drinking, and a debate regarding the proper definition of “binge drinking” become a priority topic of national discourse.

Kenmare was also ideally located to explore the coastline of the Kenmare River, and the famous Ring of Kerry. One of our road trips took us along the coastline bordering the Kenmare River, which really was not a river at all, but rather a deep fiord connected to the sea. Passing along the narrow, winding roadway, we marveled at the scenery, the river’s pewter colored water was covered by mist. Landward, we were greeted with views of cows and sheep sprinkled across the undulating green hillsides strewn with large gray boulders with the distant shapes of the fog shrouded mountain peaks of the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks acting as a backdrop.

There was a moist, salty feeling to the air as we arrived at our destination, the Domquinna Riding Stables. Maddie, Bella and I took a long ride along the shoreline while Elizabeth stayed behind to supervise Carmen and Frankie who delighted in riding ponies around the stable grounds. Although the names of Maddie’s and my own mount escape me, I do recall Bella’s. “Billie” was its name and it was a particularly stubborn horse. About half way through our ride, “Billie” decided that he had gone far enough. No matter what Bella did, no matter how hard she tugged on the reins or how determinedly she poked it with her heels, that horse had no interest in moving. With the assistance of our guide, however, “Billie” finally was persuaded to complete the trek. We rode for quite some distance along the rocky shoreline before finally turning back. The guide led us on a short cut that required us to cross over the muddy, kelp laden, river bed that had been exposed by low tide. Back at the stables, Carmen and Frankie had a big time riding their ponies, “Katie” and “General.” So much so that ultimately we had to pry a tearful Frankie off the back of “General.” A short distance down the road from the stables we came upon a pair of men hand shearing sheep in a field. The kids sat on an old stonewall and watched the men as they grabbed the bleating sheep and shorn their winter coats.

Another of our day trips took us along the coastline of the Iveragh peninsula. Known as the “Ring of Kerry,” this narrow strip of roadway is a popular driving excursion. There was much natural beauty to see, but I found it particularly difficult to enjoy the drive because of the seemingly endless series of oversized tour buses that frequently roared past, often forcing me to put two tires on the nearly nonexistent shoulder of the road. It was however, a scenic passage. Bordering the narrow road were seemingly endless, moss covered, stone walls. After passing in and out of a series of canopies of moss-covered trees, the view opened up to the sea. To one side of the road, below the steep drop off, we could see miles of contorted seashore, sculpted over time by wind and wave. The craggy stone toes of the coastline could be seen reaching out into the slate colored waters of the Atlantic. Inland were the misty outlines of green, rolling and rock strewn hills and pasture lands. In the distance, the peaks of the Macgillycuddy Reeks mountain range appeared and then disappeared in the slow moving gray mass of clouds. Periodically, a sudden gleam of sunshine would pass through the cloud cover catching a distant hillside, illuminating it like a spotlight, and revealing patches of fuchsia, heather and the purple flowered “fairy fingers” of the Digitalis. After a while, the contour of winding road with its hairpin turns began to take its toll on our young passengers. Having learned our lesson during some of our other notably twisting excursions such as Chapman’s Peak Drive and the roads to Hana and Cape Tribulation, we decided to turn around and head home before some felt the need to leave their fish and chups along the roadside.

As we loaded up for our trip to Bunclody, Elizabeth and I agreed that it was hard to believe that only six more days remained in our trip. When we had planned the adventure, 290 days abroad seemed unimaginably long. Much like a typical vacation where the first few days seem to unfold at a leisurely pace, but final half rushes by, so had our trip unfolded. Ever since we had left Australia after the first of the year, the days had seemed to pass by with increasing velocity.

Anxieties about our return notwithstanding, our final days in Ireland, the final days of our trip, were spent in a magical setting. My business partner, Sean Conlon, had graciously offered to allow us to stay at his idyllic spread located just outside of Bunclody in the County Wexford. Situated on over sixty acres, the “Mill” as he referred to it, was a beautiful patch of Irish heaven. His sister, Fiona, who lived at the Mill, was the consummate hostess. We were put up in the main lodging house, one of several on the grounds, that once was a working mill, but now has been converted into a luxurious residence. Along side the mill house ran the clear waters of the Slaney River, full of deep pools, fast shallows, and undoubtedly, a fair amount of trout. Scattered around the grounds immediately surrounding the Mill house are several attractive stone buildings, some of which served as storage, but one of which served as Fiona’s full time residence.

Along the river’s edge runs a dirt and stone road lead from the entrance to the compound to the Mill house. A short distance down the road was another lodging house. Trails lead from the Mill house through the hills comprising the back acreage. These trails provided us endless hours of hiking and exploration. Each day we hiked to the peak of particularly tall hilltop, sat in the tall grasses and took in the breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside, its green rolling hillsides rising up from the banks of the meandering River Slaney.

The weather was very cooperative and we spent our last days in Ireland under brilliant sunny skies. So unseasonably warm that one brilliant afternoon we decided to venture a swim in the river. We hiked up the road and across a three arched stone bridge in order to reach the other bank of the river, which appeared to provide a more gentle entry into the rushing stream. To say that the water was cold would be an understatement. It was a hoot to watch each of the kids as they gingerly waded into the icy water. They each would let out a scream, before drawing in a deep breath and jerking up their arms. Although the water was frigid, the kids were undeterred. The little polar bears waded around, splashing and shrieking the entire time. We all waded around the shallows, our legs and feet numb under the chilly waters. While some of us searched for interesting stones in the clear waters, others used butterfly nets in an attempt to catch minnows. After Maddie, Bella and I had each dove underwater on each other’s dare, we all retreated to the grassy banks to warm up under the “halftime” sun. We rested on the banks of the river and had a picnic lunch as fat black and white cows grazed around us.

The Mill was a perfect place to renounce life’s pressing matters and revel in the beauty of the rural Irish countryside that had inspired the likes of Yeats, Shaw and Beckett. It was such a relaxing setting. Each day I would walk alone to the top of the nearby hill and sit on the edge of the trail, aside the golden stalks of wheat, and gaze out over the countryside, allowing my mind to wander. During these quiet moments, I found my mind was drawn to reminiscences of our spectacular experience. When we had entered Paris two months ago, I had felt weary of travel, but now I felt anything but a readiness to conclude our trip. The excitement that I felt about reuniting with friends and family seemed to be outweighed by a sense of melancholy as I considered the inevitable end to our wonderful journey.

With the exception of our day trip to Kilkenny and periodic forays into the nearby village for groceries, our final days were spent frolicking on the grounds of the Mill. Exploring the grounds and back trails on foot and via the Conlon’s four-wheeler, playing games of hide and seek, swinging on the big tree swing near the river, picnicking along the river’s edge, chasing Fiona’s three dogs around, catching minnows, playing Pooh Stick races (we tossed carefully chosen pieces of tree branches into the river and then ran along the river bank tracking our entries to the finish line) and enjoying family dinners in the warmth of the Mill house. In the evenings, we would play card games, read books and tell stories to each other. At night, we would lie in bed listening to sounds of the night and the rushing waters of the River Slaney, a melody of nature that served to lull us and gently invite us to sleep.

Let us say thank you to all of you for following along with our adventure. What began with the simple goal of keeping in contact with family, soon turned into a labor of love as we attempted to share our travels and experiences with family, friends and the variety of new visitors who heard about our journey or accidentally hit upon our web log. Although I have begun to pen a final dispatch, this will be our last posting sent from abroad. Our final months following our return to Europe from the Middle East were memorable; our grand time in Tuscany; our scenic drive from Florence to Paris; our exciting days in Paris; the relaxing week in the countryside of Normandy with wonderful side trips to the D-Day beaches, Mont St. Michael, and Monet’s home and gardens in Giverny; our canal boat trip, one of the highlights of our world adventure, a truly magical week living on a houseboat and piloting it down the Yonne River and canals in the Burgundy region of France; our inspirational week in The Netherlands reuniting with our Dutch family in the picturesque countryside of the eastern portion of The Netherlands; an action packed week in jolly old London; and finally, two brilliant weeks in the lovely and grand island of Ireland. Cheers to you all and God Bless!

NEXT DISPATCH. WE ARE COMING HOME!

Dispatch # 39 London, England

Dispatch # 39 London, England June 2005 “Magnificent Palaces, Loathsome Towers and Memorable Dates” It was a relatively short drive from Borculo near the eastern border of The Netherlands to Amsterdam on the western side. Before we could go to the airport, however, we needed to find the office of Renault. After two months, it was time to return the van that we had driven throughout a good portion of Western Europe. During our trip preparation, Elizabeth ran across a car-leasing program while surfing the Internet that seemed too good to be true. The program, Renault’s Eurodrive, offered a full-sized mini-van with an extended lease term. Not just any van either, a brand new seven passenger, fully loaded mini-van for hire. Originally, we had planned on flying between destinations in Europe and renting cars as needed, but once we did some calculating, we discovered that the costs of the lease program, when compared to the costs of the various individual car rentals alone, was half of the expense. It also afforded us a great opportunity to tour the beautiful countryside’s of Italy, France and The Netherlands and to investigate some the beautiful cities and towns along the way. Two months ago, we picked up our new van at Rome’s Fiuminicino airport. Renault did not have a local office, so we met the representative outside one of the terminals. When it got around to signing the paperwork, I noticed that the majority of the documents clearly treated this as a purchase of a new van. Accompanying the sheaf of documents, which by the way included a promissory note from us to Renault for $ 55,000, was a one page agreement that purported to clarify the legal relationship as a lease and not a purchase, subject, of course, to terms and conditions listed in two point font on the back side of the document. When I asked for a little more comfort that I was not really purchasing a new van, the Italian representative laughed and said, “Don’t worry, just return the car to Amsterdam.” Perhaps, I would have found his assurance a bit more comforting if it hadn’t been for the fact that while we were conducting our “meeting” at a small table in the corner of an airport snack bar; the representative was clearly distracted, periodically looking over my shoulder into the terminal and motioning for his colleagues to retrieve this or that; and he kept interrupting our conversation to make cell phone calls. After a considerable amount of effort (read driving around lost) we found the address of the Renault “office” in Amsterdam. The address we were seeking was displayed on the second story of a windowless aluminum clad industrial building set atop a gas station. There was no signage and no one answered when I knocked on the door. So, as you might imagine, my curiosity (read anxiety) about how this story would end was heightened. The cynic in me was waiting for the proverbial “other shoe to drop” as we attempted to return our “purchased” (wink, wink) van after two months and 8,000 kilometers of hard use. As I sat on the steps, my mind replayed the scenario, we found it on the Internet, never met with anyone until Rome, signed a purchase contract and promissory note and gave our credit card and bank account information as security to a harried and disheveled representative at a snack bar at the airport in Rome, and we have arrived in Amsterdam to a nondescript warehouse with no sign of activity. To my surprise and complete relief, a large, gregarious Dutchman, Hans, arrived a half an hour later and introduced himself as our Renault representative, took our keys, stamped our promissory note “cancelled” and drove us to our departure terminal. It would have made for a better story if we had been stuck with the car and our bank account had been drained of thousands, but in keeping with most of our trip, everything worked out fine and Elizabeth’s discovery of the lease program turned out to be one of the best deals of the trip. We flew from Amsterdam to London on one of the European discount air carriers, Easy Jet. The fare was substantially lower than any offered by the larger, longer established airlines. In fact, when we found the airfare on the Internet, we were stunned. The fare was ten Euro, or around thirteen Dollars. Discount carriers like Easy Jet and Ryan Air have revolutionized the European market with their deeply discounted, no-frills, air transportation. Upon our arrival at London’s Gatwick airport, our seasoned band of explorers immediately sprang into action and within a short period of time, one not imaginable at the beginning of our trip; we had passed through the airport, collected our luggage and were heading towards London town. During our trip, we had taken the opportunity to divest ourselves of several pieces of checked luggage, a number now down from six to two. However, even with this lightened load, these remaining bags when combined with our carry-on luggage meant that we still had a cart full. Is it just my imagination, or has every luggage trolley in the world been designed to pull hard to the left. No matter how many times I stopped to reposition the bags or changed the direction of the force that I was exerting on the cart, it would inevitably head to port, as though drawn by a powerful magnetic force. No matter what we tried, the end result was always the same. As we waited for the train, Bella and Maddie were treated for various cart related injuries, lacerated shins or bruised heels while I stood groaning and massaged my aching forearms. We had a jolly old time in London. After availing ourselves of London’s public transportation options, taking a combination of two above ground trains and the London Underground, we arrived at Waterloo Station. From there, it was a long, but manageable walk to our hotel, the London Marriott County Hall located on the South Bank of the Thames, directly across from Parliament. It was a great base from which to explore London and we had stunning views out our windows of both the historic, Westminster and the famous “Big Ben” clock tower as well as the ultra modern, London Eye, London’s giant “Ferris“ wheel observatory. Each day we would walk out the front door of the hotel and we would immediately be surrounded by sea of pedestrians working their way across the Westminster Bridge. Between the two lanes of foot traffic, the wide expanse of Bridge Street was full of the red double decker buses and the iconic black taxis for which London is famous. One of our first observations was the remarkable diversity of London’s residents. Walking along London’s crowded streets; we came upon people representing almost every conceivable ethnic background. Just along the two block span of side streets flanking our hotel, we encountered restaurants specializing in Indian, Thai, Indonesian, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Turkish and traditional English fish and chips. We ate as well in London as we did anywhere during our trip. We also quickly came to the realization that London would be the most expensive stop along our journey. Although we were fortunate to be able to use a substantial portion of our Marriott Rewards points for our accommodations in London, the relative weakness of the U.S. Dollar against the British Pound meant that we still shed a lot of Pounds during our stay in England. When we made an estimate of how much our world trip would cost, we never took into account the possibility that during our time abroad, the U.S. Dollar would lose nearly twenty-five percent of its value against most foreign currencies. As a result, our trip would end up costing tens of thousands of dollars more than we had anticipated. No one was more excited than the girls when we finally arrived at our hotel in London. Although they may have shared some of their parents’ eagerness to see the wonders that London had to offer, their exceedingly high level of excitement and enthusiasm was due to the fact that their close buddies from Chicago, Austen and Isabelle Friend, were going to arrive with their grandparents in London in two days. Along our journey, we have been blessed by a few familiar faces from back home, Todd in Sydney, John in Johannesburg, Steve who joined us in Phuket, Thailand, our relatives, Doug, Sabrina and Louise and our neighbors from Chicago, Jane and Bob, who visited us in Tuscany, Italy and, most recently, the week spent with our Dutch family. In each instance, the children had been as excited, if not more, than Elizabeth and I. However, we were approaching the eve of a very special event. This would be the first time in over ten months that the girls had seen any of their friends from home. The anticipation was palpable. Before we departed on our trip, we had tried to consider what affect leaving friends and classmates would have on the children, especially, Maddie and Bella. During our travels, we had encouraged them to correspond with their friends through email. They made a concentrated effort, but the distance and lack of daily contact clearly put a strain on the relationships they had left behind. Along the way, Maddie and Bella often wondered out loud whether their friends, with few exceptions, had forgotten them. Most of the time, their apprehensions were not readily apparent. However, once in awhile, at the end of the day, they would voice their concerns, usually accompanied by tears, that their buddies back home had moved on without them. Elizabeth and I would sit on the edge of their beds late into the night trying to comfort them. So, as the arrival of old friends from Chicago grew near, Bella’s and Maddie’s emotions seemed to alternate between anxiety and excitement. In their minds, this would be a litmus test. Would this long awaited interaction be comfortable, would it feel like they had never been apart, or would it be awkward or distant? When Austen and Izzy finally joined us at our hotel, we could have lit up London with the amount of energy and excitement that filled our hotel room. Fortunately, the reunion was a success. They all seemed to get along as though the time and distance that had passed was of little consequence. It was great to see Bella and Maddie so happy. They all spent the first couple hours talking a mile a minute as they caught up on each other’s lives. Over the course of the next few days, we enjoyed joining Austen, Isabelle and their grandparents on various sightseeing tours, including trips to the Tower of London and Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. Before and after the arrival of our comrades from Chicago, we enjoyed activity packed days exploring a small portion of London’s many interesting tourist attractions. I am afraid we missed far more of them than we saw, but time and children’s attention spans were finite. We tried to hit the high points, the London Eye, Westminster and Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, St. James’ Park and Green Park, Windsor Castle, the Tower of London and, of course the item on every visitor’s list, Legoland. We began with a sunset ride on the London Eye, which is, for those of you who unfamiliar with this tourist destination, a gigantic observation “Ferris” wheel, actually, the largest such wheel ever built. The Eye was located right next to our hotel, opposite the Houses of Parliament on the South Bank of the Thames. We stood in the sleek, glass observation capsules, which were attached to arms of the great wheel that moved ever so slowly, taking well over a half an hour to complete its revolution. The views of London were magnificent. Below us was the wide dark expanse of the River Thames. From the river’s banks, London stretched out in each direction to the horizon, the orange light of the setting sun cast a magical glow on the spires, towers and rooftops of the city skyline. One of the many highlights of our time in London was our visit to the infamous Tower of London. Loaded with bloody history, the Tower of London has been a royal palace, fortress and prison, as well as the home of the crown jewels. We learned early on during our sightseeing in London that briefing our kids with a mixture of tales involving scandal, intrigue and good dose of beheadings, was a sure fire recipe to extend our children’s’ attention spans. We traveled from our hotel to the Tower by way of a riverboat excursion, passing landmarks like St. Paul’s Cathedral with its glorious dome, the Shakespeare Globe Theatre, the Tate Museum and the illustrious Tower Bridge. Entering the walls surrounding the Tower of London, we passed under the “Traitor’s Gate” where we paused to read some carefully selected gruesome and unsavory stories of London’s loathsome past, much to the kids‘ delight. Once inside the fortress walls, we explored the grounds. We visited places of dubious note like the Bloody Tower where Richard III was said to have killed his two nephews, aged ten and twelve, in order to clear the way for him to assume the throne, and the Tower Green, now a peaceful lawn surrounded on two sides by handsome Tudor buildings, where Lady Jane Grey, the sixteen year old queen was executed by order of her rival for the throne, Queen Mary I. On the Tower Green the girls took turns placing their heads on the chopping block used in the executions of two of Henry VIII’s unfortunate wives, Katharine Howard and Anne Bolelyn. It was good gruesome fun. Although the Tower is now known mostly as a site of imprisonment, torture and murder, it actually has another, lesser known, noble past. In the middle of the fortress grounds stood the formidable and majestic White Tower. The massive White Tower was a typical example of Norman military architecture. It was designed by William the Conqueror to protect London and assert his power. Construction of the White Tower began in 1080 and continued through the reigns of various succeeding monarchs. Its ten story high, whitewashed walls and four turreted corner towers gleamed in the bright midday sunlight. Mixed throughout the crowds of visitors were the men in the familiar square black hats and red and black tunics, the royal crest of Queen Elizabeth emblazoned on their chests. Yeoman Warders is their official title, but most of us would know them as “Beefeaters.” Hopping across the green lawn next to the White Tower were several large, black ravens. Apparently, legend has it that Charles II was warned that should the ravens ever leave the Tower, the monarchy would fall. Not one to tempt fate, he ordered that a small population be kept inside the walls, wings clipped of course, to insure the longevity of the monarchy. The tradition continues to this day. As we were wandering the grounds we happened upon an acting troupe that was staging a reenactment of the plot by Guy Fawkes to blow up Parliament and all of its members. The kids had a great time listening to, and in some cases participating in, the interactive dramatic show. We followed the actors around the Tower grounds as the story progressed from protest, plot, betrayal, capture, and interrogation to final execution. Following Fawkes’ execution, we took a tour of the Jewel House where we were saw, among other things, a dozen gold and jeweled royal crowns set behind thick plates of glass. The most impressive crown being the Imperial State Crown containing over 2,800 diamonds set below a giant blue sapphire. We were tricked during our tour by one of the guides who approached Maddie and asked her if she would like to wear the Queen’s crown. She looked at us with eyes the size of saucers as she followed the guide around the exhibition stand. Unfortunately, much to her chagrin, the closest she was to get to the crown was the plate glass casing. The illuminated crown cast a vivid reflection on the glass wall opposite the exhibit and Maddie was the perfect height for the reflection of the crown to appear to be sitting on her head. While the rest of the family marveled at the crowns, scepters and robes, Frankie and I spent his time examining the exhibits of armor, swords and medieval weaponry. Sweet! At the end of the Tower tour, the kids found (surprise, surprise) the gift shop. Maddie picked out a book on the gruesome tales of the Tower of London and another full of nasty tidbits about London’s sordid past and Bella and Carmen met a stuffed bear dressed in the uniform of a Palace Guard that they could not live without. Meanwhile, Frankie experienced one of those Shirley MacLaine moments of total consciousness, having an immediate realization that he was, in fact a knight trapped inside a pirate’s body. Gone was the feathered pirate’s cap that had been a fixture on his head for months, and in its place, was substituted the fearsome plastic helmet of a medieval warrior, which together with red tunic and wooden sword transformed our little buccaneer into a knight of the round table. It was an outfit that he would refuse to shed, even at bedtime, for days to come. Just across the river from our hotel was the masterpiece of gothic and medieval architecture, the Palace of Westminster and its iconic Big Ben. We learned that although the huge clock tower of the Palace of Westminster is popularly known as Big Ben, the name actually refers to the clock tower’s fourteen-ton bell, named after Sir Benjamin Hall who was the Commissioner of Works when it was installed in 1858. Each night, after darkness fell, we were treated to an enchanting view of the up lit façade of Westminster and its famous clock tower, the black hands of clock dials set against the clock’s brilliant white face, the light of which beamed through the lightly fogged evening sky. In the mornings, we would wake to the fairy-tale sound of Big Ben‘s tolling. We spent portions of a couple of mornings and afternoons strolling around Westminster, sitting on the grass of Parliament Square enjoying an ice cream and people watching. The Palace and Abbey were such a grand set of buildings; I never grew tired of gazing at them, especially the Abbey‘s intricate transept. It was with an ample sense of awe that I contemplated that travelers like us have been marveling about this place for over a thousand years. It was said that this was the political and spiritual heart of England. It was a religious shrine, the seat of government and the place where all of Britain’s monarchs have been crowned for the last millennium. Surrounding the square were statutes of some of the notable statesmen from the past. Our personal favorites were those of Winston Churchill, shoulders hunched under the cloak of his famous overcoat, in the middle of a deliberate stride; a seated and contemplative Abraham Lincoln (the only non-British subject to be so honored); and the life like statute of the notorious Oliver Cromwell. Keeping in mind my adage that gory equals gripping, the kids found the statute of Oliver Cromwell statute most interesting when they learned the story of one of the worst grudges in British history. Cromwell presided over England’s most famous republican experiment, which began after a particularly bloody and vicious civil war in the mid 17th century. Upon his death, Cromwell was buried in Westminster Abbey. However, when the monarchy for which Cromwell was responsible for overthrowing was ultimately restored in 1660, the new king ordered Cromwell’s body exhumed after which it was ceremoniously hanged, drawn and quartered and beheaded for good measure. Of course, it would not be a proper trip to London without a visit to the Buckingham Palace. We strolled along Birdcage Walk before dipping into the leafy and inviting St. James’s Park, a wonderful urban oasis full of wide lawns, shading trees, tranquil ponds and well maintained, brightly colored flower gardens. We stopped along the way to feed some of the swans, geese and pelicans that wandered freely along the pedestrian footpaths. After taking an ice cream and coffee break at one of the outdoor cafes, we pressed on through the park until we reached London’s most famous residence, Buckingham Palace. We lingered for quite some time watching the pomp and circumstance of the changing of the Palace Guard. The guards, dressed in their red tunics, white shoulder straps and belt, black pants and tall bearskin hats, pulled low over their brow, marched from the nearby Wellington barracks to the Palace. The formal military drill that made up the changing of the guards was precisely choreographed and clearly full of tradition. The older girls were inspired to mimic the guards’ march as they passed and of course, what would a trip to Buckingham Palace be if they didn’t take a moment to try to get the posted guards to break their frozen stare. Transportation in London was as much an excursion as it was a necessity. During our time in London, we had the opportunity to ride in the traditional black sedan taxis. Their design has been constant for decades and the exclusive manufacturer of these London icons only makes taxis. The interior of the passenger area was enormous. The real attraction, however, was the cabbie. As if supplied to the City of London by some central casting agency, every cab driver that we encountered was eerily similar. Each was a Caucasian male, appearing to be in his fifties, speaking with a heavy cockney accent and extremely gregarious. The rides were full of non-stop chatter. In most cases, we found the interaction enjoyable, although there were times when we knew the gentleman behind the wheel was trying to communicate with us, but we couldn’t for the life of us understand a word he was saying. Although there was a time or two, at the end of a long day of sightseeing, that I would have preferred to observe some silent reflection (insert, grab a quick nap) on our drive back to the hotel, but this was never in the cards. These guys were relentless, and they could talk a wood horse to sawdust. In addition to cab rides, there were the red double-decker buses and of course, the “Tube,” London’s Underground subway system, which is one of the most elaborate in the world. It was every bit as complex and far reaching as the subway system we encountered in Tokyo. From our “home base” at Waterloo Station, we could easily travel by rail to anywhere within or outside the city. And there was something unique about London train stations. The main terminals were huge, there were platforms and tracks everywhere and the stations were full of people bustling about in each direction under the sunlit roof of the station’s greenhouse-like architecture. Near the heart of London proper was Trafalgar Square, which on the evening we visited, was full of Londoners seated on the steps enjoying a last bit of sunlight at the end of a warm spring day. Surrounding them was the impressive monument to Lord Admiral Nelson, who with cunning tactics and brazen disregard for odds, soundly defeated Napoleon’s French armada at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. The overwhelming destruction of the French fleet played a large role in the shaping of world history. His fleet lost, Napoleon had to abandon his plans to invade and conquer Britain. With the French navy out of the picture, Britain was free to rule the seas and accelerate its global colonization. Nelson was mortally wounded during the battle and his remains were given a state funeral after which he was interred in St. Paul’s Cathedral. In the center of the square stood a column nearly two hundred feet tall. On top of the column was a twenty-foot statute of the intrepid naval hero. Surrounding the base of the column were the sculptures of four huge lions. It was a fitting monument to a time when Britannia ruled the world. Time now for another episode of “That’s So Carmen.” It seems as though not a day goes by without our diminutive five year old providing some sort of comic relief. In this instance, we were all lounging on the bed in our hotel room, watching television. Carmen’s growth during our journey has manifested itself in many ways, one of which is her relatively new insistence on using the potty alone without any assistance. For the longest time, the routine involved us helping her take off her pants and underwear and then assisting her up until she had a firm perch. We would then allow her some privacy and await the familiar call of her little voice announcing “Papa (or Mama) it’s your favorite time of the day!” This was our signal to return, help her finish her business and then get her dressed again. Lately, she has asserted her independence, handling the entire process by herself. On this occasion however, she had clearly experienced some difficulty getting her underwear and pants back on. She emerged from the bathroom, and in her serious voice exclaimed, “I’ve seen London and I’ve seen France, NOW WILL SOMEONE HELP ME WITH MY UNDERPANTS!” Speaking of Carmen, she has developed a strong interest in written messages and postal services. Lately, whenever we arrive at a new destination, she hoards any stationary and envelopes she can find and squirrels them away in her “bag of occupyment.” She spends a considerable amount of her free time drawing pictures for each of us. Thereafter, she signs, seals and delivers letters to everyone, often leaving them in inconspicuous places like a shoe, under a pillow or in a backpack. She is the self-proclaimed “mail lady” and she takes her job very seriously. All she requires in return is that we too write a letter and deposit it with her for circulation. Since I am on the subject of new developments, Frankie has added a nimble and energetic routine to his daily regimen. He calls it his “happy dance.” His performances are usually spontaneous, but on occasion, he can be coaxed into presenting it on a moment’s notice. Try if you will, to imagine a three-year-old version of Mel Gibson’s character in “Braveheart” displaying the rapid footwork of Jennifer Beals in “Flashdance.” We have found that the best way to keep the kids engaged in a historic place like London is to periodically provide them with some non-educationally focused outings. This time it was trips to Lego Land in Windsor, Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum and Mary Poppins, the Musical in London. Madame Tussaud’s has been entertaining young and old alike for over a hundred years. Having never been to a wax museum, the girls had a great time walking among the life sized figures, posing for pictures with the likes of Madonna, Queens Victoria and Elizabeth, John F. Kennedy, Tony Blair, Princess Diana and Marie Antoinette (along with her guillotine, of course). The day trip to Windsor took us by train to the gates of Windsor Castle, the historic mainstay of British royalty. We walked around the perimeter of the imposing fortress, which has served as a residence to English monarchs for centuries. According to the brochure, it is the oldest and largest castle in Britain containing over a thousand rooms. But the Castle was not the real reason we had come to Windsor, it was that lesser known jewel of Britannia, Lego Land. We were impressed by the size and scale of the reproductions of Legoland’s wonders of Europe, done completely with one inch colored building blocks. In addition to the models, there were games, mazes, imagination stations and discovery zones offering all sorts of fun and interesting activities. The amusement park had a variety of age-based thrill rides and roller coasters. After weathering through a rainy morning, we spent a fun filled afternoon taking in all of the attractions. On our final night in London, I had the distinct pleasure to escort Carmen, Isabella and Madeline to the Prince Edward Theatre in London’s lively West End district, on a date to see the world’s most famous nanny, Mary Poppins. We were treated to a wonderful musical stage production of Disney’s Mary Poppins. For me however, on special nights like these with my daughters, the destination is really secondary. The real fun is watching the girls prepare for the outing. There was a genuine excitement in the air as they scurried around trying to find the perfect “fancy dress,” primping and experimenting with makeup and accessories. Knowing full well that the days when my daughters will act so excited about spending an evening with their father are short-lived, I soaked up every treasured moment of our last night out on the town in London. NEXT DISPATCH. IRELAND

Dispatch # 38 The Netherlands

Dispatch # 38 The Netherlands May-June, 2005 “De familie tijd (Family Time)” Completely rejuvenated after our canal boat trip in Burgundy, we loaded up the van and departed from Chatel Censoir, France. Our destination was Lochem, the Netherlands and the drive would turn out to be the longest of the trip. Although the drive from Florence to Paris was longer, we spread the driving time for that trip over the course of several days to alleviate the pain of traveling with four children without the aid of an audio/visual tranquilizer. Our fourteen-hour road trip took us through northern France and portions of Luxembourg and Belgium, before we arrived at the border of The Netherlands. Along the way we passed through the thick, heavily forested Ardennes, the site of some of the most brutal fighting between the Allies and Germany during World War II. As we past, we peered into the darkened forest floor, trying to imagine how difficult it must have been to fight through this seemingly impenetrable natural barrier. Even today, the dense woods contained an eerie sense of foreboding. It was strange to drive through the now empty border crossing checkpoints, large stations that have become obsolete with the new European Union treaties permitting free transfer between countries. It was especially interesting for us as we had been traveling within the European Union for months and had never been required to show our passports. You may recall that when we flew from Cairo, Egypt to Barcelona, Spain, there was a tip that a bomb had been placed on our plane. When we arrived in Barcelona, there had been a considerable amount of confusion on how to handle the passengers. In the chaos following our release, we had apparently gone up the wrong set of stairs, because we emerged into the terminal near the gate for our flight to Rome, Italy. We never had to pass through immigration in Italy because we had come from another EU country, Spain. As a result, there was no record of our entering the EU and to date; we had passed though Spain, Italy, France, Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands without having to show our passports. We assume that this would continue through England and Ireland until we left for home later in the trip. I remain mildly concerned that we will be met upon departure by a savvy Irish immigration agent who will note the large gap in time since our last passport check in Egypt and the fact that we have never officially entered the European Union. Just inside the Dutch border, we stopped at the American Military Cemetery outside of the village of Margraten. Although we had arrived too late to enter the main gates, we found a farm path that led through a field to the outer boundaries of the cemetery. From our vantage point at the edge of the cemetery we could see the impressive white marble memorial tower standing guard over the burial grounds. Beyond the tower were wide tree-lined malls with large burial plots on each side. As we had witnessed at the D-Day cemetery in Normandy, the rows of over eight thousand perfectly aligned white marble crosses stretched out in each direction. From Margraten we continued through the southern and eastern portions of the country until we reached Lochem, which was situated just west of the German border. Lochem was an hour’s drive north and east of Arnhem and Nijmegen, and a couple hours drive directly east of Amsterdam, which is located on the opposite, western end of the this diminutive nation. The focus of the other legs of our journey has been sightseeing, exploring and absorbing as much as we could at each destination. Our focus for this portion of the trip was less ambitious in scope, but more meaningful in nature. We had come to The Netherlands to reunite with old friends. As a result, some of you may not find this dispatch very exciting to read, but let me assure you, we had a wonderful time in the Netherlands. We accomplished what we came here to do, spend lots of time with our Dutch family. When I was a senior in high school, Gabriella Franck, an exchange student from The Netherlands, spent a year living with our family. Gabriella fit right in with our family and she quickly assumed the role of the daughter my mother never had. We had fun experiencing and enjoying our senior year together. By the end of her stay with us we had all grown to love Gabriella as a member of our family. It is safe to say that the feelings were mutual because in the years following, two more members of the Franck family traveled to the United States and spent a year with the Parkinson’s. First, her brother Joost joined us, followed later by their younger sister, Stephanie. So, over the course of six years, we had a unique opportunity to get to know three members of the same Dutch family. During the same time period, adding to these experiences was a family trip to Canada to meet the family of Gabriella‘s older sister, Monique, and my graduate school backpacking visit to The Netherlands where I spent time with Joost in Den Haag and the Franck family at their country home in Borculo. I am not sure about the experience of others who have either hosted an exchange, or lived with another family overseas, but our experience was particularly enjoyable. Although I had formed a close bond with the Franck family in general, and Gabriella, Joost and Stefanie, in particular, with the passing of years, I eventually had begun to lose track of my Dutch brother and sisters, their lives and families. So, it was with a bit of trepidation that I planned our reunion. Although I approached this part of our journey with optimism, truth be told, I was uncertain as to how we would interact after so many years. My anxiety proved to be entirely misplaced. Our reception was wonderful. To my delight, after a brief period of reintroduction, I felt as though I recaptured a large amount of the familiarity and warmth that I had once shared with my Dutch family almost thirty years ago. Our families took an instantaneous liking to each other, and our hosts went out of their way to make us feel welcome. When we first arrived, Gabriella and her two daughters, Marjolein and Willemiek, met us at our campground. The combination of being released from a cramped van after fourteen hours and finally meeting people that they had heard Elizabeth and I talk about for the past couple weeks, meant that our kids were on fire. I don’t know that I have ever seen them so full of energy and silliness. Frankie was literally running around in circles, roaring at the top of his voice. Meanwhile, Carmen, Bella and Maddie were all talking over each other, jabbering a “mile-a-minute” at our Dutch hosts. I watched with amusement, Gabriella’s and her daughters’ wide-eyed reaction to our band of “amped-up” American hooligans. I am sure that there were some interesting observations shared by Gabe and her girls during their ride back home. In a way it was a perfect introduction to American children for Marjolein and Willemiek. As our band of six was too large to be accommodated in her home, Gabriella found us a great campground, called Landgoed Ruighenrode, which was located on the outskirts of the nearby town of Lochem. The facility reminded us of some of the splendid campervan parks that we had visited in New Zealand. It was a huge park. Lots for campers were intermixed with new modular homes. The amenities of the camp included restaurants, pools, a lake, activity center, bike rentals and much more. Unfortunately, the weather proved to be much too cool to make use of the pools or lake. We were, however, able to make use of a nearby indoor water park which provided complimentary admission to guests of the campground. We stayed in a brand new, nicely furnished, three-bedroom modular home located adjacent to a playground. The place was perfect for our family. We spent most of our days exploring the camp, taking long walks, playing at the playgrounds, and visiting one of the nearby picturesque Dutch villages. Our evenings were spent enjoying the warm hospitality of Gabriella’s and Wouter’s home. Tasty home cooked meals were followed by relaxing evenings spent in adult conversation while the children played nearby. I teased Gabriella that she had kept the secret of her cooking abilities from her American family for the entire length of her stay. She reminded me that she was there to experience American culture and cuisine (insert cheeseburgers, macaroni and cheese, steak and potatoes) and felt no obligation to broaden our appreciation of international cooking. It was the first time that we had the opportunity to meet and get to know Gabriella’s three children, Marjolein, Jasper and Willemiek. The kids were the consummate hosts to our children. Willemiek was Bella’s age and she, along with Bella and Maddie, got along like three peas in a pod. They loved to walk over to a nearby playground and would spend hours in a little wooden play fort talking and playing card games. Although Marjolein and Jasper were seventeen and fourteen respectively, they were extremely kind, patient and attentive in their interaction with our younger children. All our girls loved Marjolein and she would spend hours playing down to our girls’ levels, especially Carmen, who could not get enough of Marjolein’s attention. Frankie, meanwhile, was in seventh heaven hanging out with another, albeit much older, boy. He had spent most of his trip surrounded by the girls, and playmates of the girls. So, when he found Jasper, an immediate “boy crush” developed. Frankie would follow Jasper’s every move around the house to the point of being in clear violation of all international stalking laws. However, to Jasper’s credit, he never complained. Frankie loved to sit on his lap while he surfed the Internet and played computer games. Stefanie graciously took time off of work, drove from Arnhem to Lochem and spent several afternoons and evenings with our family. We also took a day trip to visit her home in Arnhem. While her husband, Sjoob, was at work, we joined Stefanie and her son, Tommie, and visited a wonderful open-air museum called the Openluchtmuseum. The Openluctmuseum was set on a large plot of land and had all sorts of interesting exhibits and old fashioned buildings, mills, laborer homes, farmhouses and assorted shops. There were many historic buildings sprinkled around the campus. Working windmills, workshops of potters, wooden shoe makers, wheelwrights, carpenters, blacksmiths, and bakers. All of the shops and their tradesmen were dressed in period costumes and were actively fashioning their respective crafts. There were some delightful playgrounds incorporating period specific equipment from the early 1900’s. In addition, scattered around the heavily forested grounds were beautiful gardens and ponds. It was so nice to be with Stefanie. She has such an easy way about her, her sense of humor and seemingly infinite supply of patience (for the antics of our children) made for a fun and relaxing day. After our splendid afternoon excursion we retired to Sjoob and Stefanie’s home. After a nice dinner, Elizabeth and I talked with Sjoob and Stefanie late into the evening while the children frolicked at a nearby playground. It is always fun to see friends, but there is something special, something more genuine about the experience if you are able to visit them at their home. It always makes the connection a bit stronger, to be able to visualize where they are when you are talking to them on the phone or exchanging an email. With that in mind, we accepted the kind invitation of Joost and his wife, Rianne, to visit their home in Deventer. They also had a handsome home, filled with a warm and gracious atmosphere. They were understandably proud to show us their new addition to their home, which included a beautiful modern kitchen, and family room, as well as, a wonderful outdoor patio area adjacent to the kitchen. The most impressive thing about the addition for me, being handiwork impaired as I am, was that Joost had done the majority of the work himself. I am always envious of craftsmen and those who can build things with their own hands. After a nice lunch, Joost, Rianne and their youngest son, Lex, gave us a walking tour of the attractive town of Deventer. As we left their home, I felt a sense of sadness, thinking about how much time that I had allowed to pass without making contact with such a good friend as Joost. Random Observations. Reunions and family hospitality aside for the moment let me offer some random observations about our time in The Netherlands. We are convinced that the Dutch rank as some of the friendliest people in the world. Without exception, we were treated with extraordinary hospitality and affability and by the end of our time in The Netherlands all of the Parkinson’s had become quite smitten. There was not a person that we met who did not greet us a welcoming smile. The Netherlands had a distinctly gracious and inviting atmosphere about it and the physical landscape was equally inviting. Driving in the area we passed rows of fertile, luxuriant farm fields and past tidy brick farmhouses with steep roofs of tile or thatch, divided light paneled windows framed in white and bordered with forest green shutters and surrounded by immaculately maintained and landscaped grounds. As we followed the winding, narrow, tree-lined roadways, we came upon quaint stone villages with brick streets chock full of smart specialty shops. We loved the fact that almost everyone seemed to be getting around by bicycle. Groups of school children, businessmen in suits, young and old, filled the bike paths. The portion of the country that we visited was designed for biking. There were bike paths everywhere, along every highway, road and street that we traveled. In town, the bikes lined the streets and sidewalks. It seemed a testament not only to the Dutch sense of environmental responsibility, but also to their inviting laid-back lifestyle. Our home was hooked into cable television, which was a treat for the kids. They had spent many months on the road with their only connection to the animated world being our miniature DVD player and a limited supply of DVDs that we had purchased along the way. We spent our mornings in our pajamas, eating breakfast and watching cartoons. But not the cartoons that they had grown used to in the U.S.; they were the cartoons that Elizabeth and I had watched when we were young. Classics like “Top Cat,” “Deputy Dawg,” “Atom Ant,” ‘Yogi Bear” and “Snagglepuss.” I was surprised at how much the kids enjoyed watching them, but I was even more surprised at how much fun I had reviewing these timeless classics. I could not help but think wistfully back to simpler times when harmless phrases like “Heavens to murgatroid” were a part of this young American’s lexicon. Although the focus during our stay in the Netherlands was family time and not sightseeing, we did have the opportunity to make a couple side trips. The Doolhof hedge maze in Ruurlo was an interesting attraction. It was an enormous hedge maze with so many turns and dead-ends, that it was easy to get lost. The kids seemed to have little difficulty finding the observation tower located in the middle of the maze, but Elizabeth and I were forced to resorting to drawing arrows and notes in the dirt paths to keep our bearings. It was a nice, sunny day and we played several challenging games of hide and seek with the kids, including Willemiek, who had the day off from school. Afterwards, we had some ice cream before stopping at a nearby restaurant famous in the area for its pancakes. These unique pancakes were nothing like we were used to back home. They were very thin, deep fried and full of tasty ingredients. The pancakes were similar to a crepe in thinness and taste, but larger than the size of a dinner plate. We had wonderful combinations of apple, sugar, and cinnamon, as well as pancakes mixed with ham, bacon and cheese. There were dozens of varieties to choose from and all were piping hot and delicious. As parents, Elizabeth and I were impressed by how kid-friendly we found most of the restaurants. With few exceptions, the restaurants all had nice outdoor play spaces for the children to romp around while we waited for our meals. What would a visit to the Netherlands be without a touring a working windmill? We had seen dozens of the fan-armed giants during stay, but we had yet to see one up close. Gabriella took us over to one of these remarkable structures located just outside of Lochem. Although the windmill was over 150 years old, it still was in operation. Apparently a favorite source of locals looking for freshly milled flour and grains. We climbed up the rickety wooden ladders, through a labyrinth of whirling wheels and groaning pulleys, past a huge, slowly turning grinding wheel to the top of the mill. As we watched the fans slowly turn, we looked out over a pastoral setting of green fields and grazing cows. God may have made the Netherlands, but the Dutch made it livable. As we drove into Amsterdam, their elaborate earthworks, dikes and levees impressed us. This is a nation where a good portion of the country is below sea level. Over the centuries, the industrious Dutch reclaimed the land from the sea. While we were there we read an article about recent innovations in engineering and home building in Amsterdam. To put it simply, newly constructed homes were being built with a clever series of pontoons that would allow the homes to rise with the water in the event of a flooding. Before we bid you farewell from the Netherlands, allow me to offer, as you know that I like to do, a brief bit of history. The Netherlands’ early history is linked with Belgium and Luxembourg; the three were known as the 'Low Countries' until the 16th century, when the present-day Netherlands' boundaries were roughly drawn. In the late 16th century the region's northern provinces, inhabited by recent converts to Protestantism, united to fight the Catholic Spanish rulers. Philip II of Spain sent the cruel Inquisition to enforce Catholicism, and war broke out in 1568. Prince William of Orange led the revolt of the Netherlands and after 80 years of conflict, the provinces of North and South Holland (areas around modern day Amsterdam) allied to expel the Spaniards. As a result, the term “Holland” became synonymous with the independent country that emerged in this corner of Europe. Amsterdam emerged onto the European stage in Holland's most glorified period (from about 1580 to about 1740). During this time period, the Dutch navy joined those of England, France and Spain to dominate the world's seas. During this “Golden Age” for the Dutch, an extraordinary amount of wealth was generated by the Dutch East India Company, which sent ships to the Far East in search of spices and other exotic goods. Meanwhile, they established settlements in places like the Cape of Good Hope (modern day South Africa), Indonesia, Surinam, the Antilles and New Amsterdam (today's New York) and established trading posts throughout Asia. This wealth in turn stimulated the arts and brought renown to painters such as Rembrandt. But it didn't last. In 1795 the French invaded and Napoleon appointed his younger brother Louis as king. When the largely unpopular French occupation came to an end, the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, incorporating Belgium and Luxembourg, was born. The first king, William I of Orange, was crowned in 1814, and the House of Orange rules to this day. In 1830 the Belgians rebelled and became independent; Luxembourg did the same soon after. The Netherlands' modern history saw the country lapsing from global prominence into comfortable obscurity; it began to put into place innovative social programs, many of which survive today. The Netherlands was able to stay neutral through WWI but couldn't exercise the same privilege in WWII. The Germans invaded in May 1940, and imposed a harsh and brutal occupation upon the Dutch that would last for almost five years. As a history buff, while in Deventer I personally enjoyed seeing the span of the bridge that had been the setting for the World War II movie “A Bridge Too Far.” We had seen the real “bridge too far” while we were visiting Arnhem. Not sure if it has anything to do with being such a small country, but the kids loved the fact that many of the farm animals that we saw along the roads appeared to be miniature in size. Breeds of small horses, small, longhaired cattle and diminutive sheep seemed to be the norm. Throughout our world trip, shopping for provisions has been outing that seemed to provide unusual enjoyment for the kids. Whenever we stayed in a self-catering apartment, there was always a considerable amount of enthusiasm surrounding a trip to a store, any store. In our village in the Netherlands, the local store was equipped with miniature shopping carts designed specifically for children. In case you were wondering, the rest of the Netherlands, including the Dutch themselves, appeared to be full-sized. Anyway, the children loved going to this store, pushing their undersized carts around and taking turns searching for an item on our shopping list. They would each get an assignment and then off they would go, disappearing down different aisles in search of their item. On one occasion, Frankie was gone for a disturbingly long period of time. Having aroused the concern of his family, an all points bulletin was called and our team dispatched in opposite directions in search of our missing-in-action shopper. When finally located, he had a cart full of women’s bras, or “boo-boo’s” in Frankie-speak. Not being a buccaneer that is easily persuaded to abandon his treasure, he spent the rest of the shopping trip walking up and down the aisles with a cart full of “boo-boo’s” leaving an assortment of clearly perplexed Dutch parents and store employees in his vapor trail. Carmen continues to carry her satchel of miscellaneous toys, souvenirs and assorted novelties wherever we go. She calls it her “bag of occupyment” and she never ceases to amaze me with some of the items she pulls from that purse. Maddie and Bella have proven to be voracious readers and they continue to devour books along the way. Elizabeth and I realize that there could be much worse things to spend money on, and we can‘t help but feel a twinge of guilt when the Maddie sadly announced that she didn’t know if she could make herself re-read the same book for a fourth time. Meanwhile, Frankie continues to harass his sisters with anything long and pointed that he can get his hands on. Sticks, broom handles, butter knives, it doesn’t make a difference to him. We are convinced that he was a pirate in another life. On one of our last afternoons in the Netherlands, the entire Franck clan gathered at our camp for a party and barbeque. While the children played, the adults laughed and told fun stories of our times back in the U.S. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings of my trip. After spending most of the past ten months in the company of strangers, Gabriella, Joost, Stefanie and their wonderful families provided a connection to something that we had missed during most of our journey, family. I am hopeful that we will not allow as much time to pass before reuniting with them again. NEXT DISPATCH. LONDON, ENGLAND

Dispatch #37 France

Dispatch # 37 France May 2005 “A Magical City, Inspiring Beaches and Rejuvenation” Notre temps était en France merveilleux! Our time in France was wonderful and it had two welcome, but completely unexpected results. First, the people we met and our experiences in France served to shatter all of our preconceived notions and stereotypes about the French. Second, our adventures in France, especially our week on the canal boat in Burgundy, which proved to be one of the highlights of our world trip, served to totally re-energize our travel weary troupe. After three glorious weeks in Tuscany, we loaded our van with luggage, squeezed in our family of six and Aunt Louise and headed northwest toward the Alps and on to Paris. Our time with Sabrina, Doug and Louise in Tuscany had passed too quickly, but the pain of saying goodbye to family was, in part, softened by the fact that we still had Louise’s company to enjoy for another week. We were not sure what she was thinking when she signed up to take the three day car trip with our family to Paris, but we were glad to have her along. It was especially meaningful for Elizabeth to have more time with one of her special soul mates. Our three-day road trip from Tuscany to Paris took us through the scenic beauty of northwestern Italy and southern France. Along the way we made two overnight stops, first in the French alpine ski town of Chamonix-Mont Blanc and then in the historic city of Beaune. Chamonix-Mont Blanc lies in the heart of the French Alps. The jagged peaks of Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe, stood sentinel over the quiet ski resort town of Chamonix. We arrived late in the evening and found a quaint little hotel situated along a rushing mountain stream. The icy cold mountain air, mixed with a light but persistent cold, misty rain shocked our systems. We had not been in a cold climate for several months, but to make matters worse, in an effort to lighten our load, we had shipped our entire cold weather gear home after our trip to Japan in early January. We threw on layers of clothing and a light jacket and set out to explore this quaint alpine village. Unbeknownst to us, we had arrived during a local holiday and, therefore, most of the shops and restaurants were closed. Unfortunately, the local holiday, combined with uncooperative weather meant that we quickly retreated to the cozy confines of our hotel for the evening. The next morning was cloudy, but dry and we walked into town seeking a hearty breakfast at a local restaurant before hitting the road. Our options were limited as most establishments were closed for a holiday, but we did find one that seemed interesting. It was interesting to be sure, but not because of anything unique on the menu. Our waiter and the owner of the restaurant could scarcely have shown greater disdain for us in general, and for our children in particular. In short, our hosts gave us the distinct impression that serving us breakfast was one of the single most painful and disgusting things they would ever have to do. Not knowing at the time what we know now, we chalked it up to the first in what was expected to be a long list of personal affronts during our stay in France. We had already allowed ourselves to be brain washed into expecting rude and arrogant behavior by the French. Such generalized characterizations having been repeatedly reinforced in our minds by American newsprint and television. Our first exposure in Chamonix could not have been any more stereotypical if it had been scripted in Hollywood. What we know now that we didn’t know then was that during our entire time in France, our breakfast in Chamonix was prove to be the only episode of rude and condescending behavior by our French hosts. Given this fact, it was, therefore, fitting that the episode would occur on the morning of our first full day in France. As a result, we steeled ourselves for more such incidents, we committed ourselves to learning more French with the hope that our crash language course would reduce the number of future confrontations and over the course of the next two travel days, we practiced French words and phrases in the car. Do you ever wonder about the thought process that goes into compiling an abbreviated list of key phrases to be included in a travel guidebook? For example, the book that we were using certainly contained many words and phrases that would prove useful during our time in France, but also included in this relatively short list of “key phrases” were things like “I have been stung by a jellyfish” and “I refuse the injection.” As you might expect, entries like these provided lots of laughter during our road trip as we plotted the strategic use of such nonsensical phrases during our stay in France. We agreed that if we found ourselves in a bind, unable to effectively communicate with our French hosts, we would just shout, “I have been stung by a jellyfish!” and see where things went from there. My favorite phrase, however, was offered by a travel writer in an article we had extracted from the New York Times and tucked into the pages of our guidebook. The writer suggested that if the reader learned only one phrase in French, it should be this one, which loosely translated, went something like this, “pardon me sir, I apologize not only for interrupting your day, but for the fact that I am not French, and as such should not expect you give me so much as the time of day, but I humbly request your assistance…” The silly thing about this phrase, other than the fact that it was entirely too long to commit to memory, was that the writer was stone cold serious about using it. We jokingly wondered aloud whether we shouldn’t we just learn something easier and more directly to the point like; “pardon me sir, would you mind lowering your fine French trousers so that I may kiss your French bum”? Did this writer really expect us to grovel at the feet of strangers each time we needed directions or some assistance? We are happy to report that we never had to avail ourselves of such silly, contrite phrases. With the exception of our first day in Chamonix, we would find the French to be delightful, and would we be treated graciously, with warmth and kindness throughout our month long stay in France. The people that we met completely broke all of the negative stereotypes. Even our periodic experiences with Parisians were nothing short of friendly and enjoyable. The second evening of the road trip to Paris found us in Beaune, France, the historic capital of Burgundy. Beaune was an enchanting town, with handsome stone buildings, cobblestone streets, smart shops and chic restaurants set within the fairytale architecture of the Middle Ages. The focus of the town is the region’s famous and expensive wines, and there were numerous cellars showcasing some of the most celebrated vineyards in France. We only had one evening to stroll around the town, but we were very impressed with what we saw that evening. On our way to dinner we stopped in one of the town’s charming public squares so the children could enjoy riding an antique carousel. As we waited, we noticed the string of attractive gray; stone buildings surrounding the square, many with steep, distinctive, colorful and decorative shingled roofs with mosaic patterns of greens, yellows and black. The steeply pitched rooflines were capped at each end by ornate iron spires. Unfortunately, I don’t know the difference between Romanesque, Gothic and Renaissance architecture. So don’t hold me literally to my descriptions, but one thing was for sure, Beaune was beautiful. We enjoyed our first restaurant dinner in France; an event that we would come to learn was nothing short of a gastronomic celebration. Although each portion was relatively small, the servings seemed endless, each level a delight. The big moment came when the kids tried escargot. Bella reminded her siblings that if they could eat a Mopane worm in Zimbabwe, they could eat a snail in France. Although each chew and swallow was treated like a moment of personal triumph, it certainly did not hurt that they were soaked in a rich sauce of butter, cream and garlic. The potty training efforts continue with Frankie. He is getting better each week and he has become more accustomed to wearing “big boy” underpants. Still, keeping anything on him is a challenge. Trying to put socks and shoes on him is like trying to shovel frogs. As has been the case throughout our trip, his body seems to reject all forms of foot cover. Whenever we return to our hotel room, he immediately begins stripping as he stumbles his way into the room, shoes flying, falling on his back tugging at his socks. Then, provided that he still has enough energy, the pants are promptly discarded. Each time we try to dress him is a like scene from a documentary, a poor native, stolen from some lost civilization, being forced by his captors to wear clothing for the first time. He squirms, and wrestles as he puts the room, and in some instances the entire floor of the hotel on notice that he is being violated. One instance in particular was amusing, as Elizabeth was trying to dress him, Frankie is shouting “help, someone is putting pants on me, help!” Not sure who he expected to come to his rescue, but referring to his mother as “someone,” some nameless assailant was enough to break the tension and fill the room with laughter, much to the chagrin of our trousered victim. Carmen continues to charm. The normally stoic French passersby seem to be as taken with Carmen as were our hosts in other countries. Her diminutive size, big brown eyes and dimpled cheeks seem to draw attention wherever we go. For those of you who have been following us, you should now know that Carmen is a world-class snuggler. She has an amazing ability to nuzzle up to you finding the perfect position before curling herself up like a cat. However, she seems to be growing increasingly jealous of competition from her younger brother. Case in point, while we were relaxing on our beds in the hotel in Beaune, I was giving Frankie some loving when Carmen crawled up to me, pulling her thumb from her mouth and looking very serious, she announced “okay, now that you have snuggled with the boy, come snuggle with the bunny!” As we say amongst ourselves, “that’s so Carmen.” Maddie and Bella continue to go a great job of staying engaged and interested. They have taken time to read about each of our destinations. As opposed to their younger sister, they rarely complain about our lengthy walking tours or our trips to museums and points of historical interest. In fact, in many instances they have been able to offer interesting observations and insights. Overall, they have been enjoyable and motivating travel mates for Elizabeth and me. Having the opportunity to see different parts of the world has been amazing, but I must say, that seeing it through the eyes of our children has been a uniquely wonderful experience. The next day we finished our drive to Paris. Visiting the City of Paris for the first time is exciting for anyone, but it was especially exhilarating for Isabella. Before we departed on the trip, we all wrote down the places we were most excited about visiting. There was only one entry on Bella’s list, Paris. So, as you might expect, Bella was particularly animated as we neared the city limits. Finally, as we crested a hill on the outskirts of Paris, Bella saw what she had been waiting to see, the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. She screamed with genuine enthusiasm, jumping from her seat to get a better view of the Parisian icon. “I have been waiting my whole life to see this!“ our grizzled nine year old exclaimed. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived at our hotel, much of her initial exhilaration had been sapped by two hours of stop and go Parisian traffic. Situated on the famous Champs-Elysees, our hotel was budget buster. Although we had used a significant amount of our credit card “points” to book a room on this swanky boulevard, we didn’t have enough for our entire stay, and, as you might imagine, the cost of lodging and dining in Paris ended up being very high indeed. But, it was worth every Euro. Our time in Paris was magnificent and “living” on the Champs-Elysees for five days made it all the more enchanting. We didn’t see all of Paris, but it was not for lack of trying. We walked further and longer than we had before and believe me that is saying something. This unusual amount of stamina was in part due to the condition of the City. Paris, another Olympic hopeful, was in prime condition for its eagerly anticipated visit by the IOC selection committee. It seemed as though every building façade, every bridge, and every monument had been power washed and fresh paint had been added where necessary. The City of Paris absolutely gleamed. The litter free streets and subways glistened, the parks were meticulously landscaped and manicured, and the canine feces landmines for which Paris had become infamous were nowhere to be found. Another explanation for our endurance was seemingly endless supply of neighborhood cafes and outdoor seating that provided us with ample opportunities to rest and refuel. Paris was wonderful for long walks. Each sunny day we would emerge from our hotel, hidden in the shadow of the Arc De Triomphe, the largest triumphal arch in the world, built to commemorate Napoleon’s victories in the early 19th century, and begin our explorations by enjoying a leisurely stroll along the venerable Avenue Des Champs-Elysees. After grabbing an espresso and some pastries, we would head off towards one of the many highlights that awaited us in Paris. Wonderful places and points of interest like The Eiffel Tower, the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, the Louvre, Sacre Coeur, the Musee d’Orsay to name a few. Unlike some cities where the destination is the focus, in Paris we found that the journey through the City to our destination to be every bit as interesting and visually delightful. At the end of each long, but satisfying day, we would find ourselves walking back along the wide, brick, grand avenue of the Champs-Elysees, the flicker of hundreds of splendid street lamps lining the boulevard, the Place De La Concorde and its Obelisk of Luxor at our backs, the illuminated Arc De Triomphe awaiting us in the distance. We all agreed that it was hard to imagine a more inviting and beautiful urban pathway in the entire world. One bright, sunny day we walked along the impressive George V Avenue, working our way toward the Place De Alma and the banks of the Seine River, periodically catching glimpses of our destination, the iconic creation of Gustave Eiffel. The neighborhoods were charming, as only Paris neighborhoods can be. Passing along the tree-lined street with its row and row of handsome stone buildings, we happened upon numerous outdoor cafes, white clothed tables full of patrons and tourists sipping wine and soaking up the mid-day sunshine. Having first met Elizabeth 25 years before at Alma College, we thought it was fitting to pause at the Place De Alma for some pictures. Looking at Elizabeth against the backdrop of Seine and the Eiffel Tower beyond, I could not help but think that she was every bit as beautiful as the day that I had met her. Crossing over the Seine at the Pont de L’Alma, we paused to take in the view. From the bridge we could see the sleek silhouette and elegant lines of the Eiffel Tower, or as Frankie called it, “the Evil Tower.” Below us lay the wide, slow moving waters of the River Seine spanned by stately iron and stone arched bridges in each direction. Each bridge was a work of art in itself. The riverbanks were lined on each side with colorful tugboats and barges gently rocking in the wake of a passing tourist cruiser. Finally we reached the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by long, wide green lawns dotted with people enjoying a leisurely spring day. Viewing the Eiffel Tower up close for the first time is quite inspiring. Gustave Eiffel’s incredible feat of 19th century architecture, with its sleek, yet powerful iron skeleton is impressive by modern standards, and I can only imagine the wonder it produced at the time it was constructed. The huge iron girders held together with millions of iron rivets, some the size of manhole covers. We sat in the lawn area for a while gazing in wonder before we decided that it was time to join the long line of tourists waiting to climb to one of the observation decks. There were three options, first level which looked plenty high, a second level around mid height and the observation deck at the top. When I asked the kids which level they wanted to go to, I was met with an immediate answer, “the top!” Of course they would want to go all the way to the top. What did I expect from my little band of thrill seekers? We huddled in a cramped elevator for our ascent to the top. Along the way I could not help but wonder whether the cable and pulley system being used to lift us was a stunningly accurate modern reproduction, or possibly the same system and components that had been used for the past hundred years. Up we climbed to the Tower’s vertigo producing top level where we were met with awesome, panoramic views of the entire City of Paris and beyond. A guide at the top told us that on this clear day, the view was somewhere in the range of 40 miles in every direction. Even though we spent well over an hour at the top, the kids did not want to leave. In addition to the magnificent views, they were thoroughly enjoying some quality time with their Aunt Louise. After we finally persuaded the troupe to move on, we descended to the first level in order to perform one the perfunctory tourist errands at the Eiffel Tower, a visit to the Tower’s post office where the kids picked out post cards to be sent, postmarked “Tour Eiffel.” After our visit, we retreated to a patch of lawn nearby and while the kids played on the lawn with Louise, Elizabeth and I set out to survey the array of handcart, food vendors. We gathered up baguettes, cheese and meats and returned with a picnic lunch. Other picnic parties and lots of couples sharing romantic embraces on the lawn surrounded us. This spring day in Paris seemed to have a uniquely dreamy feel to it. One of my favorite moments in Paris was lying on my back in the thick green grass of the park, Bella and Carmen resting their heads on my stomach, and gazing at the majestic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower against a background of a bright blue sky broken periodically by fluffy white clouds slowly floating past. The warm sun, the relaxing afternoon, the magic and romance of Paris seemed almost edible that afternoon. It has been said that Paris feeds the senses and nourishes the soul. On this particular day, I could not have agreed more. Our other excursions took us to some of the other famous Parisian landmarks. We spent an afternoon at Notre-Dame, admiring Victor Hugo’s “symphony of stone,” with its intricate façade, gothic ramparts, dramatic flying buttresses, imposing bell towers, kaleidoscopic, colossal, circular stain-glass windows and elaborately carved arched entrances encircled by various angels, demons, saints and martyrs. One entrance in particular featured the moment of truth, the soul of a recently deceased awaiting final judgment, a line of saints on one side and a ghoulish band of frightening, horned beasts on the other, some dragging terrified souls to hell. Scenes like these when combined with the sinewy forms and the horrifying faces of the gargoyles leaning over the sides of the cathedral scowling down upon the crowds made me wonder how any 14th century pilgrim could have helped but be paralyzed with fear as they stood before the enormous cathedral. We found Notre-Dame to be wonderful combination of alluring, majestic beauty and forbidding and intimidating detail. We entered the interior of this gothic masterpiece, greeting the imposing cathedral with the same awestruck wobble that I am sure visitors have been displaying for centuries. Mouths agape, we marveled at the stain glass windows, magnificent artwork in themselves, depicting stories of biblical significance, visual aids that were presumably once used to edify the uneducated congregations. With Aunt Louise in town with us for only a few more days, we made an effort to give Elizabeth and her sister some time alone. On a couple of evenings, Biz was able to wander the City of Lights with her sister, unimpeded by four tired children and an equally exhausted (and presumably grumpy) husband. On another evening, I took Carmen and Frankie back to the hotel so Biz, Louise, Maddie and Bella could do a “big girls” evening out. First they visited the stunning, white marble domes of the Roman-Byzantine marvel that is Sacre-Coeur. Perched on a hilltop overlooking Paris, the attractive exterior and fascinating, biblically themed, mosaic covered interior, are second to the main feature of Sacre-Coeur, the views of Paris from its marble dome. After soaking up Paris from afar, the girls headed back into the heart of the City to the Musee d’Orsay, to view some of its magnificent collection art by the likes of Monet, Manet, Cezzane, Van Gogh, Renoir and Matisse. Maddie and Bella declared that their visit to the Orsay, with its Impressionism collection, the largest in the world, was one of the main highlights of their time in Paris. One of the disadvantages of having very young children in Paris is that we were not comfortable taking them to any fancy restaurants, of which Paris has its share and more. The attention spans of three and five year olds are not conducive to fine dining. Having already endured the stares of disrupted fellow patrons at some of the less formal eateries around town, we were sure that our upper crust Parisian hosts would not appreciate a visit by our posse of Vandals. So, each evening, as we passed some of Paris’ many world famous gastronomic temples in route to some relatively unremarkable take-out joint, Biz and I would offer each other a consoling shrug and sigh. Part of the challenge of carting four young children around the world is keeping them engaged. There are only so many museums and points of historical and architectural significance that they can entertain before you need to break it up with something totally kid related. Throughout our journey we have taken time to engage in activities that had absolutely no educational value, but were a delight for the family. Places like Dreamworld and Wet-N-Wild in Australia and Tokyo Disney Sea in Japan. So, when it became apparent that our young traveler’s attention spans were waning, we loaded up the van and drove to Paris Disneyland. There is nothing quite as fun as watching your children, smiling from ear to ear, running hand-in-hand, dancing and twirling their way to the front gates of an amusement park. I will not forget the look on Frankie’s face when he saw his hero, Captain Hook, waiting for him on the other side of the turnstile. He ran up to the notorious buccaneer, hugging him around the leg, beaming with eyes of wonder and excitement. We spent an energetic day racing between rides and other attractions. Carmen proudly completing her first shriek filled “big kid” roller coaster ride and declaring it the “best day ever.” We even were able to carve out a special night for me to join Louise, Maddie and Bella for a long awaited visit to the Musee du Louvre. Everyone joined in our long walk to the Louvre; we passed block after block of handsome, cream colored, stone buildings with their long, narrow, vertical divided glass windows, terra cotta colored awnings, and stone turrets and majestic cupolas capped with steep black spires. We paused at the Place De La Concorde to admire the Mont Des Mers Fountain with its wonderful aquatic sculptures of carbon and gold, as well as, the golden tipped Obelisk of Luxor, looking so out of place from its original setting, adjacent to its sister obelisk, the one we had recently admired guarding the entrance to the Temple of Luxor in Egypt. We then pressed on through the splendid Tuileries Gardens where we decided to take a rest by the ponds adjacent to the L’Arc du Carrousel. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we enjoyed a few more people watching moments. As the children played around the gardens and ponds, the adults sat on benches and in chairs surrounding the ponds, faces turned up to the sun, enjoying a glorious spring afternoon. Nearby, a vendor in his blue beret was packing up his weather worn, wooden handcart for the day. I watched as he carefully piled the miniature wooden sailboats into the cart, carefully stacking each vessel so as to make room for their colorful, but faded cloth sails. After our rest, it was time for the main event, a tour of Louvre. The plan was for Elizabeth to take Carmen and Frankie back to the hotel while the rest of us explored the great museum. Carmen protested her exclusion. “I want to go to the luge!” she declared. Once we explained to her that it was museum and not an adventure sport, she reconsidered. “Oh, it’s another place with lots of pictures on the wall?” “Never mind.” The Louvre is lodged in the largest palace in Europe, constructed over centuries by a series of French rulers and is home to over 400,000 works of art. The size of the structures and its enormous collection of art simply defy my description. We could have spent several weeks inside the Louvre and not seen its entire collection, but since we only had a day, we had to come up with a realistic short list of famous works. We engaged in our own game of “Masterpiece,” each of kids armed with our short list of treasures and a map of the museum. I am slightly embarrassed to admit that we quickly serpentined past countless, priceless objects d’Art and antiquity, offering little more than glazed, casual glances as we sought our personal highlights, da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, The Winged Victory of Samothrance, Venus de Milo, Donatello’s Madonna and Child, Michelangelo’s Slaves and the Rembrandt collection. Although we had only scratched the surface, we saw what we could until closing. We are glad that we took the opportunity to orchestrate “big girl” date nights in order to expose Maddie and Bella to some of the wonders of the world of art like the Prado in Madrid, the Picasso Museum in Barcelona, the Egyptian National Museum in Cairo, the Vatican Museum in Rome and the Musees du Louvre and Orsay in Paris. Given their ages, we have been heartened by their apparent enjoyment and appreciation of art. Our relatively brief time at the Louvre having come to an end, we departed through the distinctive glass pyramid of I.M.Pei, walking out into the night and being immediately struck by the sight of an illuminated Paris shimmering before us. As we past along the Champs-Elysees we could not help but be smitten by the grandeur and beauty of the “City of Light.” After eight months on the road, everyone seemed to be showing signs of travel weariness. Astonishments and wonders aside, I was growing tired of the constant movement, and with less than two months left in our trip, my thoughts had, for the first time, began to consider all of the things that we would need to address upon our return. There was a part of me that was seriously considering cutting our trip short, but I could not help but wonder what we would be missing if we did. In the end, I was so thankful that I did not act upon this impulse, because unbeknownst to me at the time, some of the best was yet to come. We bid our last tearful goodbyes to Louise before she headed to the airport for her journey back to the United States. The time with Louise had been special for all of us and especially so for Elizabeth. From Paris we traveled to Normandy. We found the region of Normandy to be delightfully pastoral with green landscapes of rolling hills, forested valleys, orchards and fields full of fine looking dairy cows. We stayed in a delightfully situated self-catering apartment in a tiny Norman village of Connelles. The drive from the main highway to our accommodations took us through a series of quaint little French villages with their attractive two story stone buildings intermixed among half-timber cottages and shops. Places like Val de Reuil, St. Pierre de Vauvray, Herqueville and St. Etienne de Vauvray. We stayed on the grounds of the Le Manoir des Deux Amants (the Manor of Two Lovers). Our home in Normandy was in a beautiful, pastoral setting. From our half-timbered, stucco sided Norman style building, nestled along the banks of the Seine, we could relax in the sunshine and watch groups of geese and swans pass down the river amidst a Spring flurry of white, fluffy, cotton-like spores that were falling from the nearby trees. We enjoyed a relaxing week, took walks, played along the river’s edge, took out rowboats and tried to catch some of loudest croaking frogs we had ever heard. Our cottage served as a perfect home base for several side trips around the Normandy region. One of our day trips was particularly special for me. I am an avid history buff, history channel junky, have read many books about World War II in general, and D-Day in particular, been captivated by all documentaries on the subject, and absorbed in films like Saving Private Ryan and The Band of Brothers. The trip to the beaches of Normandy was a great thrill for me. In an effort to make the excursion interesting to the kids, Biz came up with a great idea. We woke the girls up early in military fashion and hustled them out of the bedroom for an early morning briefing on our objective. We used maps of the D-Day invasion and assigned them units. Maddie was to lead the Rangers in their assault on Pointe du Hoc, Bella was the 101st Airborne Division whose assignment was to parachute behind enemy lines and link up with the invasion forces of Utah Beach and Carmen was in charge of the amphibious assault on Omaha Beach. The sudden excitement, our refusal to break from military character and the newness of the approach helped to hold their interest at least for a while. I briefed them on the assault as best that I could and then offered a short history lecture on the undertakings of that Day in June 1944. During our “briefing” we tried to explain some of the history of D-Day. On June 6, 1944, the Allied Expeditionary Force launched Operation Overlord, the largest military operation in the history of the world. As the dawn broke on that cloudy, stormy day, more than 5,000 ships and landing crafts, holding 50,000 vehicles and over 150,000 men floated on the horizon just off the beaches of Normandy. Overhead, over 11,000 planes had roared, dropping hundreds of tons of bombs and thousands of parachuting members of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. We tried to have them imagine what a sight it must have been, especially for the German defenders, as they gazed in awe at the spectacle surrounding them that morning in June over 60 years ago. Maddie and Bella seemed interested in not only the details, but in my apparent enthusiasm on the subject. They reminded me that I have often said that war, and the pain and suffering that comes along with it, is a horrible thing. Something to be avoided at all cost. I tried as best I could to suggest to them that although this was certainly true, that our involvement in World War II came as close as we would ever get to a “good war,” fought for the right reasons. Our first stop along the D-Day history trail was at the American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer situated on the cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and the English Channel. One of the many cemeteries granted by France to the United States in perpetuity, without taxation, this cemetery site covers over 170 acres of meticulously landscaped grounds and contains the graves of 9,387 of our military dead, most of whom gave their lives on the first dreadful day of the landings, or in operations that followed in the first few days after the initial assault. At one end of the poignant memorial is a semicircular colonnade, at its center, a bronze statute “Spirit of American Youth.” Along the walls of the semicircular garden on the east side of the memorial were inscribed the names of over 1,500 soldiers still listed as missing in action on the peninsula. At each end of the colonnade were large maps and narratives detailing the military operations of that historic period. Although the maps and murals engraved in stone offered a wealth of historical information, the real lesson was embodied in the white marble markers situated in perfect perpendicular and diagonal lines, stretching out almost endlessly in each direction on the smooth green lawn. Both Elizabeth and I found this sight to be a surprisingly moving experience. We had no relatives buried here, had not lived through the tragedy, and yet, we both found ourselves welling up with tears and emotion. Our children, clearly confused by our reaction, walked up to each of us, giving us a hug, presumably waiting for an explanation. As we stood in the colonnade facing the cemetery, there was a beautiful reflecting pool in the foreground; beyond were the massive burial plots, surrounding a circular chapel in their center and at the far end of the graveyard, two large granite statutes representing the fellowship of France and the United States. The bright white marble grave markers of Christian crosses and Jewish Stars of David, set against the graceful contours of the emerald green grass of this peaceful resting site, radiated in the bright afternoon sunlight. Walking through the middle of one of the plots, we passed markers of two brothers killed in action in Normandy, and another pair of crosses marking the resting place of a father and son killed within days of each other. Perhaps the most poignant markers, however, were those bearing the simple inscription “Here rests in honored glory, a comrade in arms known but to God.” We paused among the rows of grave markers perfectly aligned in every direction and gazed past the bluffs overlooking Omaha beach to the azure blue waters of the English Channel beyond, and found ourselves deeply moved by the setting. Having been deeply impressed by the peacefulness and reverence of the setting, I could not help but feel that it was a fitting memorial to the extraordinary services and ultimate sacrifice of the men and women who had been laid to rest in the honored ground. Elizabeth and the kids having gone ahead, I lingered at the edge of the gravesite. While I stood there, I observed a large group of school children each holding a bouquet of flowers filing up to the steps of the nearby memorial. I was intrigued by the sight and moved closer. It was a group of French school children; my guess would be that they were eleven to thirteen