5 July 2005 - 6 July 2005

I’m filled with mixed emotions about this trip. The 2002 trip featured some of the most extreme situations, from the memorable day at Pointe du Hoc to the repeated confrontations with Satan’s stepmother. As Lily gets older, it’s becoming more painful to stay away from home for any length of time. And of most concern – how in the world are they going to manage to feed, house and guide 51 people?

I don’t know if it was those things that were on my mind, but I slept approximately two hours the night before departing, a recipe for disaster considering that I don’t sleep well on planes. Because Eileen was taking Lily to Baltimore for a few days and we didn’t want to leave my car at the school, I was dropped off a few hours before the bus left to do some dickering around in my classroom. I ended up spending more time shooting the breeze with Jane Williams than anything else. Found a few more gadgets in the classroom to bring along, but otherwise wasted time.

People began to arrive about an hour before the departure time. Before long the lobby was mobbed and I was urging people to go outside. Which actually was a dumb idea because now the later arrivals had to push their way through the crowd to get inside and find their chaperons. Oh well, I’ll get it right next time. No problems with the bus to JFK, except that the driver decided to drive through downtown Brooklyn for some reason. We stopped at a lot of lights and Mr. Puma pointed out all of his old hangouts in the hood.

Our terminal lacked in restaurant choices, so we all descended upon the Panini restaurant, which I suppose was fairly appropriate considering the lunch fair in France is pretty similar. We got on the plane quickly… and then sat for an hour and a half. I tried to doze, knowing how tired I would be at the end of the flight, but instead I just sat their with my eyes closed. When I realized that I wouldn’t be able to sleep I watched In Good Company. Better than I expected, in part because it was barely recognizable from the trailers I had seen. Still being unable to sleep I began to watch Be Cool with a splitting headache. I took three or four Alleve and hoped for the best.

I should mention that we were flying Air France, so the meals all had a touch of French cuisine (or more). The entrée for dinner was beef bourgonion, with a salmon appetizer, bread, cheese and a whipped yogurt thing I’d become rather familiar with by the end of the flight. (Breakfast would feature everything we had at dinner except for the beef.)

After landing we walked the six or so miles to luggage claim only to find a 20 minute wait before any of our luggage had arrived. Most of the crew sought out bathrooms where we delighted in the fact that the French apparently are rather immodest, not having DOORS on their bathrooms. I’m not talking about stall doors, but door doors. The women have to walk past the men’s rooms where they almost can’t help but look at the men standing at the urinals. Suffice it to say that some of my students blew some synapses desperately trying to avert their eyes as they passed by.

We met Hugues, our tour guide of three years ago, in the busy terminal. We eventually made our way to the bus, loaded it, and headed towards the hotel. As is usual on these trips, the hotel didn’t have our rooms ready, so we had to drop our luggage off and then hit the ground running. Hugues pointed out the now unused soccer stadium where the French won the world cup 3-0 several years ago (and would bring up that victory any chance he got subsequently). We reached the hotel, spoke to the clerk and informed us we had to stack our bags on select tables in the dining room. I reached to take a chair off one of the tables we were to use and was yelled at by the maid. Even after Hugues interceded, evidently in that hotel, the maid rules.

We headed to the Louvre food court to have lunch. I had a simple meal of a crepes sucre (sugar) and café crème (coffee with cream, obviously). I ate quickly and realized I had more time to kill and more appetite, so I bought some fries and a Fanta. (When in Europe, you are by law required to drink either Fanta or Orangina 30% of the time.) While in the food court, a crowd of people watching the televisions reacted angrily to something. That something was obvious as 6 July was the day that the 2012 Olympics host city was announced. Paris had been the frontrunner, but London ending up winning. Hugues attributed this to “politics,” which upon further examination probably could be attributed to the failed French referendum on European economic ties. This would be another subject he would return to numerous times, which I took as a typical discussion topic for Parisians this week.

We made our obligatory pilgrimage to the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo and then had free time to wonder about. Utterly exhausted (and feeling major déjà vu… is there any other way to see the Louvre, I wonder?) I looked at a map of the building and noticed that the Code of Hammurabi was an exhibit that I missed previously. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was cool to see something I learned about when I was 10 and had referred to approximately a million times over the years as a student, teacher and human.

We then killed some more time on a killer walking tour (I guess so we would arrive at dinner at the right time). We had our first groups of students begin to lag a bit behind, but it was nothing terrible (yet). It was getting close to dinner time when I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t started the phone chain, something I had planned to do about four hours prior. I borrowed one of the students’ international cell phones (a must for my next trip) and spoke to our lead parent. I couldn’t hear her, but I was fairly confident she understood the message. We’d later find out that she did, but apparently some of the parents didn’t understand how to use a phone chain and numerous parents didn’t get the basic message until the next day.

We arrived at the restaurant and Hugues went in to see to the details. He came out apologetic, as he had told us the entrée would be lasagna. Evidently they decided, on their own, to switch to hamburger and fries. Mmm, I’ve never had that before. The hamburger was served sans bread, and mine was roughly the consistency of a hockey puck. The fries weren’t good either. The appetizer, I should mention, was a very chunky cole slaw that was actually quite good. The bread was also quite good, though they didn’t provide any butter for it.

Back at the hotel we discovered that they had blocked all of the phone lines because of previous issues with tour groups. There were three pay phones a block down the street and Ms. Derwid was kind enough to accompany students to the phone to make their first calls home. Because of a misunderstanding (Hugues didn’t realize that the Pumas were a married couple), Mr. Layton and I actually had singles instead of having to share a room. The privacy was nice, but the room was marginally larger than the bed – just like the Hotel du Belfort in Paris the last time. The bathroom was also tiny with a shower that had a one-inch barricade around it, useless when the clogged drain would only take in so much water. I would end up with a nice puddle after each shower. Nothing surprising, though. I also found that my walkie talkies wouldn’t charge. I thought it was the outlet, but would later discover that they wouldn’t charge anywhere (including at home, so now I think I may have somehow fried them).

Once again I overpacked for a trip and found that I had to unpack virtually everything to attempt to be somewhat organized. Hopefully I’ll reread this paragraph before next trip and remember that less truly is more.

I wrote some notes for this journal entry, read a little of a book about AIDS in Africa, listened to my iPod a bit and went to bed early, praying for a decent night’s sleep – and having a good nine hours for that purpose. I should mention that I was clever enough to bring a one of those cush pillows for my head which allowed me to use their pillows for under my knees, something that I need for my back. None of the hotels would provide more than one pillow per person; in fact, this hotel provided only two pillows for one of the triple rooms.

On that same note, Ms. Derwid asked for an extra towel (or maybe it wasn’t extra, just A towel) and was told they didn’t have any. In the course of spelunking she found a closet stocked with towels and helped herself. At some point during our stay Ms. Croman helped herself to coffee from the machine in the dining room. When Ms. Derwid followed suit, a belligerent clerk yelled at her and demanding her room number, informing her that she would be charged 2 euro for the drink. She joked that it was free for young and blonde women, but not for her.

7 July 2005

I neglected to mention that the temperature at the outset was in the mid-fifties in the morning, creeping up to the high sixties in the afternoon. Most of us were comfortable in our khakis or even jeans, while some of the macho boys swore they were happy in shorts. I can understand that after the summer we’ve been having in New Jersey. Each time I decided to change my mode of dress I ended up guessing wrong, but for the most part the weather was a very welcome change from the humidity and heat.

Breakfast consisted of the typical coffee, corn flakes, cheese, croissants, bread, coffee and orange juice. Although from a machine, the coffee was fine, certainly enough to get going in the morning. We walked down the street to the bus (the hotel was on a narrow street, so the bus had to park a block away) to discover the nicest coach I’ve ever seen – black leather seats with tan accents. Lovely. A real shame that I wouldn’t be staying on the bus all that long as I was the chaperon staying behind on the Versailles visit. We were introduced to our local tour guide, Veronique. She was an able guide, providing a bit more detail about the city than I remember from my previous tour. She pointed out that various city blocks were dedicated to various figures, most notably Louis XIV. Each building had the sun decoration on the balcony grills, signifying the recognition of the Sun King. Others had different graphics, obviously. Later feedback would indicate that Veronique was solid in the things that she knew but had great difficulty answering questions that the group asked. Because of the size of the group, they split them into two separate tours; I gather that the idle group ate lunch and/or toured the gardens of Versailles.

Having been to Versailles I had no major desire to see it again and I do recall the mysterious fact that there are virtually no restaurants in the area, making lunch for 50 a big pain in the neck. Four students had opted not to go to Versailles, three who had been there already (Tim, Will and Andrew) and one who thought she might come back with her family (Shan). We were dropped off at the Ecole Militaire to take photos of the Eiffel Tower. The five of us stayed behind while the bus left for Versailles. We walked a block to the Metro and were on our way. Tim bought the tickets and as he walked away from the counter, a little boy tapped him on his leg and handed Tim his wallet. Tim felt certain he had tucked it away, but I can’t imagine the kid pickpocketed him and then returned the wallet immediately. We made a few wrong choices in the station, but fortunately didn’t board an incorrect train, though we did sit in an idle one for five minutes. However, it was worth the fun of sitting in our first double-decker subway train. Maybe.

We arrived at the Musee d’Orsay, a museum built in an old railway station. It reminded me a lot of the Tate Modern, which had been built in an old factory. The lobby of the museum gave a majestic look at the entire building, long and (relatively) narrow, with high ceilings and plenty of light. On one end was a gigantic clock with dancing shadow animals, the latter an exhibit entitled Silhouettes Chat Noir or something like that. Hugues had advised us to start at the top where the most famous impressionist exhibition in the world was housed. Unlike the National Gallery in London or many other art museums I’ve been too, the impressionist works weren’t cloistered into one room. Essentially each of the giants – Monet, Van Gogh, Renoir, etc. had their own rooms. I saw more classic paintings in a scant few minutes than I have in hours at other locations. Ironically I’m less interested in impressionism now than I used to be, but nonetheless it was quite an experience.

We had plenty of time for lunch so we walked around until we found what we deemed the “right” place, a lunch restaurant with pre-made salads and sandwiches, along with sandwiches made to order. Although they spoke little to no English, with Shan’s help, I was able to order a roast beef sandwich on a delicious toasted roll. It had lettuce, tomato, mayo and a pickle on it, not my usual toppings, but I ate it as is, minus the pickle. The crowded restaurant got a lot more crowded when it started raining, and there seemed no way to bus one’s trays and no one cleaning them up either, so piles of food debris and garbage were mounting. Still a very pleasant experience.

We headed over to the souvenir shops near Notre Dame and took care of a bevy of our cheaper gifts. The rain really started coming down at this point and we were stuck outside waiting for the rest of the group to arrive with about a half hour to go before the rendezvous time. Someone got the bright idea of going to the bathrooms located underground in front of the cathedral. As is the custom in a lot of European locations, the bathroom was free but the attendant had a tip dish. We grossly overtipped her, later finding out than 10 cents is adequate, but we’re rich Americans, so no big deal. We then braved the rain (difficult for me since I had an umbrella) and had fun insulting each other and I managed to jinx Andrew on two occasions.

Finally, Hugues arrived by himself informing us that the bus driver had refused to drop the group off near Notre Dame (they no longer allow that and he could have incurred a large fine). I later read that the closest they are technically allowed to drop people off is nearly a 30-minute walk away. So Hugues jumped off the bus and had the driver drop everyone off at the hotel. One of the main factors for him not proceeding to what I considered a solid Plan B (going to Invalides) was that many of the students had underdressed for Versailles and were too cold to continue. This really annoyed me as we had told them all to bring jackets, but evidently they didn’t listen. So instead Hugues fetched us and brought us back to the hotel, also informing us about the terrorist bombings in London that morning. Walking through the Metro station in that environment was more than a bit eerie as you could sense everyone’s tension.

Back at the hotel we told all the students to call home to mollify any panicked parents. Of course with the phone lines blocked it meant trying to get 45 people to use three pay phones in an orderly manner. And naturally half of the phone cards weren’t working either, not to mention ongoing ATM issues. In other words, the usual.

For dinner, much to my horror, we went to a restaurant I recognized from my last trip. This was Flams Kueche, a restaurant that specialized in a southeastern French dish somewhat resembling pizza. Think a pita or tortilla with a thin layer of gooey cheese and slices of ham (or mushroom for the vegetarians). I was absolutely miserable three years ago as I never ate ham (still don’t) and didn’t care for mushrooms. Three years ago this was our first meal, eaten after the exhausting tour of the Louvre and what felt like the longest, most aimless walk in history. But now I’ve warmed up to mushrooms, so I actually thought it was okay. I remembered liking the dessert that funnily enough has the same pita/cheese base, only with cinnamon apple or banana chocolate. The saving grace, I suppose, is that it is an all-you-can-eat establishment, so I didn’t leave hungry.

Two-thirds of the group decided to use the bathrooms before leaving and we again experienced a near unisex bathroom with much less privacy than anyone this side of the Atlantic would want. Evidently the toilets were filthy too. Awesome!

We then headed to Notre Dame, now without our supposedly knowledgeable tour guide Veronique. Hugues apologized for his lack of expertise on the topic, but at least we’d all get a glimpse inside. Except it was closed. So he told us what he knew outside the cathedral. The good news is that the outside of Notre Dame is what’s most noticeable about it, as opposed to Chartres, where it’s the inverse. We then had more students needing to use the bathroom, but the underground toilets were closed so Hugues took them for a long walk while the rest of us waited. Throughout the night more and more students would suddenly need the bathroom, driving me somewhat insane.

I should pause to note that I have a bladder the size of a pea and I need to use the bathroom a lot. Sometimes I’ll make myself go when I don’t really feel the need… and still need to go 30 minutes later. I suppose that might have been an issue for others, but the number of students who had to use the facilities led us to the conclusion that they just weren’t giving any thought to their bodily needs until it was nearly too late. We probably lost an hour of our time that evening on bathroom breaks. This would all be a precursor to the boiling point to come.

Our next stop would be the Sacre Coeur, a church on a hilltop overlooking Paris. We had quite an adventure on the busy metro trying to keep our group together. I decided to have each chaperon gather their respective groups around them and be responsible only for their group. The idea was that we might not be able to get 52 people on the same train, but if the groups of 8 or 9 stuck together separately, we’d all get to our destination. And instead of explaining the route to 51 people, Hugues could just explain it to the chaperons who would then relay the message. This was the logical approach, but it took everyone a long time to get with the program. On our first run-through, our train arrived and we got on the train. Then we heard a bunch of people shrieking, “Get off the train!” We quickly jumped off, barely making it in time. That is “we,” except for Layton’s crew. I was relatively certain we were on the right train, so I was flummoxed at what the issue could be. Turned out one of the other chaperons was missing a student or students and those who were yelling were merely yelling to their own group – but everyone being so cognizant of sticking together echoed the yell until it reached us. Layton’s crew waited at the next stop in the directions and we continued from there without any major mishap.

Somewhere in this whole process Mr. Puma declared his group was called “Team Raven” and that they were somehow ahead on points. Our group briefly discussed what the best response would be: ignore it entirely, co-opt the same name, or join the competition. We decided on the latter and I dubbed us “Team Griffin.” It took awhile for everyone to get the Harry Potter reference, but eventually we had a Team Huffle (Croman) and a Team Slither (Layton). Derwid eventually chose Team America, while I don’t think Mrs. Puma ever named her team. As Slither was Layton’s crew, they obviously came up with some kind of gang hand symbol. We at Team Griffin chose a more obvious (and obscene) hand gesture as a retort. Ah, subtlety.

On our walk to the Sacre Coeur there was plenty of trash talk about who would win the steps competition (there are a couple hundred steps to get to the top). Since most of the teams had at least one slow-poke, we were busy devising stipulations about “all except one member” and so forth. But Hugues took us a back way where we didn’t have any of the steps. It was a crushing blow, I tells ya. On our walk, we passed several cafes with outdoor tables. Matt Korostoff and I devised a challenge for Keith Young. He was to go up to a table where someone was drinking wine. He’d throw down a ten euro note, grab a full glass, and down it in a gulp. We may have added a stipulation that he’d have to spit out the wine, not because of the alcohol issue, but because it would be even more obnoxious. We told him that we’d pay him 20 euro to do this. He swore he would so convincingly that I demurred not wanting to create an international incident.

After a bit of free time at the Sacre Coeur, we were supposed to meet to move onto Monmartre. Several students were late and I began to lose my patience, knowing that the issue of punctuality would become more critical in the coming days. At Monmartre I walked around with Ms. Derwid looking for some more souvenirs. A lot of the kids and the rest of the chaperons decided to get “real” food. Monmartre is a lovely little village, but it’s a tourist trap extraordinaire. It it the personification of what many of us think of when we imagine “old France” or even “old Italy.” A square with artists, outdoor cafes, accordion players, etc. Mr. Puma bought a pizza (for one) for ten euros. A soda cost 7.5 euros. Considering that the exchange rate is roughly one euro to $1.20, that’s not so great. However, with the environment, I can understand why people would be willing to pay those prices. I settled for a Glacee Frambola, or a raspberry gelato, which I gobbled down before looking for that elusive perfect item which I would not find.

It’s right about this time that I begin to wonder why I had been so excited about this trip. I did get to see d’Orsay, but everything else was a repeat. Worse was the feeling that we were rushing through everything (again), and not getting to see any one thing particularly well. I decided to withhold my judgment as much as possible, but I was pretty sure that I was no longer all that keen on Paris. I was still looking forward to the smaller cities and towns, fortunately. I also was having the obvious second thoughts about traveling with such a huge group. Not having to deal with consolidation is a huge bonus (see France 2002!), but maybe if I just worked the extra $100 or $150 into the price for a “private” bus, it would be worth doing. I did resolve at this point to keep my next trip to a more manageable number.

8 July 2005

At some point I discovered that through a series of mishaps, humorous and not-so humorous, Ms. Derwid and Ms. Croman were entirely incompatible roommates not because of personalities, but sleep behavior and habits and poor communication. Hugues would try to secure us four singles at future hotels, but as this would prove impossible (we hadn’t paid for any singles), I decided to room with Mr. Layton the rest of the trip (as we had originally expected), giving the singles to our troubled roomies. It actually was a pretty good thing for everyone as Layton and I had spent zero time together on the trip, a marked contrast from the previous two trips. And Derwid and Croman were much happier once they got a few hours sleep!

I should also mention our stowaway, Piotr Mankowski. He and Katie Sikoryak planned to continue a European adventure after the France trip ended. Piotr would shadow our group during the trip, staying for the most part at hostels and providing for his own transportation. But Hugues took a liking to him and told him he could join us on the bus at any point, something Piotr took full advantage of. I think Hugues even managed to get him dinner and subway tickets as well. I like Piotr, but I was a bit concerned that some of the travelers who had paid full price might get rankled. I didn’t hear a word of complaint, however, so I assume all was well.

Time for us to leave the Timhotel. We carted our bags one block from the hotel to meet Regis (pronounced Ray-ZHEES). We tried to help him load the bus, but he insisted on doing it himself. A good thing too, as the final bag barely fit. We hit some nasty traffic in Paris and crawled towards the next destination. Along the way we stopped at a rest stop. Like most of the rest stops I’ve seen in Europe, it’s bathrooms were sparklingly clean and it had a good convenience store and a restaurant. We loaded up on junk food and drinks, stretched our legs, used the bathrooms and went on our way.

We arrive a bit late in Rouen and gathered in front of the tourist office right next to the cathedral. Our tour guide was nowhere to be found, despite the fact that Hugues had called ahead to let them know of our expected arrival time. It began to rain lightly, but this time people were a bit more prepared. Our guide finally showed up and we embarked on a walking tour of the cathedral and the town. She showed us the tomb of Richard the Lionhearted among others. We visited the Rouen Charnel House where they quarantined plague victims and one unlucky black cat whose skeleton is still on display.

Our guide had a weirdly theatrical way about her, with awkward Paul Harvey-like pauses and big gestures. A number of us noted that she buried the Joan of Arc story in the most off-handed of manners, just slapping on the equivalent of “Oh yeah, and that’s the pyre where Joan was burned, so anyway, moving on…” I suppose she probably resents that Rouen, a town full of history, is pigeonholed for its Joan of Arc tie-in. This was all new to me as we skipped the local tour three years ago, but the guide was rather uncompelling and didn’t speak loud enough for a group of this size. That and I was really hungry.

Oh yeah, and Hugues didn’t give me the rooming assignment list until just before we got off the bus which resulted in me attempting to assign the rooms while walking around the town and half listening. Trying to keep everyone happy with who they are roomed with is a challenge. Some people requested five different names, giving me maximum flexibility. Others only provided one. I also allowed people to provide two names of people they did NOT want to room with. This created bigger issues, especially when A wanted to room with B and C, B wanted to room with A and C, and C wanted to room with A, but under no circumstances wanted to room with B. Sigh.

So for lunch we walked around looking for the right place to eat, but found nothing that appealed. It seemed every sandwich featured jambon (ham) or was all cheese. I like cheese, but it’s not what I consider a sandwich. In fact, I settled for a delicious baguette. Not all that nutritious, but it hit the spot. We also had time to scope out the shopping possibilities and knew that we’d have another couple of hours that evening to shop.

When we got to the hotel, we had a comedic little episode where I explained a variety of issues to everyone who was lined up single file, wrapped around the corner of the building. We had been told of quads originally, but it turned out they were virtually all doubles. There was no elevator. There were two rooms that didn’t have beds (yet). Then I added, “There are no showers.” A few believed me.

The joke was on us when we discovered that there were no shower curtains. Some of us had decent sized bathrooms, while others had the typical small closet variety. The other peculiarity of the shower was that the head was waist high. It was detachable, obviously intended to be held by the person showering, but what a pain in the neck! If you wanted to avoid getting water on the floor, you had to keep it pointed toward the wall the entire time. Everyone in a double or triple jockeyed to shower first lest they have to deal with water on the floor. Most of us didn’t see any towels either, initially, but they turned out to be in the vanity.

During that second period of free time many of us stayed in our rooms and napped. The shopaholics hit the town, of course.

Dinner was at a nice restaurant, but the food left a lot to be desired. The salad featured some shady looking lettuce and half a hard-boiled egg. The entrée of a chicken drumstick with fries was greeted by mixed reactions; the chaperons hated it while some of the students enjoyed it. I had a fried fish filet that was decent. The dessert was an incredibly bad flan dominated by an overpowering egg taste. Most of us didn’t take more than a bite.

Even more free time followed dinner and Layton and I finally got to an Internet café to send a few messages and check the news and baseball scores. We went back to the hotel and read for awhile. At 11 p.m. half of the group went to see a light show at the cathedral while the other half stayed in. They hadn’t intended to stay very long, but they cut their visit at 15 minutes when it began raining. Much to my surprise they all raved about the show and urged us to go the next night. I thought it was a scam at first, but when they showed us some of the pictures they took (which didn’t do it justice, I would find), I realized they weren’t kidding.

I should mention now that the hotel operated on the typical card keys. However, they refused to provide us with more than one key per room claiming it was “hotel policy”, something that was a big headache considering that roommates didn’t always stick with each other during free time. If Layton and I went our separate ways and I returned to the hotel but he had the key, I’d have to wait until he showed up before I could get into the room. Great for those bathroom emergencies… So I suggested to the clerk that she could collect the keys like they do in hotels with the real keys. She refused that as well, this time not citing hotel policy, but her convenience and experience with previous EF groups. What clinches the deal was that after 11 p.m., there would be no one on duty and no staff in the hotel!

When one of the boys came down to the lobby at 11:30 informing us that he had locked he and his roommate out of their room (leaving the key inside), I thought briefly about asking Hugues to call the emergency number they left him, but ultimately I decided it was time to put my foot down – teach the kids a lesson and not give the obnoxious staff a valid reason to dislike us. The two guys ended up sleeping on the floor in other people’s rooms. Remember the context of the last couple of days here, as the kids were continuing to try our patience in not listening to our admonitions on how to dress or being on time. The boiling point was getting very near.

On the positive side, our hotel rooms were a step up from the ones in Paris, my bathroom was 10 times better, and all the free time in Rouen restored my equilibrium. I had seen almost none of Rouen on my previous trip and having a bit of time to bond with Layton was good. I got a nice nap, saw the tourist area of Rouen and just felt like I could breathe again.

9 July 2005

Because of the size of the hotel’s dining room, we had to each in shifts. Half the group was scheduled at 7 a.m., while the second half was scheduled at 7:30. The breakfast was a bit simpler than the Parisian breakfast, but the croissants were better (though the coffee was worse). A number of the first shift were late, but it got really ugly at 7:30. Several rooms were still in bed well into their breakfast shift and probably would still be sleeping now if the chaperons hadn’t waked them. The final group to make it downstairs were given special attention as it seemed clear that someone would have to be made an example of. As there would be no free time today, it looked to be St. Malo where they would be punished. I was pleased that there was complete agreement from the chaperons, something I have to admit I was a bit concerned about going into the trip. This particular group’s discipline, however, would soon prove to be moot.

Our first stop was at a goat cheese farm. When I was told this was on the itinerary I considered telling Hugues to skip it, but it obviously was en route to a better stop, so I figured, “Why not?” How bad could it be? Sigh.

We met the owner of the farm who proceeded to do schtick for the better part of an hour, injecting wacky accents, lame jokes (which he would explain multiple times), and wholly inappropriate remarks in his blather. There actually was a lot of interesting explanation of what the animals eat, how they prevent them from catching disease, and so forth. When he donned a glove near his single billy goat, I think we all thought we were about to witness something incredibly disgusting. Fortunately he just made allusions and we were spared the ignominy we anticipated. I think my “favorite” thing about him was the two or three times he talked about slaughtering the kids to make pate and made sarcastic “boo hoo” type faces. I don’t expect him to have his heart break over their demise, but a modicum of sensitivity to how his potential clientele feel would have been nice. Maybe what disturbed me the most is that many of the students thought he was “so funny.” Yeah, like Robin Williams funny. (In other words, painfully desperate to be the center of attention… and not funny at all.)

The next stop was a trip highlight for me – the cliffs of Etretat. A natural rock formation along the ocean is accessed via regular steps, more graduated steps, and then pressed rock. I’m terrified of heights, so I surprised myself by not really hesitating at any point. I guess it wasn’t so hard considering that you couldn’t see much of anything on the way up. When you got to the top, the view was absolutely majestic. In addition to the ocean and sky, the other cliffs just off in the distance… and the sharp drop downward were heartstopping. I further surprised myself by crossing a narrow bridge to a little alcove in the cliffside by repeating the mantra “I’m not going to look down.” On the way back I said it again, but I knew before I crossed the bridge entirely that I would. Terrifying to say the least, but the adrenalin rush was pretty cool. I’m looking forward to blowing up a couple of the photos that I took.

On the road again, now we stopped in the seaside village of Honfleur. They evidently have a great flea market, but not on the day we were visiting. I felt like being alone for some reason at this point, so I walked around looking for something beef based. I did find a restaurant that advertised steak hache (essentially cheesesteak), but the Nervous Traveler Syndrome returned to me in force. I couldn’t figure out whether one could order take-out or whether you had to sit down at one of their tables. I stood by the sign where the food was listed for a few minutes, but was ignored by the guys working there. I sat down at a table, but no one came over. Despite the fact that I had urged the kids to put themselves “out there,” I had done very little talking and was a bit intimidated to ask. Idiot. I ended up finding a bakery off the beaten path, buying a baguette, an apple fritter and pain au chocolat. Many of the students, who probably had similar experiences to me, were jealous of my food. Several had settled for ice cream as their lunch! The most frustrating thing was that in my travels I walked past tables of people eating fruit de mer (fresh seafood platters). We only had 45 minutes to eat, but had I know, I might have sat down right away and ordered it. When I told this to Hugues, he said basically, “Oh yeah, mussels are a specialty in this region… you can get it for tomorrow’s lunch if you want.” Yes, I want.

The final trek of the evening was to Bayeaux to see an elaborate tapestry on the Battle of Hastings. Hugues seemed very proud of the document and evidently had discretionary funds to spend on the group and chose this stop to spend it. (I’m guessing EF through a few bucks at each group that was traveling during the London bombings.) We had very limited time as the bus driver is only allowed to work for 12 hours a day (regardless of how much driving he does), and to make matters worse, we were told we “have to see the film.” Unfortunately it didn’t start until midway through our visit, so those who were paying attention raced through the lengthy notated “fake” tapestry to see the real one before heading to the film. The film ended a couple minutes after our supposed gathering time, but everyone who was paying attention knew that we would be given a few minutes’ grace period as a result.

Unfortunately half the group didn’t pay attention and was still wandering around the fake tapestry, the real tapestry or the gift shop. It took about 20 minutes to get everyone back to the bus. It didn’t help matters that we were getting major attitude from some of the late kids. For example: “Do you know what time it is?” was answered with, “I don’t have a watch.” Before this occurred I was going to have Mrs. Derwid give a little lecture to the students about the issues that had arisen over the first several days. But after conferring with the other chaperons, most of which tended to have a lighter touch with disciplinary issues than Derwid and me, I was elated to hear how frustrated and angry they were. And as Mr. Puma is the head coach of a soccer team, I thought that he had undoubtedly given many hard and inspirational speeches during his tenure, so I asked him to deliver the speech instead. He gave a bravura performance, I thought, telling the kids that “we can do better” and to look out for each other. If someone is trailing behind, nudge them along. If you wake up first, make sure your roommates and neighbors are also awake. That sort of thing. He also dropped the GROUP punishment, that there would be no free time that evening after dinner. Dinner and then room curfew, and no light show for those who hadn’t gone the night before.

It seemed perfect, miles better than any speech the other chaperons could have given I suspect. And then Mike Fischer approached me and said, “Will we have time to do any shopping tonight?” I later discovered that it was a gag, that he was dared to asked the question. I give him credit for having the guts to do that I suppose, but all of the chaperons at the time were outraged.

Because we were running so late, the restaurant wouldn’t seat us for several hours. They understandably refused to let their prime time be occupied by this large group. Most of us ate in the stiflingly hot and loud basement of the restaurant. The appetizer was a small, decent salad. The entrée was a ham crepe. Several of us at my table tried in vain to eat around the ham, but got very little food out of it. The crepe sucre was unspectacular.

Evidently a hell of a lot of whining to the other chaperons ensued. I guess the kids were smart enough not to approach me. Many who found the dinner unappetizing wanted to get food elsewhere, but we were not about to bend. The chaperons compared notes in the lobby; some of the same students getting a “no” answer from one chaperon appealed to another. We sensed a mini-rebellion in the offing and prepared to camp out on the various floors for hours into the morning. I realized I needed something from my room and started up the stairs when a gaggle of girls disbursed in a panic having violated our room curfew (perhaps making plans for a jailbreak??). I then decided to call The Meeting. Fifteen minutes later everyone was crammed into the small lobby, taking up every space on the first flight of steps up to the landing.

I launched into an impromptu speech, not knowing exactly where I was going. I pointed out to the travelers how much we teachers put on the line taking on the responsibility of looking after them in a foreign country. And then I explained WHY. I told the David Anerella/Pointe du Hoc story detailed in my 2002 journal, how when I saw the smile on his face it reminded me why I go through the agita. Sure, I get to go on these trips for free, but it would be a job and a half if there was nothing else I derived from the experience. With the next day’s activities being what I considered the highlights of the trip, I explained how we couldn’t afford any delays, and although I couldn’t promise an Anerella moment for them, I thought it was possible for many of them at the American Cemetery or St. Malo. That I wasn’t so much angry at them as FOR them. There were a couple of things I wished I hadn’t said… or said differently, but I think the message got through.

At 11 p.m., Layton and I headed out to the light show. We kept joking about how we saw some of the kids in the crowd and then considered what in the world we would do if that in fact happened. And then we took in about 15 minutes of the light show. It really was incredibly cool. Using just four projectors, they bathed the cathedral in various hues evoking particular Claude Monet renditions of the cathedral. The bombastic music eerily added to the ambiance and we soaked it in. Some of the lighting then strayed from Monet to other painters like Seurat or were just neat designs. Definitely an enjoyable experience, though I couldn’t see staying for the full hour.

So we mellowed out a bit at this point and I resolved to dial it back with the students if they were a bit late the next day. With the ire of the other chaperons dialed up to 10, I was actually feeling pretty good. For once I felt like I could lay back and let them be the bad guys if that’s what it came to. But I also resolved to learn a lesson from the hectic schedule of Paris and this day when it felt like we were in the bus all day driving all around the country. Slow down and never again let a tour be a race to see “everything.” I think it’s safe to say that days 6, 7 and 8 would reflect the new philosophy perfectly – and the results couldn’t have been better.

10 July 2005

We woke up exhausted from the late night, but were pleased to hear door knocking in the hallway. I thought it was the kids following up on Puma’s speech, but later I learned it was Derwid. Whatever… it worked. The previous afternoon, I should mention, Hugues pulls me aside and says, “Look what I found,” showing me a card key. I’m thinking to myself, “Some dolt kid dropped his key.” But, no. It was the maid’s key. We now had access to every room in the hotel. Had someone been locked out of his or her room the second night, I could have let them back in. Instead I used it to make sure the rooms were all orderly at check out and that nothing valuable had been left behind. Ironically I missed one student’s class ring, which we’d call the hotel for later and they’d mail it to EF.

Anyway, we were on time and raring to go! But Regis was nowhere to be found. Ten minutes after our appointed gathering time he showed up, packed the bus and we were in good shape.

We got to the Caen Memorial on D-Day but because of the itinerary had limited time. I had forgotten how good the films were – largely without dialogue, told just through the pictures. Having seen the museum once, I didn’t feel the rub quite as badly as my war buffs. Everyone made the bus on time, although not without considerable urging from the chaperons. Nonetheless, things were looking up.

Hugues reveled in Lance Armstrong’s setbacks the day before and continued to claim that his victories must have been due to steroids and American scientific ingenuity. Although I couldn’t care less about bicycle racing, it was fun to trash talk with him as Armstrong made his inevitable comeback. This would only be topped by Hugues’ claims that he could coach a team of paralyzed goats tactics to beat Puma’s varsity squad. Okay, he never said anything about goats, but it was close to that.

We arrived at Arromanche for lunch, but once again only had 45 minutes. We were determined to get moules et frites (mussels and fries), so we sat down at the first restaurant off the bus. They quickly took our order, and entered it into a Palm Pilot. Layton went to the bathroom, returned three minutes later, and voila! The food was served. A tureen of 50 some odd mussels in a white wine sauce was presented to each of us. We found teeny tiny crabs sprinkled among the mussels as well, but never found out if they were added or just feeding off the mussels when they had the misfortune to be caught in the nets. The mussels were very good, though I thought my companions raved a bit too much about them. I don’t blame them though, since so many of our meals had been either ordinary or similar in nature!

Time for the American Cemetery. Here nearly 10,000 soldiers from the Normandy invasion are buried, their gravestones either crosses or Jewish stars with their name, home state and years of birth and death. The most touching are the unidentified whose names are “known only to God.” I moved about the rows upon rows of gravestones saying the first names of dead in some kind of affirmation or tribute to their sacrifice. As I said on the bus in an address to the students, I am distinctly not a flag waver or a traditional sort of patriot, but these people fought in the most important battle of our nation’s and perhaps our world’s history and paid with their lives. Even though it was my second time there, it was a profoundly moving experience and was moved to tears.

We also stopped briefly at Normandy beach to pick up the obligatory sand and take photos of nothing. I jokingly dared Keith to pick up a jellyfish and once again withdrew the dare when he seemed set on doing it. Despite the refusal to pay the once proffered reward, he did in fact pick up said jellyfish and came close to throwing it at me. Ah, youth.

Our final Normandy stop was at Pointe du Hoc, site of the American rangers ascent up the cliffs on D-Day. It is an amazingly preserved battlefield with barbed wire, bunkers, bomb craters and the like. Several students referred to it as a playground as they ran up and down the craters and in and out of the bunkers. It’s an odd place; in fact it’s exhilarating to be there, even if it’s a place where many people died. Maybe it’s just me, but I had fun there as opposed to the somber experience of the cemetery. No, it wasn’t just me… it was everyone.

On the way to St. Malo, Hugues breaks the news to me that the hotel is not actually in the walled city itself. And that it’s a 15-minute drive away! My blood ran cold. I had such wonderful memories of staying at the Hotel Louvre right in the center of town… and now our free time might be shot, particularly that evening’s free time as Regis had already been on the road for many, many hours. Thinking quickly, I figured now would be a good time for the big group games and bonding session. The hotel had a large dining room that could seat 70 or so and there were only three other guests at the hotel… no, make that 2 since one of the three turned out to be Piotr. Hugues asked the owner on our behalf and even though I couldn’t understand specifically what was being said, he was all set to say yes when his wife interceded. I somehow knew everything she said, including the fact that she didn’t want to have to set up again for breakfast after we were done. I looked at the room and saw that they had place settings, cup and saucer, knife, fork and napkin. I suggested we could just set up our own places in the morning, but she refused and instead offered us the bar (which seats about six) and an outdoor seating area that sat about 20.

Dinner was a catered affair in the hotel. The appetizer was a salmon and tiny cubed vegetables in a mayo sauce that was far better than it sounds. The mass of folks had chicken curry which many said was the best dinner on the trip. For me, they provided salmon and rice. That’s right, salmon and salmon. For the real vegetarians? Rice. Just rice. Dessert was a very good chocolate mousse.

Perhaps overhearing the conversation with the owner’s wife (or the co-owner, I don’t know), Regis volunteered to take us to St. Malo that evening. A few of the girls stayed behind but everyone else went. Now would be a good time to mention that it wasn’t getting dark until about 11 p.m. each evening. We arrived in St. Malo around 9 p.m. and the sun was just setting. The photos from atop the ramparts will be incredible. St. Malo is a walled city that dates back to the pirate days. It was destroyed by the Nazis but rebuilt as accurately as possible. Today it’s a tourist town and fishing village and quite possibly my favorite place on Earth. Contrary to my memory of three years ago, plenty of stores and restaurants were open late at night and more shopping and ice cream buying took place.

Dom Valenzano, Dale Bocra, Eric Rind and I played pinochle outside the hotel while a group of guys played hackey sack. Madame Vatar (the wife and/or co-owner), who was half in the bag at this point, yelled at the hackey sackers because they were too noisy. They informed me that they genuinely were being very quiet, but she still was on the warpath. This was just after a British guy who was drinking in the bar walked out and slurred/screamed “He’s cheating at cards!” and a few other things before going to his car and speeding off with booming music coming out of his vehicle. When Madame began yelling at me in broken English about how terrible we were as guests, I couldn’t help but argue with her and explain that the loud one had just left. She basically called me a liar and said that it wasn’t her clientele that were the problem. The immature side of my personality thought about challenging her further wondering what she could possibly do at this point. But I thought better of that, particularly when she said the guest who had complained had a baby. I didn’t know for sure anyone had complained, but I was sympathetic so we made sure everyone kept it down. (The next morning the “baby” turned out to be an 8 year old.)

Despite this run-in, as Mr. Puma bluntly said: “Morale up!”

11 June 2005

The breakfast was the same as usual with one exception. We had no plates. The aforementioned family had plates, and there was one dirty plate on the main table. But no more. I approached the owner, who spoke zero English, and asked for plates and he eventually returned with about six straw bread plates, but no dishes. So we ate our bread and croissants without plates and left crumbs everywhere. I imagined Madame Vatar would bitch about the mess we made in the dining room…

Oh did I mention that they also blocked the phones? Their excuse was that a previous EF group had called the fire department. How they could possibly know the number for the fire department or how to actually report a fire is beyond me.

We made our way to St. Malo where we met our young tour guide, Cecille. She would later reveal it was only her third tour and first in English. Although her explanations weren’t always clear, her enthusiasm was refreshing and made up for some of the language difficulties. She told a couple of great stories: first, a street called Dancing Cat Street named in response to an English bombing which succeeded in killing a single cat, but no people. (What is it with French history and dead cats?) The other story revolved around the French pirate Sarcoeuf. He was given dispensation by the French government to attack non-French ships. The story goes that a British naval officer told him that “You fight for money, while we fight for honor.” Sarcoeuf responded, “We all fight for what we don’t have.” She also pointed out the island fortresses off the coast and indicated that at low tide you could walk out to most of them. One or two were off limits because they still had mines from World War II.

We shopped for souvenirs at lunch and I noted that some people were picnicking on the rocks by the beach. It seemed perfect, but we decided to go to a sit-down restaurant, originally with the idea of getting fruit de mer. Yet we weren’t all that hungry, so I settled for soup de poisson, a delicious fish bisque. I almost ordered a second bowl, but I just wasn’t that hungry.

We then drove out to Mt. St. Michel, stopping first at a biscuiterie. Hugues kept referring to their goods as “cake,” but they mostly had cookies, biscuits and tarts. We devoured the free samples and bought a ton of stuff. It turned out there were no wineries in the region, so we allowed students to buy cider and calvados – or wait until the airport to buy wine.

At Mt. St. Michel we trekked up the mountain and explored the various rooms of the fortress. I remembered the initial rooms atop the mountain, but I had no recollection of the rooms below. Without a tour guide, however, there wasn’t much to look at beyond empty rooms. By this point the weather had turned rather hot… just like home. One interesting thing we learned was that the denizens of the town were planning to permanently return to being an island. (You can drive up to it at low tide currently.) They have a monorail system they’ll be building for access. We also saw a Smart convertible, which looked really great. I didn’t know that Swatch was half responsible for the Smart brand nor that they apparently are going to go out of business (as per Layton).

Back at St. Malo we did more shopping, bought some ice cream (not gelato this time) and Layton and I walked around the entire ramparts. Along the way we noticed that low tide allowed people to walk out to the islands (which many of our students did and raved about the experience). We also discovered an awesome swimming area that was built into the ocean. Rocks were piled up for a diving board and served to enclose the area that was still fed by the ocean water. It looked awesome, but we weren’t prepared to use it. We also incidentally noticed a dozen topless women sunbathing. Not that we were staring or anything.

On the way back to the hotel Hugues told us that Madame Vatar “doesn’t like you, Bob.” But she was impressed at how clean our rooms were. We hoped that the second night would go a bit more smoothly… and maybe we’d get plates at breakfast.

Dinner was a bacon quiche (very good), and an excellent fish dish. I can’t really describe it except it had cheese and some vegetables on top and below the fish and it was great. Dessert was this white ball in a cream sauce that I’ve never seen before, but everyone liked it. The hotel management sucked, but their catered food was great. I should also mention that the rooms were cavernous. So big they didn’t even know what to do with the space. The bathrooms varied – some had bathtubs with the Jacuzzi jets (but not the luxury spa tubs you might see in a really nice hotel or home), while others (like ours) had shower stalls with six extra jets. Unfortunately the jets all sprayed pin size jarts of water, and if you weren’t careful you’d get shot in an uncomfortable spot. Unlike the first two hotels, our shower had a door, so showering second wasn’t a problem.

I finished the evening playing hearts with Eric R, Keith and Tim, an unusual crew, but we had a good time. The entire group was extremely quiet during the free time, so Madame had nothing to gripe about. It was hard going to bed a mere 30 minutes after it started getting dark, but if we wanted to enjoy the last full day, we needed some rest.

The past two days, despite some of the hiccups, were fantastic. Yesterday was the ultimate tour day. Still a bit rushed, but we had the most powerful stops on the itinerary. Replete with history and emotion, all of the travelers had a great time. And today every person raved about the time in St. Malo. Many spent time on the beach, some climbed the rocks, others shopped the day away. It’s no surprise that St. Malo became many other people’s favorite town.

12 July 2005

We had the same breakfast, again without plates. Hugues asked about plates and was told we should use the bread dishes. Of course, with 54 of us (counting Hugues, Regis and Piotr), I’m not sure how they’d be able to accommodate that, but c’est la vie. Back on the road.

I found it hard to sleep on the bus, but also unusually hard to read. Some of it was my feeling sorry for myself since my iPod’s battery kept failing on me. I can recharge it, but it dies within a few minutes, something I didn’t notice I suppose because it usually sits in my car’s cradle, constantly recharging. That and reading Pynchon on a bus isn’t necessarily a breeze. So I spent some of the time playing word games with fellow travelers and gazing at the scenery. At one point a truck passed us with its three stories of cargo – pigs. It was the first pigs I’ve seen in France, which I thought was odd considering how much pork these people eat. Cows are plentiful, both the dairy producing variety and the meat type, the latter of which is somewhat mystifying since they don’t eat nearly as much beef. I guess they don’t have extra pigs because they’re too busy eating them?

Much to my chagrin Hugues misestimated the amount of time from St. Malo to Chartres, putting us an hour behind schedule – and meaning we’d have to rush once more. I considered ditching Chartres, but we’d still have to stop for lunch so I let it go. The cathedral at Chartres is a marvel inside, the blue stained glass absolutely gorgeous. During World War II they hid all the stained glass in the south of France, replacing it sometime after liberation.

We then went to the downtown area for lunch where I ended up eating at the same spot as three years ago. But then Eileen ordered for me. Now with a bit more French under my belt, I decided to tackle getting the wildly exotic Steak Americain. Another cheese steak variant, I placed my order in flawless French, adding a small order of fries. Then the comedy ensued. They asked me if I wanted the fries in the sandwich. It took me a second to understand, then for some reason it took them awhile to figure out what “no” meant. I kept trying to say “on the side,” but I didn’t have the words for it, so I tried to show them. Ah, Ugly American, when will you learn?

The sandwich was huge and delicious. I was absolutely stuffed and knew that whatever horrors lay in store at the Paris dinner, I’d be okay. Back on the bus we headed off for our final long trek. Emily had everyone pose with her stuffed animal, a chicken creatively named “Chickie.” I suggested she have Regis pose with it, and he was cooperative, putting Chickie on his lap so she could drive the bus (bringing to mind one of Lily’s favorite books, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus”) then putting her on the dashboard. And then we crashed into the side of a mountain. Ah, France.

As we pulled up to the final hotel, someone noticed that it was a three-star hotel – as opposed to the two-star affairs we had had thus far. Everyone let out a big cheer. Unfortunately many of the rooms weren’t ready, so we had to store a lot of luggage in other people’s rooms. And it took forever to get everyone their keys. But the rooms were relatively nice, about on par with Rouen (the extra star evidently for location). Each room also had a mini-bar with alcohol. We thought about removing each bottle, but figured the kids wouldn’t want to pay the $12 or whatever exorbitant rate they’d charge for the schnapps. Later that night, one room of boys asked Mr. Puma if they could get pay-per-view and he initially said yes, until I pointed out the time (just over six hours before the wake-up call). Then Layton noticed that some of the movies were um, adult fare.

Because it had been cold in the morning and we had a river cruise that evening, I had worn long pants. But the drive was southeast and having the hours tick by led to an awful lot of heat and sweating by midday. By the time we got to Invalides, a war museum in Paris that we originally were going to visit on Day 2, it was sweltering. People were getting a bit irritable again and were nearly broke, but we persevered and got to see the outstanding exhibits there. Napoleon’s tomb, a good World War II exhibit, and weapons from medieval times through the French Revolution and beyond. It was tough going after awhile, so many of us whiled away our remaining few minutes in the air conditioned cafeteria.

Dinner consisted of a good salad and an entrée of roast pork. I had a weird mix of pasta with white sauce, rice and green beans. It was only afterwards that one of the chaperons pointed out how many unhappy Jews we had in the group for that meal. We did tell everyone in advance what the meal would be and suggested they plan accordingly. Hopefully they had snacks to tide them over. Hugues didn’t read the fine print and was unaware that we had to choose between salad and dessert at this restaurant (great choice for the final meal, eh?). So no dessert. That would have to wait until the Eiffel Tower.

Next came the Seine River cruise. Pretty much the same as the Thames cruise with headset controls to change the language of the canned narration. There was a bit of live narration by this amazing woman who actually spoke eight languages. It’s one thing to memorize a spiel in several languages, but to do it with an impeccable is amazing.

The final activity was the pilgrimage to the Tower. Because of overcrowding, we assumed, they weren’t selling tickets to the top of the tower. Instead you could go up to the first or second observation level and no more. Nonetheless, everyone except Hugues, one student, Ms. Croman and Mrs. Derwid and I began their assent – most by foot. We, instead, bought ice cream and chatted. We also got to see the regular lights of the tower turn to a flashing light show at 10 p.m. The rest of the crew would get to see it at 11 p.m., but somehow the second showing made us feel privileged. Of course they got to see the tower close up and the view of the city. In fact, apparently the crowds shrunk a bit so they allowed people to pay three euros from the second deck to take the elevator to the top. For many the view from the top was the highlight of the trip, or at least the perfect way to end the experience.

13 July 2005

The breakfast was fairly elaborate with a variety of extra offerings including something scrambled egg like, but in Europe they don’t seem to worry about salmonella, so run, runaway. No thanks. I added a hard-boiled egg to my two croissants and coffees, and was a contented traveler. We headed off to the airport thinking everything was going smoothly.

Except we were dropped off at the wrong terminal. And the place was so overcrowded, and loud, and confusing. Fortunately Hugues was still with us, so he walked us to the next terminal; except we were told no one was allowed through. We stood in an ad hoc line waiting to be allowed to move. Hugues investigated, returned and told us that someone had left a bag unaccompanied and that they were probably going to BLOW IT UP. Ten minutes later we heard a distant, muffled explosion. We got to the right terminal and the right line and said farewell to Hugues. The line was incredibly long, but after 15 minutes or so an Air France representative worked his way through the line and asked how many in our party. I told him and he indicated that he’d try to get someone to take us as a group, but to stay in the line until then.

A half hour later he repeated these instructions and then began consulting with another Air France worker. And another and another. Soon there were six people at one desk, one on the phone, evidently working on our check-in. But in-line we remained. Eventually it became a moot point, or so we thought, as we made our way to the front of the line. Just as I was “on deck,” a group of Asian travelers cut the line and consulted with an Air France agent. I gathered their flight was about to embark. And then a flurry of other Asian travelers did the same. We had waited patiently (well, sort of) in line only to have about 20 people jump in front of us. Oh well, we still had time. Finally, they took us four at a time and we got into the terminal.

Some bought English and American newspapers and periodicals and many of us hit the wine store. Total shots in the dark about the quality of the wine of course, but an appropriate gift for anyone who drinks. When they finally called to board the plane, about 45 minutes late, we walked down the gangplank to a awaiting transport bus… and then drove for about 10 minutes around and outside the airport. I guess it was for security purposes, but it seemed like an eternity. We boarded the plane about five minutes before we were scheduled to take off. And then we waited and waited and waited, as more transports arrived, finally taking off an hour behind schedule. Oddly enough our flight didn’t land very late at JFK, although we did have a scare on the way down. We seemed to be approaching the runway when the pilot suddenly pulled up, and we watched the altimeter rise. Up to this point every announcement had been in both French and English, but this time the pilot spoke only in French. We were able to glean that there was a lot of traffic at the airport, but it sure would have been nice to have had someone say so in English.

The food on the return flight was far worse than the food to France, though I’ve forgotten what they served. I watched Million Dollar Baby and would have watched Melinda & Melinda, but I didn’t want to see two films that my wife was interested in! Instead I played a lot of their computer games, won a million pounds the very British version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, and did I have no idea what killing time.

We got through customs without any major problems, got our bags and then saw no sign of the bus. I called the bus company and the company operator initially said, “You’re at JFK??” as my heart nearly stopped in my chest. She transferred me to the dispatcher who assured me they were on their way, but were 20 to 30 minutes late because of an accident on the Van Wyck. We stationed ourselves on the median where I knew we should be from past experience. Buses aren’t allowed to pick up on the side nearer the airport, rather they have to go on the other side of the median. The dispatcher told me that he’d call back shortly. There was so much noise outside that I walked around the airport desperately trying to find a quiet place to hear the content of the conversation when he called.

Except he didn’t call before the bus arrived. On the wrong side of the median. I saw the bus from inside the airport, ran outside and yelled to everyone that it was here. They began to head towards the bus, but security made him drive back around the airport to go to the correct side of the median; so everyone had to head back to the original location. We loaded the bus and were on our way.

Without air conditioning. Which is weird, because that happened on the way back from Italy, if I recall correctly. Five minutes into the bus ride, the phone rings and it’s the dispatcher telling me that it shouldn’t be much longer. And that there’s a problem with the bus. Yeah, I know, I told him. They were sending a second bus with a working air conditioner for us to transfer onto (without having to transfer the luggage). We’d meet that bus en route. One more caveat. They only had 49 seats. With Katie S still in Europe, that meant we were 50 strong. So when the rendezvous finally occurred, I stayed aboard the hot bus and everyone else chilled on the other one. I watched jealously as I saw their steamed up windows. Fortunately with all the body heat off of the bus, it wasn’t all that uncomfortable and I had a nice conversation with the bus driver. In fact, I couldn’t shut up, so glad to be talking to a normal American.

The lead driver had no clue how to get to Hillsborough, but fortunately Mrs. Derwid and Mr. Puma combined their navigational skills and thought of the shortest and quickest route possible. Virtually all of the parents were at the school on time and we were able to get out of there fairly quickly. A handful of the students thought enough to thank us for our efforts before departing.

Wrap-Up

I always tend to focus on the negative, in part because that’s my personality, but also because the annoying things are what stick out. I didn’t have a good time in Paris the first two days, but thereafter, the stress level dropped significantly. Had I not had the unified support of the chaperons in Rouen, I would have gone through the roof, but curiously seeing their frustration made me happy, I suppose justifying my agita up to that point. When they stepped up to step on the slackers, I was close to ecstatic. It allowed me to relax and enjoy some of the sites that I didn’t get to in 2002. And those two days touring around Normandy and wandering about St. Malo were absolutely perfect. Our group gelled not only to be punctual, but personality wise. Everyone had a smile on their face, made some new friends, and created permanent memories.

Much thanks, of course, to my fellow chaperons who often did more than was asked of them and stayed positive throughout most of the trip. Yeah, most -- we're all human!

If I were to ever take a group this large again, I would try to further impress upon the students the importance of punctuality, but I don’t know if it can really be understood without experiencing a trip like this. But more importantly, I’m determined to do more trip customizations and de-emphasize the “You have to see this” mentality. Slow down, soak things in, relax and enjoy. Judging by the testimonials, despite the hectic schedule and the unpleasantness in the early part of the trip, everyone was thrilled with the experience. I can only imagine how great it would have been if we had cut a couple of things out of the early itinerary or if we had thought of Hugues’ brilliant suggestion to add a day at the beginning of the itinerary – fly in, take your time eating lunch, check in at the hotel, rest, have a nice dinner, sleep in late, have extra time at the Louvre (or wherever). That’s the way to go.

Although Ireland will feature visits to a couple cities, these aren’t the kind of cities like London, Rome or Paris. I suspect it will be a number of years before I return to those locations, and when I do, it’ll be with my own custom itinerary.

The other lesson was not to travel with EF. The attitude of every hotel was that we were guilty of crimes that previous EF groups had committed. Despite the fact that they took our money, they refused to let us use their phones, wouldn’t give us towels or plates on certain occasions, and treated us like nuisance for the most part. I was promised better meals, but with a couple of exceptions (which was in part through Hugues intercession), it just didn’t happen. I don’t know that Explorica is going to be any better, but they have promises for some better accommodations. Passports is more expensive, but will be the backup plan if Explorica is no different.

My biggest regret is that there was virtually no quality time to bond with the students. I got to know a few people I had no pre-existing relationship with, but unlike London where we only had fourteen students or Italy where there were 24, it was just too daunting a task. For that reason, one of my favorite times on the trip was that afternoon the five of us went to d’Orsay. I don’t think any of the four students were particularly friendly with each other before that day, but we had a nice bond thereafter. Although the Anerella moment is the ultimate type of justifier for me, the rainy bench at Notre Dame was pretty special.

Thanks for reading.