Paris -> Calais -> Bruges

Dennis folded and packed most of the clothes yesterday while he was doing the laundry (what a lovely man), but it still took so much longer than it should have to gather all the rest of our flotsam.  But after a morning swim (in hopes of taking the squirm out of our kids for our long drive), we packed, and packed.  The spread that can happen in just a few days is incredible, especially when you live with three prolific artists/thing-finders.  Even as we all were packing, the kids were covering the floor with new artwork and squirreling things away.

Some more important than others

We'd planned on stopping at the grocery store this morning so that I could pick up some lunch for the road and maybe some inexpensive (by Zürich standards) art supplies, and especially some coffee.  We went to the same grocery store we'd visited the other day: because the prices were quite good, the store was filled with people, lugging dozens of cases of soda and American candy bars and crackers.  Unfortunately, when I went to check out, all those bargain hunters were in front of me in line...and, when I got to the front of the line, I learned that particular aisle was reserved for special card holders, never mind that I was only holding a little basket of less than a dozen items.  The ladies behind me in line were very sympathetic ("Oh, le pauvre") but the checker was not.  And neither was Dennis, as he'd been in the car with the kids for almost an hour while I was bumbling through the grocery store.  Especially since I came out without coffee.  Neither of us does very well without our coffee.

Even uncaffeinated, Dennis heroically navigated Paris and got us onto the utterly nondescript, flat, flat highway that took all the way to Callais. We first drove through what looked almost like a college town, cluttered with stores and bars, but we were a little too tired to try to navigate three kids through a place like that. We decided our safest bet was to head to the water, and so we followed the signs to La Manche.

Calais is on the French side of narrowest part of English Channel, just over twenty miles from the Straits of Dover.  If it had been a clear day, we would have been able to make out those famous white cliffs.  But it was overcast and blustery.

The ferry to England

Weather aside, the beach could have been any beach in Florida, long and wide and flat, with soft, powdery, slightly sticky sand.  We parked right next to a small independent carnival, but we dragged the kids across the street to the beach, instead, which they quickly realized was even better.  The beach was almost empty, and the kids revel led in being able to run across unmarked sand. Ella expressed her joy by treading out the word "Thanks." Alex, as we got closer to the water, realized that the sand was packed enough that he could walk without leaving footprints.  He informed me that he was practicing his ninja skills.

Super sneaky Alex

Making pictures with shells

Me too, me too!

After loosening their legs, we took the kids to a strip of restaurants across the street the sort of place that looked as though it would be very busy in the summer, where I had gritty mussels and the kids ignored their ketchup, which tasted oddly of cinnamon.  So we didn't linger, but rather returned to the beach: Joey sifted through the sand and filled his jacket pockets with discarded gelato spoons while Ella and Alex had ice cream.

Dessert with Dad

Alex did his best impression of a Norman Rockwell scamp and turned his cone upside down  to take a bite out of the cone, surprised when the ice cream slumped onto the sidewalk.  But we're on vacation: Dennis got him a replacement treat, and Alex, taking not chances, got a push pop this time.  He looked so serene, sitting next to his daddy. "Most parents, I think, wouldn't buy their little kid a new ice cream.  Most parents would probably be mad at their little boy for dropping the ice cream." I don't know if that's true, but I do think many kids wouldn't be as grateful as Alex.

Before we left, we let the kids go on a few carnival rides.  Joey had his eye on the cars,   

Our entrance ticket: we'd thought we'd escaped!

 

and both Ella and Alex had been panting over the trampolines. Alex laughed and laughed the whole time, further improving his ninja skills by working on his fighting moves.  And Ella, well, she flew.

 We drove away from Calais, through a wicked rain storm, and into Belgium.  As we neared Bruges, we kept passing signs with a disconcerting number of exclamation points.  They seemed important: if only we could read Flemish!

We're staying in an Etap hotel, a chain in the Accor Group that also runs Motel 6 and the Westin hotels in America. The Etap chain is the most budget of their offerings, with small rooms that are always absolutely identical, no matter which hotel you're in, or which country.  Though they lack novel charm, they're antiseptically clean.  And they were the only hotel in town that allowed us to have more than one child in a room.  As an added bonus, the shower heads have led lights in the showerheads (available for only $30 in the lobby!).  So bath time was particularly painless.  


We're back to splitting up into two rooms, and Joey and I have been banished into the room reserved for snorers. Hmph.