Houses Exchanged! Part 1

Preface:  A family of four from London, Ontario participates in their first house swap.   Homes and vehicles are exchanged; fun ensues!

The Bad Beginning
August 2012

After a nine hour drive to Montreal, we happily checked in to a Holiday Inn Express.  Our flight was due to leave the next day at 11:30 pm.  Poor Gwen had been ill for several days (and yes, it was the dastardly type of illness that requires a pot) and Nathaniel had just started to grouse about a sore tummy.  Always nice to get the flu the day before a transatlantic flight.  Although Gwen was on the mend and wanted to hang out in the hotel pool, Nathaniel wouldn't or couldn't leave the bed.  He even missed out on St. Hubert (delicious roasted chicken, Quebec style), which I had been wanting to sample since I heard about it on CBC's C'est la Vie.

After a painful night in an overchilled hotel room, listening to Nathaniel moan and groan, we got up and sorted ourselves and our luggage out.  We hung out at the hotel for the day - Gwen swam and Nathaniel stayed in bed for the morning.  After lunch, we drove down to the waterfront (Lake St. Louis), ate some DQ ice cream, walked along the pier, beachcombed and watched the kids chase geese.

At around 6:30pm, we left the van in the hotel parking lot for the Frenchies and took the shuttle to the airport.  We waited around for five hours: people-watching, eating, reading and trying to comfort Nathaniel.  The worst of his sickness had passed but he was still weak and lethargic.  Poor kid.

I won't lie; it was a hellish flight.  I detest flying at the best of times (unreasonable and unfounded fear of fatal crash), but when it's a red-eye with exhausted children, and one of them is unwell, it is unbearable. The kids were crabby because it was WAY past their bedtime, I was crabby because it was WAY past my bedtime, the plane was packed and we were ready for the journey to be over before we even left the ground.   The children slept ON Richard and I for the duration of the flight.  This was not pleasant or relaxing.  The in-flight movie was something starring a Latino midget and The Rock.  Also unpleasant, was Nathaniel vomiting orange juice (you've got to be kidding me) as the plane touched down on French soil.  Quelle horreur!  I did not make eye contact with the other passengers, who, I am sure, were completely disgusted by me and my barfing progeny. What an inauspicious beginning to our trip!

We stumbled off the plane, made our way into the airport terminal, retrieved our luggage (all miraculously there!) and took the navette (free airport shuttle service) to the Radisson.  Time for a glorious three hour nap.  zzzzzzzzz.

I was awakened by a ringing telephone.  It was Aquaduck!

Aside:  Anne's surname is Acouedic and the first time I tried to pronounce it, it came out "Aquaduck".  The Aquaduck was a bar (now defunct) in Welland, Ontario that I used to frequent as a teenager.  It is where I drank cheap and disgusting Bavarian wine cooler, caroused with my peeps and was hit on by my drunken high school English teacher.  Ahhhh... those were the days (it is hard to type sarcasm).

Anyhow, Anne's name stuck.

I roused RB and the kiddies, who did NOT want to leave their beds.  Everyone was grouchy, but I forced them to march down the hall with me to the Frenchies' room.

The warm, smiley and charming Frenchies, while complete strangers to us and the English language,  couldn't have been more gracious.  We yammered on in French, and I practiced mon Franglais.  RB and the kids were pretty quiet so it was up to me to do most of the communicating.  I relied on smiling and manic gestures to fill in any gaps in communication.  We chatted for twenty minutes or so and RB accompanied Serge down to the parking garage for an introduction to their car.  He returned with the car and house keys (yes!) and we bid the Frenchies adieu, bon voyage, yada yada yada, with a promise to see them in three weeks.

So far, so good.  Our agenda: to enjoy Paris for four nights and then make our way to Guer.  We put most of our luggage in the trunk of the car and left it in the underground parking. Paris has excellent public transportation; there was no practical reason for us to travel by car through La Ville Lumière, although watching RB navigate the traffic circle in front of the Arc De T would have been comical.

We boarded the navette back to CDG and bought four Paris Visite passes.  These offer unlimited train, bus and Métro travel for a set number of days (5 for us) in up to five different zones. These were very expensive, but worth every centime.  We used them constantly.  I think we would have seen less of the city had we not purchased them.

I had made arrangements to rent a Paris apartment (in the 2nd arrondissement) through a lodgings website and I was a bit worried because I hadn't corresponded with Jonathan, the owner of the apartment, for several days.  I was beginning to rethink our rather loosey-goosey rendezvous between the hours of 11am and 1pm on August 5.

Adding to my concern was the fact that I had paypaled J $150 as a deposit.  Let me explain. The apartment looked great online, but we were the first people to rent it.  Red flag.  Before committing to J and his very desirable apt, I asked him why he had no testimonials.  His response was that it was his first time listing it:  "only friends and family have stayed before".  He seemed nice enough on the phone, so I took the plunge and paid up.  What did I have to lose?

A month later, we were on our way to Paris, Plan de Poche Transilien in hand, and about to try to find our petit piece of Paris.  This little map was a lifesaver!

Finding our apartment was easy peasy with this baby.  We took the RER (Réseau Express Regionale) commuter train from CDG to the chaotic Métro hub of Paris Nord, and then hopped on the fourth line.  We exited two stops later, at Réaumur- Sébastopol.  Our building was about two hundred feet away.

Our Métro stop.  

RB entered the four digit door code and we were relieved when the tall wooden door actually opened!   We carried our luggage up the five-story wooden, spiral staircase, which I loved, and found the door to our flat.  I had no key and no clue.  Knocking was futile; the apartment was empty.

We did have a bit of a problem getting in because my cell doesn't work in France. I solved this problem by banging on the neighbour's door and begging to use his phone.  Artur (Arthur?) had pas de problems with me and my dumbassedness and gladly handed over the phone.

When I spoke to J, I learned that he wasn't even in Paris!  I'll admit, when he told me this, I felt a bit sick. I think he was in England.  He said that he had been emailing me for the past few days but I hadn't responded.  Whoops! Incommunicado in Paris.  He told me that I had a contract to sign, he wanted 300 euros as a security deposit and that I would have to pay 80 euros for cleaning.  I told him that none of that was on his website and that I would pay for the appartement in full, but would not pay a deposit or pay anything for cleaning.  He didn't seem particularly thrilled with this, but he agreed and said that his Uncle would let us in.  We dumped our luggage in the hall and left it there for 2 hours (I wasn't about to sit with it while we waited for the Oncle and I was certainly wasn't about to tow it around while we explored the neighbourhood).

When we returned to the flat after pigging out on French pastries and shopping at the Monoprix (the grocery across from us; they're all over Paris), Jonathan's uncle was waiting for us.  He gave us the key and departed quickly.  The flat had three bedrooms, two baths with lots of hot water and the kitchen was well-equipped and bright.  There was no tv, which was fine by me.  We later learned that the apartment was usually rented only to models but they don't "work" in August and so it was free for us to rent.  I actually wondered about the model thing when we arrived, because the apartment wi-fi code was "Parismodel" or something silly like that and there were copies of Vogue and other fashion mags on the mantle.  I suppose I was half hoping that Jonathan was some hotty male model, but alas, he was not.

Here are some pictures that I took from our fifth-floor balcony.  One is east-facing and the other west.  These photos were taken at the same time, but it appears as though I took the pictures on different days,  due to the light.

Our building's facade was very similar to this one.  The rotunda-topped edifice houses a grocery at street level.  Shopping has never been so easy!

I loved standing out on the balcony and watching the world go by.

A typical pedestrian thoroughfare in our neighbourhood.  

This place, while unassuming, had the most cheap and delicious sandwiches.  

Part two of the adventure to come.

Update -- it's here!   Part 2

House Swap!

Bad joke alert:  I was tempted to call this post "wife swap" because I thought it might get more readers. ;-)

A few years ago, when we were still residing in the Blackfriars neighbourhood, I found a great website for thrifty (aka cheap) travelers.  Here's the "about" blurb from the site:

Home exchangers trade their homes, condominiums or apartments at a time that is convenient to both parties, but these are not the only types of accommodations that one gets to choose from. For example, one exchanger traded his home for a 40-foot yacht. Another couple swapped their villa in Italy for a RV in Oregon because they had always wanted to tour the U.S. in true nomadic style. Often, home exchangers will include their automobiles as part of the package.

A $100 charge to my Mastercard later, I was a home exchanger!  I "staged" the rooms in our house by shoving all the excess junk to one side of the room, out of the camera viewfinder's range and snapped away happily.  The next step was to upload our pictures and write a description of what we wanted in a house exchange and what we had to offer.  I waxed on about the Great Lakes, the city of London, Niagara Falls, beautiful beaches, Toronto, proximity to the U.S. border et cetera.  I posted a picture of the four of us, where Richard and I actually looked good (we were going to a charity do and were looking particularly natty), and I made sure that our home looked as comfortable and welcoming as it could.

We had an offer to exchange homes with some Dutchies the first week that our profile was active.  The Mom was a psychologist and she and her family of five were coming to London so that she could attend a conference at UWO.  Our proximity to the bike path and the school was "perfect for her"! Unfortunately, the dates didn't work for us and we had to decline.  We also received offers from Italy and another from the Netherlands, but neither tickled our fancy.  The fourth family to contact us was from Ireland, in Lucan, and wanted to know if we could come in July.  We said yes, were totally excited and - ugh - had to cancel on them in December because we bought a house and our closing was only a month before we were due to leave for the Emerald Isle.  I didn't want the added expense of a vacation that summer and so we kissed the blarney stone goodbye for that year.

Fast forward two years (May 19, 2012).  Home Exchanging was not even on my radar as I had let my membership expire; however, I was still interested in participating in an exchange and when I received an email offering me a $36 renewal, I jumped.  I deleted our previous listing and updated it to reflect our new home and surroundings.  I only posted pictures of our living room and the exterior of our house because I was of course doing too many things at once and only had a limited amount of time to work on the profile.  The plan was to stage the rest of the rooms in the house and take additional pictures a few days later.

Before I had time to take pictures of the rest of the house and less than three days later,  I found this email in my inbox:

Bonjour.

Nous serions intéressés pour échanger notre maison en aout 2012 - entre le 4 aout et le 26 aout 2012 pour une durée de deux ou trois semaines à votre convenance.

Nous habitons en Bretagne, notre situation géographique vous permet d'être au centre de la Bretagne afin d'y apprécier tous ses charmes.


Nous sommes une famille de 4 personnes.

A bientôt.

Anne et Serge
Thomas et Clara

Magnifique!  We were ecstatic.  The dates work for us because RB is a teacher and is home for the summer holidays.  I think we discussed it for about two minutes and I sent an email back to Anne and Serge letting them know that we were interested and that we would be looking into flights.

It is now mid-July and we depart for France in less than two and half weeks - the first of August.  I am exhilarated and cannot believe that we are actually going on this amazing adventure.

We are swapping homes, cars and bicycles.  Coordinating arrivals and departures has been a bit onerous, as my French is pauvre; however, I have managed.  I have been sending emails back and forth to Anne (in French), which is a bit of a nightmare because she only writes in French. Bah!

The plan is to fly in to Paris and to stay overnight at an airport hotel (Radisson).  The Frenchies are spending the night at the same hotel and so we will be able to meet and exchange home and car keys.  The hotel offers a "park and fly" package ($185 Cdn) which we are taking advantage of (free parking for seven days and buffet breakfast in the a.m.).  Anne and her family will fly out of Paris the following morning and we will continue on to the city proper where we will stay for four nights. After our Parisian jaunt, we're off to Guer, in Bretagne.  We are planning to visit the coast, Normandy in particular, and perhaps a sojourn to Belgium.  I haven't been to Belgium before and neither has RB.  I think he wants to go there just for the beer.

You can view our listing here (you might have to register, which is free, to see it):

House Exchange

http://www.homeexchange.com/show.php?id=101240

I don't want to hear any cracks about my decor, people.

Also, please do not ask me why folks want to come to London, Ontario.  Everyone asks me this!  The mind works in strange ways.

Last week, we received an email from a family in Georgia, who reside in a log cabin on a mountain lake.  I told them that we would exchange with them next year.  

Stay tuned for more updates.

In Praise of Paris and the Graphic Novel

While working on the 3rd floor at Central on Sunday, I noticed that some wise librarian had done a display on Graphic Novels.  Huzzah!  Back in early 2000, I was working as a children's librarian at a branch in Byron.  Graphic novels had just started trickling into the library collection, but I largely ignored them.  A cursory glance at the cover (manga - blechhh!) and then a shove onto the new book shelf.  My anti-gn self was convinced that they were like comic books - meant for angst-ridden teen boys and men suffering from Peter Pan syndrome.  I'm not sure what I had against the form; I think I was being narrow-minded like a woman I know in her late 60's, who still refuses to read or watch Harry Potter (she who shall remain nameless ;-).  Yes, nameless one, you are right and the people across the globe who have purchased the 325 million copies in the series are wrong). 

Over a sandwich at Organic Works Bakery (on Wellington), my uber-talented friend, Brenda, introduced me to French Milk - a nonfiction graphic novel set in France.  Written by a twenty-something young lady who travels to Paris with her mother for six weeks, to celebrate Mom's fiftieth, the novel lauds all the things that I love about France - food, drink, fashion, art and shopping.  I inhaled this book like it was a wheel of brie with sweet red pepper jelly - once I started, there was no stopping.  

 My apologies for poor res.   

I am not going to review this book.  I adored it and obviously, I am recommending it (you can put it on hold at LPL) but my point here is that, post- Milk, I definitely wanted to read more of the genre.  I couldn't believe how much I like FM and wondered whether there were other similar gn's out there.  Maybe it's that I started with nonfiction.  In my eyes, the nonfiction aspect lent the genre more cred and therefore I was willing to give it a shot.  Hey, I'm learning something! Must be good for me!

Brenda also recommended Carnet de Voyage by cartoonist Craig Thompson (he also wrote the fictitious Blankets, a gn on the tantalizing subject of first love).  Voyage is a travelogue that Thompson wrote while he traveled to France, Barcelona and Morocco.  Lots of similarities with French Milk and I really enjoyed his sense of humour and self-deprecating wit.

I began a graphic novel odyssey.  I work at the Central Library on Sundays and the reference desk is adjacent to the Graphic Novel shelf.  I selected a title each week and found myself hooked.  A lot of the books that I've read thus far are health-related (yes, I did consider becoming a physician at one point in my life and sometimes I still do.  I was listening to the CBC last week and they were featuring a piece on a 79 year old BC lady who is about to take the LSAT. What a lady! Maybe there's hope for me yet).  But back to gn's - I like that the authors take a difficult subject (cancer, Alzheimer's, alcoholism, surgery, post-traumatic stress etc.) and employ an unexpected form (the graphic novel) to educate others and express themselves.  I think that the gn is very accessible and is excellent for people who could use an education on a painful or disturbing subject (albeit a quick, humorous one).   Who doesn't like that? To use the marvelous Sir Philip Sidney's words, I believe that the gn both "teaches and delights".

Here is a list of some other titles that I devoured, all of which are available at the library:

Tangles by Sarah Leavitt.  Chronicles the author's mother's Alzheimer's.  Whoa.  Too many apostrophes in that sentence.  This book was poignant, funny and riveting.  Leavitt takes difficult subject matter and turns it on its head.

Mom's Cancer by Brian Fies.  What a horrible title for a book! If you can get beyond this, it's worth it, honest.  What all these novelists do well, besides draw, is employ humour.  Cancer is funny!; well, it is in this book.  Here's an excerpt:  "WHAT LUCK! Mom's so chock-full of malignancy, they can tap her like a Vermont Maple and collect buckets of oozing cancer syrup from almost anywhere!" (accompanied by pic of Mom with arms raised like branches and tapped like a Maple tree). Ha!

The Amazing "True" Story of a Teenage Single Mom by Katherine Arnoldi.  My heart ached for this poor girl initially, but I soon found myself awash in admiration for such a strong spirit.  Raising her daughter singlehandedly with little support, she returns to school, improves her circumstances and begins to really live a meaningful life.

Tina's Mouth: An Existential Comic Diary by Keshni Kashyap and illustrated by Mari Araki.  Can a fifteen year old girl's honours English assignment be her path to enlightenment?  Why, yes it can.

I should mention that there are many more titles in the library collection.  I am about to reread Persepolis (critics have compared Tina's Mouth to it) and another book by the same author, Marjane Satrapi (Chicken with Plums).  One of my neighbours stopped by the reference desk yesterday and I was telling her about this blog and she recommended Plums to me.  So I have placed it on hold.  I am also going to read Stitches.  Imagine a fourteen-year old boy awakening from "routine" vocal cord surgery to find that one of his cords was riddled with cancer, subsequently removed and that he has been basically rendered mute.  I thumbed through this yesterday and it appealed to the doctor in me.

If anyone has a recommendation for a gn that they enjoyed, please comment and let me know.

Thanks for reading.