Traveling Mercies

We are really enjoying this trip. I say that as a preface to saying part of me can't wait to get back home, to see you all and just to be in my own environment. Perhaps this gives me a tiny glimpse into the plight of refugees. We don't know very far ahead where we will stay. When we were traveling from more northern France to more southern France, we ended up about 90 minutes away from where our gut reasoning and address told us we should be. Google couldn't find our destination. It was disconcerting. It was Saturday evening, boondocks France, the sun was setting, places would soon be closing for the weekend, tiny grey towns, bleak in the evening of a late November day, hungry, tired kids in the back seats. The talk in the car soon turned to what to do? Landon, philosophical and unafraid, fully trusting his Dad, matter of fact-ly thought we would just sleep in the car. Oh to have the confident, fearless trust in our Heavenly Father as a child has in their earthly father! Here is where I would ugly sweat if it weren't for Al's steady, good sense. Our Airbnb host responded soon enough to clarify some directions after we changed course and got to his town, so everything worked out fine. But I still cannot field those moments coolly, in the moment. It gives me a taste of the terror of aloneness in a world full of people. No common language, no common acquaintances, no community. Alone, and vulnerable to all sorts of fears. France is the first country we've been in where people as a general rule, don't readily speak English, particularly in the countryside. What must it be like to refugees wherever they are seeking refuge? Ghastly difficult and no mistake. I have all sorts of resources to fall back on if worse comes to worst, so no, I don't really get it, but still the feelings are real and make me cry a bit more on the inside for the precious people out there alone and uprooted.

One day last week Betsy and I made a trip to the grocery store, no one else wanted to go along, they were enjoying the freedom of unhindered outdoor play. Earlier Al had been encouraging me to just go, take Betsy and visit some chateaus without the others. So after we purchased a few necessities at the grocery store, on impulse I set our GPS coordinates for nearby Chambord. I had left the house figuring on only being at the grocery store so I had not bothered to take along the charging cord for my phone/GPS. From an earlier mishap, I am down to only my phone camera (don't ask, he feels bad enough) The chateau was interesting so I took numerous pictures, heedless of the power. Looking back, I am very glad Betsy and I were slightly underwhelmed with the chateau and headed home after a quick tour. That is when I realized power was getting low, but of course I attempted to choose our home location and headed that way. Dusk. Back country France. Power level on red and I had not chosen home... Why, you ask? Well, choosing a pinned location on a tiny IPhone screen can result in a couple miles error. When one cannot understand a word of French, besides 'bonjour' and 'merci', the names of roads and towns is just a jumble. Again ugly sweat [only this time] no tower of strength in Al to lean on. Just me, Betsy and a dying phone. Narrow, one lane roads winding through nameless hamlets. Where was I? I had no bearings to be able to figure it out although I knew we could not be far from 'home'. Businesses close early in France, so my chance of inquiry was dwindling too, but I didn't even know the name of the road we were living on let alone the address, and did I mention that the people often don't readily speak English? By day I am fairly sure I could have retraced my steps to the castle and then the grocery store and then home, but not in the dark! I absolutely must not betray my rising terror, and I think that is what gave Betsy the 'space' to search the map for our home, find it, reset the GPS and as the power trickled away, get us home. Get us home just in time. Just in time to move onto the next item on the agenda, make dinner. Thanksgiving dinner to be exact. Thankful indeed. Thankful that not everyday, every moment contains such apprehension.

There now, aren't you all glad it is not you on this fabulously exciting, once in a lifetime 'holiday' (as everyone over here calls it)? You're welcome! And yes, we did pick a return date, a slight extension of our plans, but we should be back mid-January. Did I mention we are really enjoying this adventure? Absolutely! In the words of Rick Steves, our favorite travel enthusiast, "Until next time, keep on travelin'"

My initial evaluation of southern France had been somewhat negative, possibly colored by uncertainty. That indeed has changed. This countryside is spectacular! Rolling and hilled terrain filled with immaculately dressed orchards and vineyards. Yellow stone houses complete with pinnacled turrets and working shutters in pastel shades of blue, lavendar, and green tucked into the woods and glens. Matching yellow stone outbuildings and barns often in a state of elegant crumble which in the gold of a westering sun evoke an ineffable sadness. If it is this lovely in late Fall when, yes, the towns look almost unkempt in anticipation of the winter ahead -empty flower planters, recently frosted annuals, leafless trees and vines exposing the decaying mess of living- what must it be like in early summer when at the glorious peak of green and growing? Ah, lovely indeed!

Today's experience could have been another killer but amazingly enough, I was at peace.
The children and I headed out to a castle about 25 kilometers from 'home'. I won't gush any more on the beauty of the countryside but it was captivating. I often verbally encourage the kids to soak in the scenes around us as we drive (rather than be crabby and pick on each other in the car) because this is their chance, we won't (foresee-ably) ever be coming back. They are usually quite agreeable about it and today I was certainly glad of it.
We got to the castle and it was closed. We walked around the outside a little and took a few pictures to prove we were there but this was the moment my heart sank. My phone completely locked up and could not be coaxed to life again. Yes I had the charging cord along this time but a lot of good that does when the device won't respond.
Allow me to give you a little history of my phone: this past summer one evening I dropped it and cracked the screen. Al kindly replaced the screen for me which is a tedious job to say the least. A few weeks later, the screen bulged awkwardly and upon investigation Al discovered the battery had ruptured. He replaced it and we were thankful it did that before we left for Europe. But soon it developed a tiny annoying habit of the screen just ever so slightly needing to be 'snapped' back down into place. I have done this almost daily for a few months now. I, being the type that likes to assume that if it doesn't get any worse, it is fine or hey, might even fix itself eventually; blithely ignored the problem with an ever so subtle nag of distrust underlying my assumption it would be there for me.
Well, it failed me. Betsy and I tried every combination of button pushing we could think of, multiple times. There are only 5 buttons on an iphone so we ran out of options pretty quick. Assuming it was completely pretzeled (I don't know if that is a word but we sure miss them, Germany was the first place we found them since the States, so that homemade word popped into my mind) because of the phone's past history, I tossed it into the nearest trashcan and we headed for home, by memory.
Just kidding, just kidding. I did not throw my phone away but we did drive home by remembering turns, landmarks, and the key: the name of the last town we turned at in the final stretch of the road home. I certainly would not have known or recognized it without help. Help that everyone contributed either by pointing out the way to go or by verbal reassurance of recognition that we were headed correctly. You may think that 25 kilometers doesn't sound that bad but for me on these winding narrow roads complete with hairpin curves, roundabouts, and all (few)signs in a foreign language, it can be daunting and screw with ones perspective.

Obviously I am not too swift at writing blog posts so quite a bit of time has passed since I last sat down to write.
Volumes of water have crossed the dam since then with both the smooth flow of the water going over the edge and the resulting crash and roar of it's meeting with the rocks below. I am glad there is more smooth, uninterrupted flowing than rapids and falls in this traveling river. I am not going to elaborate on the personal turbulence further than I have. If you want to know more you shall have to ask me in person. Landon's story certainly was a turbulent time; but again, that has been well covered in preceding posts.
The further developments of that story have been an enormous part of traveling mercies to us. Spanish doctors had ordered further x-rays in 10-12 days which took us into Italy to find a medical facility to do this for us. Before we arrived in Verona, we had apprised our hostess of our situation and need. She was helpful above and beyond what we would have asked for. She was not too optimistic about our success in just walking into a medical facility and finding the help we need, BUT, she is the daughter of a doctor. Actually both her parents are doctors (medical and psychiatric) and she said she knows a thing or two about getting us help. So, with the help of her father's influence, she personally chauffeured us to the hospital, (she was late to pick us up for the appointment, "Hang on and fasten your seatbelts, I am going to drive like an Italian"...were her exact words) obtained VIP parking, interpreted for us, and chattered unreservedly about Italy, her job, family, and traveling the entire time. We came away with a good report on the state of Landon's arm, x-rays on CD, and a handwritten note from the examining doctor to give to the next doctor we need to find in Florence, Italy.
Simply put, we were stunned with the ease with which it was all taken care of; efficiently and thoroughly. Alone, our stress levels would have been excruciating. Airbnb hosts have been helpful and kind, those we actually met anyway. This one was stellar. She even took off work to do this for us. Thank you Margherita from the bottom of our hearts.