On our recent trip to France and Switzerland, I wanted to
have all accommodations and travel logistics in place prior to leaving Alaska.
Traveling with a five year old and seven year old is a far cry from my 1999
European backpacking expedition of
hopping on and off trains with little or no plans and sleeping in dodgy
hostels, park benches and train stations.
Aside from having accommodations in place, I also wanted to book train
tickets in advance. When I booked
tickets, I somehow managed to book first class tickets for two out of three of
our trips. Paris to Angers was first
class, as was Angers to Geneva. The
atmosphere in first class was completely stuffy and quiet—not the best place
for kids who are excited to be on their first train. First class was filled with French
businessmen who gasped and tightened up as we boarded the train as though we
were wearing shirts that read “WE HAVE EBOLA!”
Prior to boarding the train, I pulled my girls aside and had
a talk with them about how we board.
This is what we covered:
- Move quickly and stay close to mom.
- When I point to your seat, sit down and don’t argue about which seat you’d rather be in.
- Don’t ask me immediately for a snack as I’m struggling to remove the backpacks from my back and put them on the luggage shelf.
- Don’t poke your sister.
- Don’t scream “SHE POKED ME!” when your sister pokes you.
- Don’t ask to use the bathroom in a loud voice.
Upon boarding the train, we had an amendment to the rules
adding, don’t talk above a whisper. As
the men stared at me and my children, it became my goal to prove them
wrong. I envisioned them telling me at
the end of the ride, “Your children were perfectly behaved.” This did not happen, but I have to say, my
kids were nearly perfectly behaved, and we managed to get a few smiles. There were only a few times Aurelia spoke
loudly and there was only one squirmish that ended quickly when I threatened to
“turn this train around.” They had no
idea I didn't have any power in turning the train around so they got their act
together quickly.
Our second first class trip was from Angers to Geneva. I had the same talk with them and stressed
the part about being quiet. All was well
except for Lena getting sick, puking in the bathroom, and then coming back to
loudly and proudly announce, “Mom! My
puke was chocolate puke!”
Our third and final trip was, dare I say, second class. The girls did not know about different class tickets–
that is until we sat in second
class. Immediately there was a
difference. The seats and accommodations
were nearly identical to first class, but the atmosphere and people were a far
cry. The biggest difference was that my
children were no longer the only children.
Immediately we were thrust into noisy families complete with whiny kids,
crying babies, and short tempered parents.
Food was smashed all over the seats and floors and our seats were
jostled with kicks and side punches. I
was excited to not have to constantly give my kids the “sssssshhhh” finger, but
my kids were not amused. Lena sat glumly
in her chair staring at her pan au chocolate.
I asked her what was wrong and if she had wanted a plain croissant. She looked up agitated and said, “Mom, I want
to sit somewhere else.” Assuming she
meant she wanted to trade seats with me so she could be forward facing, I
told her all she needed to do was ask politely if we could swap seats. She looked at me like I was an idiot and said
snarkily, “No, I want to move to a different car.” They both went on to ask why this train was
so different from the others. I
explained that before we sat in first class and now we were in second. Aurelia, who had been trying to get comfortable
for a nap looked up at me and said, “That’s why I can’t sleep! I can only sleep in first class!” Well,
well. The same topic was revisited at
dinner that night when Aurelia was growing tired and wanting me to hold her at
the table. I reminded her that if she
had taken a nap on the train, she wouldn't be this tired. She informed me that if I had booked a first
class ticket, she would have napped, so technically this was my fault.
The last night we were in Paris, the girls spotted a sushi
restaurant and asked if we could eat there.
Not wanting to eat sushi my last night in Paris, I told a white lie and
said the sushi in Paris wasn’t as good as the sushi in Juneau and let’s just
wait until we return home. They seemed
okay with this, but Lena did ask the waiter in a very French restaurant if they
had sushi. I am fairly certain there was
spit in Lena’s food.
