TO BURGUNDY

TO BURGUNDY Thirty minutes from our exit, I turn off into an Autogrill rest stop so that we can all pee and I can feed the girls. I’m not sure what Mary is planning and I figure I can at least get the girls one of the two items they will eat - French fries or pasta - at the rest stop. Nope, this rest stop has neither of those, only steak dinners and ham sandwiches the girls refuse. M.P. refuses to go to the toilet (she toilet trained herself swiftly at age two but now has become fussy and controlling over “I have to pee but I wont!” I am so burnt out that I promise to buy them both a toy from those ridiculous slot machines if they will go to the toilet. We load up on cookies and chips – because that is all that there is and is better than nothing – and hit the road. We turn off the auto route somewhere in Burgundy and wind our way on tiny roads through tiny towns. Not sure you can even call them towns. More like hamlets. A few houses, a post office, no other establishments. I have the name of Mary’s town, La Petite Celle. And that’s it. I’m totally reliant upon the GPS on my phone. Miraculously, we pull up at her house and see her standing in the garden. I feel like we have reached an oasis. BURGUNDY OASIS Until 30 seconds later when her barking dog comes running up to the car. Petite bursts into hysterical tears. She is terrified of dogs since being bit by her ballet teacher’s dog IN ballet class! M.P. adores dogs but is allergic. This one is a puppy and is jumping all over the place. I knew that Mary had recently acquired Gloria and I had told her that Miss Pudding is allergic but suggested that if we are outside of the house and the dog is away from her all will be fine. Not so, since the exhuberant puppy sees my two girls as new playmates and wants nothing more than to start the games. I carry both girls into the garden, one on each hip, sashaying out of Gloria’s way every time she attempts to jump up for a kiss. Mary has laid out a proper lunch in the garden, festively decorated with flowers as centerpieces. Her two girls calmly sit down, say a prayer and then eat. It is impossible to make polite chit chat with a terrified, hysterical six year old in one arm and a dramatically upset four year old in the other. Clearly, my plan for this play date as an oasis from the long drive and the heat is going completed awry. It is sweltering hot and all I can think of is how soon can I politely get the girls back in the car and head to the hotel with a pool? Eventually, Petite calms down and even hops into the kiddie pool with Mary’s two girls. She wis happily playing – a huge development for Petite, who can be painfully shy – but M.P.ias still hysterical. Between the heat and the dog I think she has just had it. She won’t go in the pool, which I know would cool her off. I can’t take her inside because of all of the dog hair. I always tend to feel at fault and now I feel like the incompetent mom and the bad guest. Mary is calmly sitting eating her lunch while I am doing gymnastics running between Petite and M.P., trying to calm them down so that we can at least wait a few minutes before taking off. Mary had graciously invited us to sleep over and luckily I had forseen that the dog hair would be a problem and hadn’t taken her up on her offer. After only 30 minutes, Petite is happily settled in, playing mermaid with the other girls, M.P. is hot, uncomfortable and hysterical. I am still concerned about her asthma. While trying to extricate Petite from her mermaid game and get her out of her swim suit and into some clothes, I hand M.P. my Iphone (the screen has now broken three times and at this point it is wrapped in scotch tape) to watch a movie for a few minutes in the hopes of calming her down. She drops it on the ground (again). I scoop up both girls, make my excuses and stuff them into the car, crying. I flip on the the Ipad (yes I have become an IPAD addict in terms of calming my kids) and they are immediately entranced by “Horton the Who.” I touch my Iphone screen to punch in the address of the hotel we are headed to near Lyon. The screen is blank. The phone won’t turn on. It is kaput. I have no map (because who carries paper maps in this age of electronics?), no other GPS system and no idea where I am going. Or where I am, for that matter. I open my computer and find the address of the hotel we are booked into some 18km from Lyon. I know that I can easily follow signs to Lyon but what then? “OK girls I need to pop back into Mary’s house to get the directions because my phone is broken”. Petite bursts into hysterical protests “No! Don’t leave us!” “OK, so come with me” I offer, dreading the drama of having to carry them both back through the garden, fighting off the jumping dog. Petite, terrified of being more than two feet away from me, insists on coming back into the house with me. I hoist her onto my hip, fighting off the excited puppy on route. M.P. is too entranced in the world of Whoville to notice. So back into the house we go. I ask Mary if I can use her WIFIor computer? I need to find directions to this hotel, which , unfortunately is in the outer outskirts of Lyon. She can’t remember her WIFI password so offers me her computer to look up directions and then TYPE THEM ON to my computer. So here I am, madly typing directions which are becoming increasingly complicated. Flying down the auto route is easy. But apparently once we exit we will be on tiny unmarked roads in the middle of nowhere. With no GPS and no map. Meanwhile M.P. is screaming hysterically from the car. Mary goes out to comfort her. Petite is panicked beyond consolation because of Miss Pudding’s screams and is yelling at me “Go to her, Mama! Go to her!” I MUST get these directions. I can NOT bring both girls in to the house with the jumping dog. It is agonizing to hear my baby screaming for me hysterically. But I also know that I must get these directions because once we hit the road I am screwed. I won’t have internet access or a phone on the rest of this four- hour drive and I need to know where we are going. I finally race back to the car. Miss Pudding is soaked with sweat and her face is covered in tears. I feel like the worst mom in the world. I quietly comfort both girls and explain that I needed to get directions but now we are going to a hotel and Papa will meet us there tomorrow. For the next four hours, pedal to the metal, no driver’s license, no phone, map or GPS, I am totally focused on our destination. Luckily the girls fall asleep and I am left to listen to “Horton Hears a Who” on my own, which is oddly comforting (and a welcome change from weeks of Angelina Ballerina). I feel l pretty confident until three- hours later when we take the exit off the auto route. Computer open and balanced on the passenger seat next to me, I try to focus on the obscure directions. Left at Pont du Nord. I drive around and around the roundabout. No left. No Pont du Nord. Only signs of towns that have no meaning to me. The girls are now awake and asking, “Mama, why are we driving in circles?” I lightly reply, “Just looking for the right road!” I know Hubbie will flying into the Lyon airport so I assume the hotel is near there. I follow the signs towards the airport but once we hit “arrivals and departures,” realize this isn’t the right direction. I systematically try each of the exits off the roundabout, hoping I will eventually reach a town, a gas station or some sign of life where I can ask for directions to the hotel. Finally I stumble upon a deserted gas station with a car wash and a single man washing his car. He is the only person I have seen since our stop at the Autogrill. I stop the car and get out (Petite bursting into hysterics that I am leaving them in the car) and ask him if he can point me towards the town of Jons. (I discover later the “town” consists of a post office and a pizzeria). He points down the road “200 km”. Jackpot! Miraculously we are almost there. CORNFIELDS OF LYON A few minutes later we arrive at the Best Western Jons and I almost cry with relief. My plan is to park and stay here until tomorrow night when Hubbie arrives. I am glad to see there is a restaurant and, though I am more of a deli or picnic girl than a hotel restaurant diner, at this point I just want to plant my kids in the pool and order them room service. The receptionist is expecting us, because Hubbie has been calling to find out if we had yet arrived. She is very nice and offers to make us a dinner reservation in the hotel. Or order pizza. I suggest that pizza is better suited for the kids and our current stress level. Then I hustle the kids into their swimsuits and into the pool. I am amazed at their stamina during what to me has been a very rough couple of days. Once in the pool, they are happy as can be. It is such a joy to see M.P. giggling after a day of heat rash and tears. The receptionist returns to report that, for some reason I can’t understand, the pizza delivery is closed. OK, ANY other options here other than hotel restaurant? I have perused the menu and other than grilled fog legs and shank of lamb, there aren’t a lot of options. Absolutely nothing my kids would remotely touch. She gives me directions to another pizzeria just “down the road”. SEARCHING FOR DINNER Dreading putting the kids back in the car, I am surprised that they are game. We pile in and set off. Following the directions, we drive to Balad. We continue through the tiny town. Nothing. A boulangerie and pharmacie that are closed for the night. No people. Deserted. A car pulls up and people pile out, heading to their apartment. I run up (Petite screaming in protest) and ask them about the restaurant. Never heard of it. And since the town is the size of a postage stamp I have to take their word for it. They go down the street and ask another local if he has any idea. Nope. No restaurants around here. Trying to put a positive spin on this I tell the girls, “OK! Back to the hotel for cookies and chips picnic!” #France #travel #travel with children #motherhood #French food #29vsl #claypix #Burgundy #Lyon #parenting