Take The Kids With

What Will You Bring Home?

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 18:24:00 +0000

I can hear them in the next room playing guitar - my kids, along with their friends Jake and Evan. Anna is trying to write the music for Evan’s new song “Paper Cuts”. Charlie is trying to choose which harmonica to blow. They are in a spirited discussion now, about a name for their new band. Will it be the Banana Bandanas? The Banana Smurfs? I love this. And believe it or not, this is a result of traveling.

Follow me here…..I have brought lots of souvenirs back from our travels and realized along the way that it’s not the things that have made my life richer, but the ideas.

On dozens of hopping Saturday nights in Belize, over the past nine years, I have performed with area bands. There is nothing in the world quite like the feeling I get while belting out “Me and Bobby McGee” on the beach – with a band. I watch the honeymooners dance, all snuggled up together. The singles and old-marrieds sway in their chairs with their drinks held aloft. Some croon along softly, smiling. Others are surfing on a memory and sing full throttle, their heads thrown back, their eyes closed.

And on Sunday afternoons in Belize, local musicians meet at a certain beachfront bar and hold a jam session. They work on songs that are not ready for primetime, and case the crowd for anyone who might want to sit in. Often they have to cobble a band together in order to play at all, asking over the open mic if anyone can play bass or drums, or knows all the words to “Hotel California”. The musicians, the regulars, the newcomers, everyone has fun, because it is impossible to have a bad time when you are singing.

I have brought this concept back home, and a couple of Sundays a month we host a “Sunday Sundown Jam Session” in my dining room. Now the crux of this gathering is the talent and willingness of my two actual musician friends, Joe Tougas and Ann Fee. But thankfully they happily attend, and even bring food. Everyone is invited to bring their whole family and something to strum, pluck, shake, blow or bang on. It is impossible not to have fun, especially when the babies dance.

When I meet someone new and they seem receptive, I ask if they play an instrument, or sing, and if they would be interested in bringing their family to a jam session. Most people are shy about it, or downplay their talent. But when they show up on a Sunday afternoon; when they plug in their guitar, or grab the microphone, shake the tambourine or bang on a bongo, they get that look in their eyes. The same look that I must have when there is a guitar strap on my back, a microphone at my lips, and sand between my toes.

And now as I listen to my kids with their friends, playing something that doesn’t involve shooting or exploding, death or injury, I am sure that this is one of the very best things I have ever brought home.

Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 18:21:00 +0000

http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan

Last year at this time I was in Japan. This year I am sorting socks, school shopping, and taking kids to dental appts. Last year was better.

Here is a link to all the photos from the trip and some that I've posted since.

And Now It's Your Turn

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 14:10:00 +0000

WomenInc. Magazine Presents: Travel With Jules

8 Day Belizean -Style Leisure and Adventure Package Hosted by Travel and Adventure Writer Jules Nolan

If you’ve ever read my column you understand that I have an almost pathological love of travel, of moving on, of finding the next place. I have visited more than 23 countries and schlepped my family across 5 continents. Last October, after 180 consecutive days on the road, my weary family landed at the Minneapolis airport. As we were blearily shuffling our way to baggage claim, my son was talking about how good it was to be going home. “Can you imagine how great it will be to sleep in our own beds tonight?” Eldest son remarked.

“Yea, and to stay home awhile. I don’t think I will leave the house for a month” Middle son replied.

“I want to see my friends tomorrow – but I’ll invite them to come and see me at MY house.” Youngest daughter said.

I however, was completely distracted by the airline departure signs, announcing the destinations for which these lucky crowds were bound. “Oh wow” I thought. “Those people are going to Hawaii. That might be a fun….”

“JULES!” My husband shouted as I started to wander off in the direction of the departure gate. “Where are you going?”

So you get the picture. I like to keep moving.

However, there is one place in the world that keeps pulling me back, despite my wanderlust, despite the fact that I am always off in a new direction, in search of a new destination. That place is the island of Ambergis Caye, Belize. In January I am inviting you to come with me and love it as much as I do.

Belize is just 4 flight hours from Minneapolis. You leave at 6 in the morning from the frigid temperatures, the ice covered vehicles, the drift covered driveways of Minnesota. By 3pm that afternoon you have your bare feet in the sand and a rum punch in your hand. You watch the setting sun with bare shoulders, the moist, salty air kissing your face and curling your hair. The scent of Belizean spice wafts up from the beach front barbecues as you stroll the beach in search of dinner. Will it be casual, barefoot dining or elegant waterfront views this evening? The choice is yours.

You wake up the first morning as the bright Central American sun peeks into your hotel window, as if to say “C’mon, lets go, it’s time to fall in love with Belize.” The small, locally owned hotel looks like a plantation house nestled into the palm trees right on the beach.. It is quaint and charming with a lovely pool, a fun little tiki bar and a welcoming staff. It is not the Four Seasons or some behemoth all-inclusive. It is close to the culture, close to ocean, and close to town.

Breakfast of succulent fruit, is served along with warm cinnamon bread from the local bakery. Or maybe today it will be homemade Johnny Cake or Belizean-style fry bread with your coffee and juice. While finishing your Belizean coffee you stroll the 100 yards to the waters edge and think about the beautiful view of the living reef that you witnessed from above when you arrived yesterday. You think about the small plane that brought you here from the mainland and the hundreds of miles of barrier reef that stretched out before you. You saw these same turquoise waters fading into cobalt blue, the mint green shallows that broke into waves of foamy white as the ocean met the reef. 15 minutes of flying above the second largest barrier reef in the world was a thrill, but not nearly as great a thrill as it will be to see it up close later that day.

The gentle, welcoming, local people interrupt your thoughts with a greeting, “g’mahrning” or “Buenos dias” and a warm smile as they pass by on their way to work. The young girls in their blinding white shirts and navy blue pinafores travel in giggling clumps along the beach on their way to school. And the boys follow slightly behind in their freshly pressed white shirts and navy pants jostling each other with shoulders and elbows and calling to the girls ahead.

Back at the hotel and it’s time to decide. What will you do today? Are you up for a visit to the jungles of Belize to see the leaf-cutter ants, listen to the howler monkeys and catch a glimpse of the coatimundi, a toucan or a macaw? Will you take photos of yourself in front of the Mayan Temples of Altun Ha? Perhaps on your visit to Maruba Jungle Spa you will have a mood mud massage with the purifying muds of the region.

Or maybe today is the day that you sail the aqua blue waters of Belize. Maybe you will snorkel along the living coral reef and catch a glimpse of electric blue tangs, lemon yellow snapper, and pale green moray eels. Will you be brave enough to jump in the water with the swarming nurse sharks and stingrays at “Shark-Ray Alley’? Will you pet a shark? Feed a ray? Or will you stay in the sun and watch all the fun from topside?

And later, back at the hotel will you laze in a hammock and dive into that book that you’ve been dying to read? Or will you hop on a bike or golf cart and explore this tiny island on your own?

After a scrumptious dinner of fresh seafood that night, will you drift off to sleep in your oceanfront room or are you up for a night of music and dancing? You will see the provocative local dance called the “punta”, are you willing to join in and learn it for yourself?

Eight days of adventure, relaxation, or a mixture of both is what awaits you on this trip. You will be my guest, meet my local friends and explore the magic that has drawn me back more than 2 dozen times over the past 7 years. You will fall in love with this place and you will return.

Belizean Style Leisure and Adventure Package with Host Jules Nolan Includes:

Pre-departure Informational Happy Hour at the new Red Sky Lounge, Mankato

7 nights at Tides Beachfront Hotel

Welcome Rum Punch or Fruit Drink

Sail and Snorkel on the Reef and Shark-Ray Alley

Altun Ha Mayan Ruins with Maruba Jungle Spa Trip

Beach Barbeque with my friend local fishing guide and Chef Tony

Coral Reef education with my friend and local ecologist, Billy Leslie

Air transfer from Belize City to San Pedro and Return

Taxi transfers and excursion transfers

Continental Breakfast Daily

Taxes

US $930 per person double for WomenInc. subscribers

US $980 per person double for nonsubscribers

*Trip does not include international airfare

Call me at (507) 382-5404 or email jules@julesnolan.com for more information or to secure your reservation today. Availability is limited. Don’t miss this adventure!

WomenInc Covergirl

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 18:31:00 +0000

WomenInc used my photo as the cover shot for the June issue. It's terribly embarrassing and a nice compliment all at once.

http://www.women-inc.com/ has the cover shot and you can read the story at http://www.julesnolan.com/ The story is called "Bouncing Back From Fear"

Also, I will be hosting a trip to Belize for WomenInc readers and friends! We will be going for 7 days January 16-22 and will be learning about the rich culture, magnificent natural environment and warm, welcoming people of Belize.

We will be doing some sailing, snorkeling, touring Mayan Ruins, jungle-spa-ing, and beach bbq-ing. With all of the great friends I have made in Belize over the years, this promises to be a very special trip. Please let me know if you are interested in joining us. Since we are staying at a small, independently owned hotel, availability will be limited.

Laying that Big Spike Down

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 17:26:00 +0000

Wow it's been awhile since I wrote - and so much has changed!

First I became a scooter mama. My favorite new past time is scootin' around the town. It makes me feel like I can fly. Also helps me deal with "pump anxiety" as I've put 200 miles on this bike and spent less than $10 in gasoline. I bought a "Buddy" from the Genuine Scooter Company through a local Yamaha dealer called Star Cycle http://www.starrcycleyamaha.com/. It is sweet.

http://www.genuinescooters.com/

My friend Beth says "riding a scooter is like giving the earth a hug"

Also, I am back in school. I started classes this summer in a new doctoral program in School Psychology. I will be an old, grey lady when I finish (5 years) but I would be an old grey lady anyway wouldn't I?

I scored a graduate assistantship through the Department of Institutional Diversity at MSU-M and am working in the Writing and English Language Lab, tutoring writing. It is a blast and the students are very cool. Lots of countries represented in one room. The next best thing to being there myself!

The kids are out of school for the summer and are already busy with activities. Charlie is doing The Hobbitt through community theater, Anna took off for Florida to visit Grandparents, and Jack is working at Scheels in Mankato building bikes.

Mike is doing some business consulting and continues to look for the next big gig.

Laws of Life

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 17:48:00 +0000

Brilliant daughter Anna, was one of the winners of an essay contest called "Laws of Life". It is sponsored by the Dollars for Scholars organization for 7-12 grade students attending Mankato Schools. Anna's story is about a young girl who has inspired her. Her name is Emily Brose.

Here is the award winning essay and a couple of photos of Anna receiving her award.

Inspired by a Friendship

By Anna Nolan

When we think of someone that we admire we think of someone who is great, famous, or who has changed the life of thousands. When I think of someone I admire, I think a little closer to home. The person that I admire is strong, both of mind, and spirit, she is brave and selfless. Also, she is compassionate and she is a great friend. She is also different; different because she has Down syndrome. I have learned so much from her and I think that she is one of the greatest people I know.

Down syndrome is a genetic disorder. It is caused by the presence of all or part of an extra 21st chromosome. It is a form of mental retardation. People with Down syndrome usually have a distinct physical appearance. They also might not be able to talk. Despite all of this she is still absolutely amazing. I knew all of this from the moment I met her.

Before I met her I had not really ever spent time with a person who has a disability. I admit that before I met her, I became very nervous. My hands were sweaty, and I was extremely uncomfortable. When she came out, she said hello to me, normal as anything, and I said hello back. One of the first things I noticed was that she has an amazing personality. After that, I realized that just because she has Down syndrome, does not mean that I should not get to know her. This was the first of many things that she has taught me.

Afterwards, we started to hang out more, and this is when I learned many new things. For example, I learned to always get to know someone before you make false assumptions. Also, I learned to always persevere and not to give up. One of the most important things I have learned is that everyone has challenges in their life, some have more than others, so you should not give up no matter how hard it becomes. She is thoughtful and kind and she has a great spirit.

Being her friend is an honor. I would like to learn more from her. For now though, she has taught me some things that I am sure I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Yes, she is different, but that does not make me not want to be her friend. I think that if we all had the same outlook on life that she has, the world would be a better place, for everyone.

It's Here

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 17:28:00 +0000

Spring is an interesting time of year. I remember when I was young girl, the calves on our farm would get themselves into a lot of trouble in spring. They would bash each other a good deal and get tangled up in places they didn’t belong. They bubbled with energy and their wobbly legs didn’t move in the ways they intended. They stumbled around a lot.

Teenage families are a lot like that. Spring brings out mischief and uncertainty and bashings. Teenagers, more than any other "agers", feel that intense craving for movement. They are using limbs, which have grown unweildy over the winter, in ways they haven’t in awhile. Lots of things get broken in the spring including windows and furniture and bones. Sometimes hearts too, but that's another blog entry altogether.

Teens are also feeling overwhelmed with deadlines at this time of the year. Most of their big projects are coming due next month. They are crabby.

Our house needs to be held upside down and shaken. It needs a spring cleaning of biblical proportions. It needs a hosing off and a blowing dry like never before. And lots of stuff needs fixing. We are crabby too.

I’m going to go sit out in the sunshine on the deck and ignore the mess a little longer. It will be there when I get back.

What's Next?

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 19:09:00 +0000

We have been home now for exactly as much time as we were away. I miss it desperately. I miss having something new to learn every day. I miss the hustle of moving my family across the planet. I miss meeting new people.

Earlier this week Anna came into my room. She was sad. She said she misses it too, misses the adventure and excitement, but mostly misses the closeness of our family crammed into some hotel room or airplane. She said that now everything is back to normal and it makes her lonely.

Everyone is filling their days and nights with friends and projects and work, and we don't focus so much on each other. She said she hates how fast the time is going and can't believe that Jack will be graduating from high school and leaving this time next year.

I couldn't agree more

Lessons We Learned

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 17:22:00 +0000

The local paper did a story about our trip around the world. Cathy Bernardy Jones, a local freelance reporter, came to our home and interviewed us for 4 hours. It was fabulous fun for us, and completely exhausting for her. She did a great job with the story though, and the paper published this cool photo college that Mike made

But the big payback for me was a quote from Anna that was published in a sidebar titled "Tips". "What I learned from this trip is how big the world is. That my life is so much more than just Mankato, MN, that it can be whatever I want it to be."

Talk about your return on investments. Having her learn that lesson sealed it. This trip was the best thing we could have done for our family.

www.nolanonline.com/nolantrip.pdf

New Latitude.....Same Attitude

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 16:23:00 +0000

As a four year old I had no words for it, but I knew that something big was happening. It was a hot summer evening and I felt weird – some odd combo platter of emotion…dread…excitement…fear? I couldn’t tell. But I knew that my six brothers and sisters were thrilled, and that my mom, though she was smiling, was feeling something else, something much more sinister.

Around 6pm my dad burst through the door with a puffed up chest and a mischievous smile. “Pack up the kids Doris” he bellowed, “We’re going on vacation.” It was a Friday in late August, commission check time for feed salesman in small town Southern Minnesota, and it had been a good week. My brothers and sisters were jumping and hollering. “Whoo Hoo! Vacation! I get Mom’s lap.” “Hugh-ungh you got it last time.” My mother got this odd look on her face – something between fear and homicidal mania.

You see vacation to our family was not some rustic, cozy cabin in the north woods on a lake – or even roughing in a tent with a camp stove. Our vacation home was an old abandoned farmhouse in the middle of a cricket-infested field in southern Minnesota. It had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, no bedding, no dishes – and my mother was to pack up seven children, supplies, equipment, and food at 6 pm on a Friday night so that we could arrive before dark. How she went 55 years without smothering that man in his sleep I will never understand.

Packing the car was an exercise in advanced geometry and triangulation. Nine people, food, sheets, towels, supplies, and Poncho – the nervous, incontinent, motion sick terrier were all to fit into the midnight-blue Buick Roadmaster. We were lap-sitters, the lot of us, four in the front and five in the back. As the baby of the family, I got to ride in back window of the sedan along with Poncho, and it was my job to yell “CAR” whenever I saw one approaching or trying to pass.

What would turn out to be our very last visit to the abandoned shack began just as all the others had, with frenzy and excitement and undeniable dread. And now it was nighttime – dark as pitch. I was curled up with my sister on an army surplus cot built for one. We were a tangle of clammy arms and legs, sweaty brows and musty old blankets, waging a sleep-war for the only pillow. It was a hushed symphony of cricket chirps and sleep murmurs. Then everything changed.

At first I could only hear the huffing. This was not the rhythmic familiarity of my dad’s snoring. No, whatever was breathing like that was definitely not human and it smelled horribly of musk and mold and decay. Satan’s perfume. I heard my mother’s voice.

“Ellis” she whisper-screamed “there is a BEAR in here!”
“Just go back to sleep. It’ll leave” my dad replied.
“GET IT OUT OF HERE!” She was no longer whispering.
“How in hell am I supposed to do that? I don’t have a gun.” He said.
“WELL THEN CHASE IT OUT!”
“You want me to chase a bear?”
“I WANT YOU TO CHASE A BEAR!”

Muttering curses like Yosemite Sam, my dad hurled himself out of the bed and made all the noise a 5 foot 4 inch, 145 lb man could make. He shouted and flailed and banged on whatever was near him, completely blind in the darkness. My nine year-old brother Jimmy took an inadvertent cuff to the ear and howled out in pain. This started a chain reaction of screaming and falling to the floor from seven children and a very small, very frightened terrier.

The commotion died down when Mom lit the gas lantern and we looked around the cabin. No bear, no boogeyman, just that unholy, lingering odor.
The door was standing wide open and we held our breath as Dad bravely advanced on the door, and beyond it, the wild, ferocious animal that had nearly massacred his family.

There at the bottom of the steps sat a very confused, very hairy golden retriever, panting and huffing with his head tilted a little to one side. “Well there’s you bear Doris, there’s your god damned bear.” My father shook his head, quenched the light, and went back to sleep.

Fast forward 35 or so years and I am in a lovely hotel with my husband and three kids. We have a pool, a beach, a kitchen and air conditioning. “C’mon you guys, this will be an adventure.” I coaxed. I had met a man named Christian who was building a resort on one of the undeveloped outer cayes in Belize. His resort wasn’t open for guests yet, but would be very soon. He was looking for someone to market the resort in the US, and I, being a travel agent who was already marketing a hotel on another caye, I was a natural choice. He offered free accommodations for the weekend.

We packed a boat with provisions and took the two hour ride to Long Caye Resort. As we docked the boat and unloaded, I noticed that my husband had this strange look on his face. He didn’t seem nearly as excited for this adventure as I was. “Jeez” I thought. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

The cloud of mosquitoes descended on us almost immediately. I’d never seen anything like it. They were as thick as fog, buzzing and biting like the frenzied vampires they are. At once they were in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth and ears. Choking and swatting, we jumped into the ocean to escape.

“Careful of the stinging jellyfish ma’am.” Christian, our host announced. “They’re everywhere.” We snatched the kids out of the water and put on long sleeves and pants, hats and bandanas. Trouble is, it was about 106º and humid. Everyone was miserable, sweating and itching like crazy. “Quick – inside the hotel” I offered.

Christian showed us to our rooms – a 10x10 box with no cross ventilation, no screens on the only window and gaping holes in the unfinished roof. It did have a ceiling fan, and I was hoping that after the sun set the mosquitoes would abate and the breeze of the fan would keep us cool.

“You have electricity right?” My husband accused.
“Yes, of course.” Replied Christian.

And he did. Except, he forgot to mention that the generator was turned off every night around 10 pm - turning the 10x10 hot box of a room into a sweltering, buggy oven. We passed that hideous night taking turns trying to cool off in the shower down the hall – fully clothed.

The next morning we were up and out of there before our host was even awake. I was appropriately contrite about my mis-adventure. However, on the way back I asked my husband if we could stop at another island just a little further south. I had heard about a resort that some American had built and then abandoned. Apparently he had been in trouble with the law and had to flee country. “We should stop and take a look.” I said. “I guess it’s brand new and just sitting there empty for anyone to use. We could stay the night. It would be an adventure!” He just looked down and shook his head.

How that man has gone 22 years without smothering me in my sleep I will never understand.

Photos of Kids in Paris

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 17:16:00 +0000

To see photos of where it all began - taking the kids with - click here

http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan/Paris2003

To read essays from my other travel adventures click here

http://www.traveljules.com/

Paris 2003 As The Taking With Begins

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 16:24:00 +0000

“WOW! You’re an amazing woman!” he blurted. His eyes flashed with admiration as a giant smile washed across his face. Realizing what he’d just said, how he’d just proclaimed his private feelings, he shyly dropped his chin and glanced down. I have never heard more enchanting words. Sure we were holed up in some dimly lit café in Paris, the epicenter for passionate outbursts. But the fact was this was not some dashing young suitor. This was my 13 year old son, thoroughly impressed with my ability to get him a coke and a hamburger in my halting college French.

Two years ago I took our sons, 10 and 13, to Paris over their Thanksgiving break. Those who didn’t think I was crazy surely thought I was stupid. I admit I have an uncommon love for Paris and all things French, and I probably painted a slightly biased picture in their imaginations (hot coco and chocolate filled croissants for breakfast!). But truly, Paris is a wonderful travel destination for children. The secrets? Stay close to a metro stop. Keep museum visits short – less than an hour. Never get too hungry or too tired. Forget shopping – except in the toy stores which are delightful. Keep it fun and active.

At first a sunset cruise on the Seine, directly upon our arrival seemed like a horrible idea. Two jet-lagged boys on a guided tour sounded like a recipe for disaster. As it turned out we were practically the only people on the boat that chilly November evening, and my boys were so tired they were incapable of round 27 of “He’s Touching Me – I’m Not Touching Him”. As the sun set, the twinkling lights of the Eiffel tower reflected in their eyes. They were awed by the sights, the sounds, the thrill of this new city.

The next day at the Louvre my boys displayed an astonishing amount of art appreciation. The secret here was telling them the dollar value of the art they are meant to appreciate. I didn’t know it myself of course, but gave them fantastically inflated numbers that made their eyes grow big and round. Plus, somehow they got the impression that if the even seemed to be considering touching the art, before their fingertips could brush the canvas, they would be shot by guards who dressed as tiny old French ladies in big coats. These women were everywhere in the museums, always alone, and staring at young children with menacing glares (Think Granny from the Bugs Bunny cartoons with an enormous hound’s-tooth check overcoats and maybe…… just maybe, an M16 hidden in the folds). They didn’t believe me of course, but when they saw how well-behaved and fearful the French children looked in their tidy little uniforms and precise straight lines, they did wonder.

We saw all the greats, Mona Lisa, Water Lilies, Winged Victory; but we never spent more than 30 minutes in any museum or between snacks. It worked wonderfully. In fact, due to the untold hours that each had spent playing some computer game called Age of Mythology, they recognized the Greek and Roman God sculptures much better than I. Don’t think I didn’t revel in the admiring glances from other parents as my young boys, in their turtle necks and corduroys said “Mom, look! It’s Aphrodite and Eros!” Ah yes, the value of a classic education!

The food was incredible and not terribly expensive. My boys squeamishly tasted pate, fois gras, and escargot. They hated it of course, but now take pride in telling people that they ate liver and snails in Paris – just like fear factor! We usually ate from street vendors and bakeries at impromptu outdoor picnics, keeping restaurant visits to a minimum. Their favorite activity was our self-guided hot chocolate tour of Paris. They kept a journal, and rated the delicious concoctions at each café. The very best, at Café Flore en I’lle, was served in 2 separate steaming pitchers, one of milk and one of liquid chocolate. It was the distinct winner, and my boys were consumed with creating the perfect mixture. I got to rest my feet and enjoy views of Notre Dame from our cozy table by the window, my sons on either side of me with matching chocolate mustaches.

Best of all though, is that when I embarrassed myself, as I do in every place I visit, my children were spared the humiliation since they didn’t understand the language. We were visiting a glorious little chapel called St. Chapelle. While inside, I set down my guidebook and camera to tie my son’s shoe, and accidentally walked out without them. Just as we were leaving, I realized my mistake, but the doors had been locked behind us and I couldn’t go back inside. I wandered around searching for security when I came upon a small cluster of young policemen. I asked them in French “Please, can you help me?” Then realized I didn’t know how to say that I had “left” my things inside. So what came out was “I have a book and a camera inside, can you help me?” (Complete with my most charming smile).

Well, I thought it was odd that the policemen all smiled sheepishly, hands in pockets, and looked at their shoes. They shot sideways glances at one another, and seemed embarrassed, on the verge of laughter. Again I pleaded “I have a book and a camera in there. Can you help me please? It is closed and no one is inside.” (Again the smile).

Finally, after much gesturing, I got one of the men to understand me and he kindly helped me retrieve my things. We left without further incident.

As I was falling asleep that night I was trying to understand my failure with the language. Then it dawned on me. The French word for book is “livre”. I had been saying “lit” which means BED! I had been begging these men “Please, come with me inside; no one is there. I have a BED and a camera; come with me now! No one is around.”

Don’t get me wrong here. It wasn’t a week full of meaningful moments filled with famous, awe-inspiring artwork while the sparkling lights of Paris reflected in my son’s eyes. There were plenty of excruciating rounds of “I Know You Are – But What Am I” “I Did Not – You Did Too” and the perennial favorite “Nolan Children Family Smack Down”. The point is that with humor, a sense of adventure, and lots of activity we had an unforgettable time together.

And not that I’m counting, but twice……TWICE they told me they thought I was amazing.

Or....Perhaps Go Alone

noreply@blogger.com (Jules Nolan) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 17:32:00 +0000

Just three months after returning home from my “around the world” trip and it happens again… itchy feet, restlessness, agitation. I’ve got another case of wanderlusties and I need get on a plane. Luckily my friend Adrienne emailed with a plan. “Five women, a beach in Mexico, four nights, exceedingly affordable. Who’s with me?” She wrote.

I didn't know these women (aside from Adrienne) and since I would be meeting them in Mexico, I would do the traveling alone. Perfect. I love to travel alone. It allows me to indulge my favorite guilty pleasure, people-watching. Sometimes this is the most entertaining part of a trip. Once, at an afternoon Jimmy Buffett concert in Wrigley Field I got separated from my friends. Rather than trying to sift through the partying parrotheads*, I sat in the bleachers and watched the shenanigans unfold.

I got to see “Wow This Beer Stuff Tastes GREAT” guy, muster enough liquid courage to dance with “Third Prettiest In The Group” girl. “Jumping’ Waving” couple were having a blast together, but seemed unable to synchronize the sipping of their beverages and were rapidly becoming “Soaking Jumping Waving” couple. My favorite was “Happy Dancing Alone” dude. He was a young, smiley guy who danced his way around the entire stadium walkway a dozen or more times. He nodded greetings to anyone who made eye contact, and toasted every glass he could reach without breaking the song’s rhythm. And every woman who crossed his path was gently twirled, winked at, and bid adieu with a bow or a two fingered salute. That dude knew how to travel alone.

My husband deposited me at the Minneapolis airport that -15o January morning and lovingly bid me farewell with “You suck, have fun.” I felt washed with a familiar, heady excitement. It reminded me of a time nearly three decades ago, when clutching a temporary driver’s license in my 16 year old hands; I went out for a drive. Alone.

I was the first to arrive at the hotel, and as the room wasn’t quite ready, I had to wait. So I flounced off to the restaurant for lunch. I couldn’t have been happier sitting in that beachside café eating fish tacos and drinking a cold beer - alone. The waiter spent a good deal of time talking with me. Maybe he felt sorry for me having to dine alone. Silly boy.

After lunch I holed up on a beach chair, still dressed in my warm “from up north” clothes and watched the waves roll into shore - alone. I saw “Annoyed Underbreath Mumbler” husband applying sun block to “You’re Not Doing It Right” wife’s back. Just a few chairs down were “Starry-eyed Honeymoon” couple. She was lying back in her lounge chair, eyes closed, sporting a white bikini, a beautiful tan and a blissful smile. He was smiling too until he spotted “You’re Not Doing It Right” wife, and then wordlessly began to glance from her to his new bride with something between fear and realization on his face.

Adrienne arrived with the others and we all set about the business of getting to know each other. Now I have been married to “Center Stage” man for 20 years, and am very comfortable getting to know new people through him. He generally initiates the telling of our funny stories and is mostly responsible for creating the first impression. He is a charming guy and people generally love him, but it I liked creating a different first impression - alone.

The long weekend turned out to be an exercise in sunning, lounging, eating and drinking. I enjoyed getting to know new people, but also myself in some small ways. We had political discussions I wouldn’t normally have and I heard myself expressing opinions I hadn’t voiced before. We enjoyed funny conversations which gave me the opportunity to tell stories and use witty lines my husband has heard dozens of times. But with this fresh audience, I got the laughs I hadn’t heard in awhile.

In addition, I got to be an observer as much as I wanted. One morning, I witnessed "Drunky McLushenstein Experiences Hangover Regret” kid (young construction dude from Chicago) trying to recall the interaction he apparently had with “Early Rising Trolling Cougar” (much older VERY romantically interested woman). He shuffled by my lounge chair, wearing swimsuit and dark sunglasses, head hanging and feeling so ill that he couldn’t even manage to lift his heals. He was emitting a low moan and I could smell the mixture of Coppertone and stale beer from 10 paces. She was in the pool shouting his name and waving frantically. “Jim, Jim, JIM! It’s ME, OVER HERE!” He looked toward her, whispered under his breath “Awww #%&!” (very naughty word). He sighed deeply, turned and crept over to the pool to try to sort out what he’d done the night before and face the music.

And also, as much as I wanted, I was alone; exploring the grounds, walking the beach, coming and going as I pleased without having to check with any one else’s schedule.

This experience got me thinking. Are there other women like me somewhere? Women who, from time to time would like to travel with the safety and companionship of a group, but also with the option to be alone? I’m not talking about a woman’s retreat, a therapy or enrichment group or some team building experience, but rather just a group of women who like to travel together – alone.

If this sounds like you or someone you know, drop me a line at jules@julesnolan.com

Who’s with me?

*Parrotheads are fervent Jimmy Buffett fans who go to concerts wearing beachy costumes like coconut bras, grass skirts, and any manner of silly head dress. They tailgate the event, are likely drink too much, and dance like no one is watching. I have never been a parrothead….and I will never do it AGAIN!

Eden Campus

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Sun, 03 Feb 2008 05:08:00 +0000

Eden Campus is successfully running a Certificate in Marketing under the auspices of Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University; however, from 2008 Eden is entering into a partnership with Junior Achievement and will run their entrepreneurial certificate course.

In their Foundation Year, using curriculum from Junior Achievement South Africa, the 2008 intake of students will be taught the fundamentals of entrepreneurial community enterprise business through the Enterprise Dynamics and the Mini Enterprise Courses. Numerous add on modules that will teach specific elements of business will also be taught, including: Banks in Action, Job Shadow Internships, International Marketplace, Success Skills and the economic impact of the HIV/AIDS Pandemic. At the end of the Junior Achievement programme, students will be required to sit The Cambridge Examination, an internationally recognised entrepreneurial qualification underwritten by Cambridge University.

Home Again - No Jig

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 20:42:00 +0000

It’s over. It’s really over. It has been nearly a month since I arrived back in the hamlet of Mankato, Minnesota. Don’t ask me why it has taken me so long to update the website. It has something to do with not wanting to admit that I’m home. But admitting it is the first step to recovery right? So…..I’m home.

Transitioning back in to school went smoothly - mostly. There were a few tearful nights when eighth grade math seemed an insurmountable challenge; when the tantrums and wailing, and the stomping around got to be very unpleasant. But my kids told me to I needed to snap out of it, and that if I just stopped the crying and complaining, did the reading and applied myself I would again be able to help with homework….just like before…..which is to say, not very well.

Mike was home for only one week and then had to jet off to Melbourne for the month of November to finish his MBA. I know that he is stressed and truly hard at work. But it is hard for me too. Hard not to dress up in his tie and jacket, look in the mirror and talk to my reflection, my voice a high, squeaky, sniveling-mockery. “Oooooohh, look at meeee! My name is Mike Nolan and I an in Melbourne… in the spring… going to dinners…and concerts…and parties…I don’t have to do eighth grade math.”

It has been fun to catch up with friends. I am astounded at the number of people who followed my blog and seemed to enjoy it. Thank you everyone who read it, enjoyed it, and commented. It inspired me.

I have many more stories to tell. Some were too “blue” for the blog – my kid’s teachers read it for goodness sake. Some are about the people we met on our journey, some are a little embarassing for us or others, and some are bourne out of not knowing enough about the history or customs of a place. I need to do some more research before I tell these stories. But they'll all be in the book - whose working title is "Big Family on a Small Planet"

I am going to continue to post as I believe that so much of the learning that travel stimulates, occurs after you return home. So keep on checking, and comment when you can.

I have to go brine a turkey, chop some onions, do some laundry and clean all of the bathrooms in this house. I wonder what Mike is doing…..

Lovin' Dublin

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 04:30:00 +0000

I was prepared to love Ireland - just not how thoroughly I would love Ireland. First the people are wonderful. The women are warm, welcoming, lovely. And Irish men (grrrrroooowwwwllll) are the cutest, most charming loveliest on the planet (and as of late, I’ve visited LOTS of the planet.)

Of course, you have to consider that I am married to an Irishman, so I might possess that recessive gene that is susceptible to their charms.

Secondly, we have recently come from Germany, and although it was beautiful, we didn’t have many episodes of the clever, the witty, and the funny. And let’s face it. I’m unabashedly a sucker for the funny.

So when our taxi driver in Dublin took us on an impromptu tour of the city, offered his best recommendations for dining, shopping and drinking; he charmed my socks off.

The best moment was when Mike asked “Could we walk this way to get to a descent pub?” Our witty, green-eyed, black haired, Irish cab driver answered.

“Yah…..a course. Yer could walk down that way, but yell die a turst”.

That became the battle cry of the rest of the trip “I’m dying a turst over here”.

In short, we stayed in Dublin for 5 nights. We went to several Irish Pubs. We sang and played with the band.

We took the train to a costal city called Bray and hiked the 7 km to Grey Stones. The scenery was lovely, picturesque, and not at all what I expected so close to Dublin.

We ate at a restaurant in Grey Stones, recommended by a woman we met on the street. Her name is Bernedette and she is the mother of Johnathan – the young man who won the trophy (from pictures in the last entry).

Beautiful Italian food (yep, right here in Ireland). Beautiful people. Beautiful service.

We took a bus tour of the city of Dublin which was hilarious thanks to the Irish wit of the driver. He told us the the residents from North Dublin are considered a little "rough around the edges" when compared to the sophisticated folks from South Dublin. He said that a girl from South Dublin would never date a boy from North Dublin - "Except to ge her handbag back"

We visited the Guinness factory and the Jameson Distillery, and my friend Ado and I were chosen for the taste testing. Not a huge fan of whisky or scotch, I summoned my courage to participate. Turns out I prefer an Irish variety called Paddys. And so does the homeless man perched on the curb just outside the distillery.

I got to sing in a pub with a wonderful Irish trio. Mike got to play harmonica. We both got to embrace the concept that between us we don’t have enough musical talent to fill a thimble when compare to the musicians who showed up later. Violinists, guitarists, drummers and accordion players just walk around the city toting their instruments and looking for a jam session. The jam session that ensued was ridiculously good. Humbled, we went home.

We visited Dublinea, the underground museum-esque facility that re-created the history of Dublin, complete with the sights, sound, and smells of the 1200-1600’s.
I loved it. Every minute. Charlie said, upon landing in Dublin, “This is it mom, these are my people.”

“Mine too baby…mine too”

New Friends From Ireland

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 19:48:00 +0000

Here are some friends we made in Grey Stones, Ireland

This young man won a trophy for his hard work and dedication in learning Gaelic

This is Valentin. He was our waiter at the little Italian restaurant we visited in Grey Stones. The food was delicious and the waitstaff outstanding!

And the cook from same restaurant

And this was the bride who for some reason was in her wedding dress in baggage claim at the Dublin Airport. Poor dear.

Prague

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 13:02:00 +0000

Despite our best intentions to absorb all of the culture, history and art of a destination, our trip has sometimes devolved into a tour of the world’s ice cream. This is not a bad thing. When I took Jack and Charlie to Paris several years ago, we did a self designed “hot chocolate tour” of the city of lights. (The best is at Café’ Flore En Ille across from Notre Dame Cathedral). I think it gave them an appreciation for the culinary delights of Paris. Even for 9 and 12 year olds.

Still, there is a pressure not to waste a single second of this trip, to be constantly learning, experiencing or researching. It gets exhausting for all of us. This is why it has been so nice to have friends meet us along the way. They change the dynamics of the trip with their excitement for and knowledge of a new destination. Our friend Adrienne Granger met us in Belize for the kickoff of the trip, and now was meeting us in Prague and traveling on to Dublin for the end.

Adrienne had been to Prague many times and has friends (Kristine and David) who live there. I totally depended on her to make all of the arrangements and teach us about Prague. It was a smart decision.

Prague was a whirlwind. It is such a beautiful city, a lovely little jewel box of gorgeous buildings, bridges, statues and fountains. Kristine and David took us to a castle and on a hiking tour of the countryside our first day there. The kids got to hold a live owl and see an old local woman bundling wheat sheaves (by hand) in the field.

Kristine, a professor at the University, invited Mike to guest lecture in her business class. He loved it!

We tried Becherovka (a spicey – think cloves and cinnamon – local liquor) and Gambrinus (yummy, local beer) and thanks to Kristine and David’s talent with the language we were able to eat at local pubs and not accidentally order brain sausage.

Another friend of Adrienne’s (Jeff Jordan) also joined us for a few nights. He was lots of fun – waking Mike up with “You Say It’s Your Birthday” musical medley complete with dancing and singing early on the morning of Mike’s 43rd Birthday.

And per usual, we met a local man (Andrew) in a café and spent the night trailing him around to the best jazz club in Prague. He also bought us shots of Absinthe (that scary green liquor that is rumored to cause hallucinations and is illegal in the USA) which Mike and I successfully avoided drinking. When your real life is this interesting who needs to hallucinate?

Oh, and the Italian gelato, flavors pistachio and green apple, were the hands down favorites.

New Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 19:27:00 +0000

Click here for new pics Jules Bday, The Mankato Girls In Austria and Prague

http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan

Hairy Events in Salzburg

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 19:21:00 +0000

And so it is written:
“The three horsewomen of the apocalypse shall arrive from the East. And they shall be called Nubber Rubber and Cannon Humper and Diversion Dancer. And they shall bring laughter and merriment. And they shall have a mission. And that mission shall be hair.”
“We’re booked” she’d written. It was Michelle, my friend from Mankato, and fellow alumni of Woody’s - formerly Rose Creek Liquor Store of Rose Creek, MN. This bar, home of pickled eggs, thirsty farmers, and the funniest barroom dialogue anywhere in the world, was the watering hole of our highschool and college years. A product of the area herself, she would be bringing her outrageous humor (she calls her upper arms “the lunch ladies”afterall) and our equally outrageous friends Maureen and Katie.

I was on the six hour train ride from Koblenz to Munich to meet them at the airport and I was excited. One of the toughest parts about being on this trip is missing your friends and the loneliness that is a product of not being able to talk with your neighbors, other than to say “good morning, good afternoon, and another beer please” which seems to be met with confused stares by your neighbors.

Seeing their bright, shiny faces as they came out of the arrivals area brought it all home. WOW I’d missed my friends. And being involved in funny conversation, wrought with nuance and entandre, I’d missed that the most.

We took the train to Salzburg, Austria that night, four American women swilling warm German beer from the bottle, telling funny stories and laughing – loudly. I made excuses for my appearance. No haircut or color since the end of July, clothes are all wash and wear and had been washed MANY times. They told me I looked great – as friends do- and we were off.

Michelle had made all of the hotel arrangements and we stayed at a very cool hotel, Blau Gans, in the middle of the shopping district in Salzburg. We checked in and went to the restaurant at the Modern Art Gallery, with incredible food and lovely views of the city. My comrades were tired from their long trip and so after a few Proseccos and some Schnapps to cap off the evening we went back to the hotel.

I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to be in a hotel room by myself. After 4 months of sharing everything with Mike and the kids, from beds to dishes, to shower time. I had an entire hotel room to myself. I luxuriated in every square inch of that place, using BOTH sides of the bed, taking a LONG, hot shower, and watching ANY channel I wanted on the television.

The next day we did a tour called the “Sound of Music Tour” which included several stops as places used in the filming of the movie. Maureen, the resident musical expert knew the answers to all of the trivia questions. She was slightly disappointed (I surmise) that the tour didn’t end in a bus-wide sing-along. The rest of us weren’t.

The scenery was beautiful though and we had a great day chatting, posing for pictures (see “nubber rubber” and “Maureen as roadkill” in the picture gallery) and eating strudel. The next day we toured Salzburg, shopped, and went to a Mozart concert at the Salzburg castle. The concert was lovely though the Austrians are not particularly used to having statues of their kings called “dude” and seemed to take offense. Of course it might also have been the “cannon humper” incident. How is one to tell?

But the best was yet to come. After dinner and a quick visit back to the hotel we went to a local bar called “Maestro”. There we met Georg. Georg is an Austrian man, sort of a cross between Dudley Moore and Richard Gere. Georg was sweet, drunk and outstandingly offended by my hair.

It was an emergency he said. He must do something about it immediately. So we followed him two doors down to his salon and at 1:00 am I got a haircut. Georg was swaying slightly, assessing my overgrown, dried-out locks with one eye closed, and kissing his scissors between each snip.

We got to play beauty salon, giving each other a shampoo and head massage, using the latest conditioning treatment and styling tools. None of us were particularly fit to assess if he had done a good job on my head, but it was an incredibly fun time. Just as we were nearing the end of out beauty treatment, a very young man arrived totting 3 bottles of Champagne. He said he was Georg’s apprentice and we welcomed him gratefully. Just as the Champagne was running out this young man decided to ask us for money for the services we received. It was then that “diversion dancer” leapt to the rescue and began a seductive dance, luring the boy’s attention from us all. She herded us to the front door and said “Now! Run!” and we obediently followed.

The next morning came earlier than I had hoped, though I woke up giggling at our silly, teenage-esque shenanigans. I missed breakfast that morning, opting for some extra sleep and a prayer to the porcelain gods. Michelle, however was there. Not so bright eyed, not so bushy tailed, but entering the dining room in her jammies, face creased from the pillow and shouting “where’s the bacon?” as she scanned the room like a body guard looking for a hitman.

“How’s the hair” was the first question that Maureen whispered through my half-opened hotel room door.

“Better than the hangover” was my raspy reply.

And Georg? We never saw him again.

Julio of Coolio

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Sat, 13 Oct 2007 13:04:00 +0000

My birthday rocked and so did I…

We didn’t have any formal plans, just got in the car and started to drive. We ended up climbing up to explore one of the castles that border the Mosel river (the place is lousy with ‘em) and wandering around the castle grounds in the bright, mild fall weather.

And there were goats. Small, horned, black and white goats bleated at us, followed us curiously, but remained an arms-length away. They were searching for something to eat (as goats do) and it seemed anything was a potential candidate for a snack – including shirt tails, shoe strings, and cell phones.

They finally settled on the tender, young leaves of an oak tree that Anna and Charlie were happy to requisition for them. We fed them and they entertained us by bleating intermittently and rearing up on hind legs to bash each other in the head occasionally, like fifth grade boys showing off the wrestling moves they’d learned on cable tv.

After lunch at a pretty café on the Rhine, we went to the butterfly garden in Koblenz. I love stuff like this and had a great time having brilliant blue, green, yellow and orange butterflies land on my colorful shirt.

Charlie however, got a pretty severe case of the heebie-jeebies and wanted out of there as soon as possible. He said having butterflies fluttering around his head was about a 108 on the “freakin-me-out-o-meter” and couldn’t see the charm in the experience.

We then went back to our flat for an afternoon nap (inevitable consequences of wine at lunch). After dinner Mike and I went to Café Hahn, a live music venue in Koblenz. We had tickets to the “Paul Simon Graceland Revival Concert”.

The show was very good – 5 young musicians playing and singing in English. They did all of the best from the Graceland album and introduced all of the songs in German. The German audience sat very still, not a head bobbing or toe tapping in the joint.

At break time we went back stage to thank the band. It seems that this is an unusual thing for the audience to do, and once behind the red velvet curtain the band just looked at us wide-eyed with confused/frightened smiles on their faces.

I told them how much we were enjoying the concert, and asked that since it was my birthday could they play “Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard”. “You know that one don’t you? It goes like this…” and I sang it for them.

They asked me if I’d sing it on stage – and ba da bing – 20 minutes later there I was rockin’ on stage, in front of 150 stoic Germans, singing my brains out to “Me and Julio”. Great Birthday. Especially the goats.

Jack Turns 17

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Fri, 28 Sep 2007 09:07:00 +0000

Yesterday was Jack’s 17th birthday and I’d write about it but I’m feeling too old. You see this is his LAST birthday as a juvenile. Which makes me….well, you know.

When he was a baby Mike would hold a footy pajama clad Jack under the arms and dance him across the top of the couch. “Do the Jack, J-Jack, Jack, J-Jack, Jack, Jack”.

On his first birthday, being the first Nolan grandchild, he got a Fisher Price slide and the rapt attention of 10 adults as he slid down it in my living room for hours. “My” we all exclaimed “Isn’t he brilliant!”

When he was 3 we took a flight from the Mankato airport to Milwaukee. He walked into the airport like he owned the place – going up to strangers, tugging them on the jacket and saying “I’m Jack Nowwwan”. They looked to me with confusion. “He’s running for The Senate” I replied.

When he was 4 and 5 he spent hours imagining, designing, and building things. “Mom” he’d say, “I need a stapler, glue, tinfoil, battery, pinking sheers, large needle, 3 eggs, a light bulb, dish soap and 6 egg cartons”

Ages 6-12 were spent in the ravine with neighbors Andrew, Aaron and Chris creating medieval weaponry out of sticks, newspaper and duct tape, defending battlements and harvesting the neighbor’s raspberries.

Ages 13-15 he learned to scuba dive, he joined the swim team, excelled in school, became well know for his sense of humor and genius in math and on the computer.

At age 16 he got his driver’s license, got a job and learned to fly an airplane.

And now at 17 he has traveled to 15 or so countries learned a little Spanish, French, and German. He has been in the Himilayas at 16,000 feet above sea level, and dived to 100 ft. below the sea.

He is planning his college career – wants to be a pilot and business owner and a computer scientist.

And just today he asked if I couldn’t find him a stapler, lighter, some baking soda and tinfoil.

WE LOVE YOU JACK! Happy Birthday! And don't think I didn't notice what you were doing with your finger in that picture.

Dreams of Reims

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Fri, 28 Sep 2007 08:48:00 +0000

Reims, France, an hour south of Paris, is exactly as picturesque as a small French town should be with its cobbled streets and provincial stone buildings, window boxes spilling pink geraniums and purple salvia. The men are dark, handsome and scarf-clad and the women are elegant and beautifully dressed. It appears to be a law that residents carry around a warm bread baguette and bicycles sport a basket holding freshly cut flowers.

It has a lovely Notre Dame Cathedral with stained glass windows created by Marc Chagall and an alter to my favorite Catholic Saint, Joan of Arc, looking all brave and small and female in her battle armor. The Cathedral is dimly lit by overhead fixtures and thin, tall taper candles in standing candelabras. As we walked through I noticed bullet holes from WWI scattered throughout the walls and pillars. They give you that thrilling sense of “danger in the sanctuary.”

And it is the home of eight or so Champagne houses. Champagne is proof that life is beautiful, we were meant to be happy, and it is acceptable to drink at breakfast.

Mike and I toured Tattingers and Veuve Clicquot Champagne Houses. We nodded appreciatively as we learned of the origin of champagne, the process by which the champagne is made, fermented and clarified. But mostly just were just silently wishing the huge, blonde, middle-aged British biker dudes (in their full leather chaps) would stop asking questions so that we could get to the tasting room.

We tromped through the dark, cold caves which are dug out of the chalk that is the bedrock of the city. Chalk is evidently the perfect environment for the making and storing of champagne. It is also pretty cool for carving “Jules Rules” with the heel of your shoe when no one is looking.

The good news is that the champagne was exquisite as expected. The bad news is that it is hugely expensive – even at the houses themselves. But the best news is that my unsophisticated palate appreciates the $16 bottles just as much at the $40 bottles, and the “cheap stuff” was widely available at the bottle shops near our hotel.

We spent the bulk of the afternoon carrying around a bread baguette (as is the law), my purse full of stinky cheese and trying to find the most righteous spot to sit in the grass and enjoy our picnic.

On our way out of town we passed a park. There, sitting on a bench, was a shabbily dressed man, looking rather homeless, but giggling to himself and drinking French Champagne out of the bottle - for breakfast. He has a better zip code than I do.

The drive to Zurich from Reims was picturesque, but somehow sad. Our car wasn’t hard to identify. It was the VW Taurag with a grown woman, face pressed longingly to the back window, tears streaming, arms outstretched as it motored down the Autobahn, away from France.

New Pictures Koblenz and Reims

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 14:40:00 +0000

go to this link for new pictures

http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan

Off to Champagne

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Nolan) — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 08:15:00 +0000

One of the best things about being in Germany is that you are 4 to 5 hours away from EVERYWHERE. On Wednesday morning Mike and I went into the University to plan a weekend trip to Zurich to visit his sisters Kellie, who lives in Zurich, and Anne who had flown in as a surprise for Kellie’s birthday.

The clouds then parted; a single beam of sunlight shown down upon me and the angles sang as Mike discovered that Koblenz is only 4 hours from the Champagne region of France. We made plans to leave that evening, spend 2 nights in Reims, France, and then to Zurich for the weekend.

Off to our German language lesson at Boas Vindas Language School, we spent two hours learning to count and the pronunciation of German abc’s. The kids picked it up naturally, pretty quickly. Mike and I had more trouble. Mike was trying to learn the difference between pronunciations of the letter i and the letter e, (sort of the difference in sound between “ee” and “eee”). “No” Kirsten, our instructor said “it’s eeee”

“eeee” said Mike.

“No eeee” said Kirsten.

“EEEE” said Mike.

“No eeee” said Kirsten.

“Kerpow, splat” went Mike’s head as it exploded all over the table.

We had big fun in that classroom, laughing and learning together. Everyone felt safe enough to practice aloud (you can’t embarrass yourself in front of your family) and the kids were particularly pleased that they “got it” faster than the adults. It is one of the best memories I will take from this trip.

Around 4 o’clock we piled into the car and headed to Reims, France, the center of the Champagne region. The drive was beautiful, as the trees and fields are changing into their fall clothes. Bright green fields of grass lay next to luminous golden fields of wheat and newly harvested fields the colors of caramel, almond and coffee. And there were cows, lots of cows.

The color of the sky as the sun set behind the mountains was unreal. Lemon and orange sherbet streaks gave way to the cornflower blue bits of sky. I got chills watching it and had that “tugging on my heartstrings” feeling for most of the drive. Maybe it was the anticipation of seeing the region that gave birth to that “sparkling nectar of the gods”, or maybe it was my chromosomes recognizing their French ancestry, but I had one of those “peak moments” where my chest filled up with gratitude and awe, practically moving me to tears. My kids think I’m a nut and Mike won’t let me drive.n