L'Italie!

      In Geneva, the word for Italy is pronounced like "little-ee." This is kind of funny, coming from the Swiss, who occupy a country that is less than 1/6 the size of Italy, and not much more than 1/10 the population. Perhaps, however, they are referring to the Italian people, who are often on the short side. More likely, I think, the reference is to the size of the coffee in Italy. When the unsuspecting traveler orders "café," she receives a cup that belongs in a child's tea set, and this doll's cup is about half-full of coffee. The true Italian polishes this off in one swig, as if he were doing shots. This traveler, not being a true (or even a pretend) Italian, spent much of our adventure in Italy longing for a large mug filled with coffee that she could sip in a leisurely fashion.

   
      And an adventure it was. This is our view as we approached the Mont Blanc tunnel, which passes under the Alps from France into Italy. Why nobody warned us beforehand that we would wait 60 minutes  in a 2 km long line to drive through the tunnel, I cannot imagine. Everyone told us that we could tour Northern Italy as an easy driving trip. Clearly, the European concept of "easy driving" bears no relation to  traveling from Cincinnati to Michigan on I-75. It's more like a pleasant drive through downtown Chicago during rush hour. On the plus side, the view was much nicer than what one sees driving through Dayton and Toledo. Our GPS told us the trip from our house to Tremezzo, an appropriately romantic-sounding town on Lake Como, would take under 5 hours. Seven and a half hours later, after the tunnel, an excursion through the suburbs of Varese, and somehow becoming completely lost and reentering Switzerland (although we did meet a lovely guard at the douane who gave us directions back to Italy only after telling us all about his multiple trips to the United States and how much he loved our country), we arrived at our hotel. Like the typical brash American, we had come to Italy with a knowledge of the language which hovered somewhere between minimal and nonexistent. We did find the Italians very cheerful about trying to communicate, though, and sometimes it worked to say French or Spanish words with an Italian accent.
      When I book our hotels, my strategy is to visit hotels.com and choose the cheapest one. So far, this has worked well. Our hotel on Lake Como was small and quaint, with a restaurant taking up the entire ground floor. The receptionist walked us first to the kids' room, which was enormous, with beds, armchairs, dressers, and a large bathroom. She threw open the shutters to reveal a breathtaking view of the lake.

Lake Como from our hotel -- well, from the kids' room

      After that introduction, I was a little disappointed in our room, which was less than half the size of the other, with a postage-stamp sized bathroom whose shower was at waist level. As far as bathroom amenities, there was shampoo and a shower cap. The shower cap in the hotel bathroom is something I don't understand. I have never used a shower cap, and the only people I know who have were my two grandmothers. When I think of it, however, I have not really discussed the issue of shower caps with my friends. Perhaps everyone else finds them a very useful hotel freebie and I am just ignorant. In this hotel, however, with the shower setup as it was, it would have been impossible to get one's hair wet accidentally. It was, in fact, challenging to get one's hair wet on purpose. I will say that we slept deeply and soundly, and the hotel breakfast was quite good, and included, to my joy, pitchers of coffee and warm milk that one could mix and sip to one's heart's content. Highlights of our stay included a trip across the lake on the ferry to Bellagio, which is where George Cloony apparently has a house (we saw neither it nor him), a walk along the lake looking at huge villas from the days of the Grand Tour, and gelato twice in one day.

Johanna's gelato at dinner. The coffee in Italy is tiny, but the ice cream is  just about the right size.

Eric and Lucas waiting for the ferry to Bellagio.

      Non-highlights (lowlights?) of the trip included my decision that we should try to see the lighthouse where electricity pioneer Alessandro Volta did experiments. This led us through the unpleasantly dingy suburbs of Como Town, then up a narrow mountain road whose hairpin turns and tiny alleyways kept us in palpitations until, unaccountably, our GPS turned us around and sent us back down without ever seeing the lighthouse. Discouraged, we drove on to Padua, where our GPS again proved not so trusty, triumphantly announcing that we had reached our destination when we were in the middle of a highway bridge with no other road in sight. We have since been told that because Italy has so many roads,  a GPS doesn't really work well in that country. No kidding. Eric had booked our Padua hotel, and his strategy is to find a member of the Starwood chain where we can use points, which is how we did, finally, end up at the Sheraton. Although the hotel was inconveniently situated in Padua's dying industrial district, it did offer a free shuttle service to the center of town, which was gratifyingly ancient and quite bustling. By this time, my cell phone had run out of batteries, so I have no pictures of Padua. Instead, I'll include one taken in Como of the person who does have lots of pictures.

He usually doesn't like to have his picture taken;
this was the way to catch him standing still!

      We had a really nice time roaming the streets of Padua, which is one of the oldest university towns in Europe. It has a canal, an impressive basilica, and lots of delicious gelato. We ate dinner at a table on the square and watched people and pigeons before catching the shuttle back to the hotel.
       The next day, we rose early and took the shuttle to the train station, where Eric and the kids went to get breakfast from McDonald's (still always a highlight for our kids), and I went to buy tickets for the train to Venice. The tickets were surprisingly inexpensive -- only €3.50 a person. When the train arrived, we immediately figured out why -- it was old and run-down, but most of all, packed to the gills. We pushed and squeezed our way on, and spent the 30-minute trip to Venice in intimate proximity with the 20 or so other people squashed into the area between the cars. This was especially amusing when the train lurched and people went flying into one another or when we stopped and someone wanted to debark -- usually someone in the interior of the train who had a large suitcase. But none of that mattered, because we were thrilled to be headed to the unique and romantic city of Venice.
      And I do have to say, Venice really is a unique and romantic city. Our picture-takers couldn't get enough of the canals, gondolas, markets, buildings, and bridges. Despite having purchased a map, we became lost several times, but enjoyed the narrow alleyways, the stalls selling masks and glass beads, and the atmosphere of unreality. We decided that the lines were too long to try to go inside the Doge's Palace or Saint Mark's Basilica, and we just kind of nosed around, shopped, and ate a long, late, and leisurely lunch before returning to Padua on the train.
      Our hotel was truly in a dead zone of the city, with absolutely no restaurants or shops within walking distance. That being the case, we decided it would be very smart to take the car and find a grocery store, to stock up on provisions for the journey home the next day. Note to self: never put the words "very smart" and "take the car" in the same sentence in Europe and expect good results. Our purple GPS route looked like the path of a roller coaster by the time we had been to Lidl and returned with breakfast and snack food for the next day. We also attempted to fill the car with gas, and had to try four gas stations before we found one that was open and had a machine that would take our cards. Although the self-service machines allowed us to opt for English, they were still confusing enough that we somehow inadvertently stole €5 worth of gas from the nice lady at the pump next to us. The attendant (who had to come out anyway to help us figure out the machine, which was clearly not self-service for us) managed to pantomime what had happened and gave us change to repay the poor woman for her lost fuel.
       In order to avoid another pileup at the Mont Blanc tunnel, we decided to leave by 7 the next morning. We went to bed early. At 4 in the morning, I woke to feel the room shaking from side to side. At first, I thought we were perhaps in one of those hotel beds that you can feed quarters into for a massage and that somehow it had malfunctioned. It turned out, however, that we were in an earthquake. Worried about the kids sleeping down the hall, I listened at their door, but heard nothing. I heard a few people running down the stairs, but no alarms or sirens. Then I called the front desk, to be told that the hotel was anti-something, so we were okay. I took this to mean that I could go back to sleep, and had almost done so when an aftershock shook the room again. The kids told us the next morning that yes, they had woken up, yes, they knew immediately what was happening, and no, they hadn't been scared and had gone right back to sleep. It's nice to have secure and resilient children. We did learn that the epicenter of the quake was in Bologna, about 50 miles away, and that, sadly, several people there had died. We left the hotel feeling sad  about that, but thankful as well.
       We were also thankful for our trip home, which, perhaps due to our 6:45 a.m. departure, was without much traffic, without any episodes of lostness, and without any wait at all at the tunnel. Despite this smooth ending, however, we have resolved that it is worth almost any price to travel by train or plane on our next voyage.
     

International School Sports

      In case you are reading the blog because of your burning interest in the title, let me assure you that I will get to the sports. First, however, an update on the Alien Bakery, the wares of which improve with each passing week. Here is the cake Lucas baked to celebrate my birthday -- and the birthday of a good friend from the U.S. who was visiting last weekend. I thought readers might be interested to see the progression of beauty and skill.
     If you are reading the blog because the cake caught your eye, I apologize for the fact that, unfortunately, cakes have nothing to do with International School Sports -- at least in my experience so far. So, on to sports.


     I am unsure to which nationality I should attribute the unusual (for us, anyway) attitude toward children's sports that we have encountered here. Although Institut International du Lancy is British in curriculum, I don't think their sports program is typically British, as I am told that many British schools are extremely serious -- not to say rabid -- about their sports. I'm also not sure it is typically Swiss; the Swiss runners whom we have encountered, at least, seem to approach their sport with a competitiveness bordering on assault (see Trans-Onesienne for details). So I'll just say that perhaps it's an international school thing. Whatever the case, the attitude toward sports at IIL is so relaxed that it is a bit unsettling for someone used to typical American insanity. A case in point is the IIL football team, for which Lucas has played since September (there are no sports seasons here, apparently). Practices run for about 45 minutes once a week. Originally, Lucas was told that he couldn't play in any games, since his birthday is in 2000, and the team is for boys born in 1998 and 1999. This fact seemed to slip the coach's mind, however, when it came to games. I think there aren't enough boys. Of course, I wouldn't know, since parents are not encouraged to attend games. Also, in the 8 months the team has been together, they have had two games -- one in October and one last week. They lost both, presumably to teams who practice for an hour a week, or maybe even more (and don't have illegally young players).

     May, apparently, is tournament time for sports. Exactly 10 days ago, Drew was invited to play on the school's lacrosse team for the international school tournament that took place this week. As far as we know, the school did not have a lacrosse team prior to 10 days ago. Further, the P.E. teacher who invited Drew to play had no idea whether Drew knew how to play lacrosse, which did not bode well for the team as a whole. Having had bad experiences with pick-up lacrosse games (experiences so bad that they involved ambulances), Drew politely declined.
     All three members of EuroSMAC were invited to participate in the cross country championships which took place yesterday. It was somewhat disconcerting to receive a permission slip for their participation on the afternoon of April  20 that was supposed to be returned "before April 20." At least, however, Luc, Ariana, and Johanna had already been training. How the school expected students to prepare for a cross country race given only a week and a half was a mystery to me -- but not one that I had to deal with, fortunately.
     Sports here are set up for the convenience of the parents -- meaning their convenience in not having to attend any events or transport their children anywhere out of the way. Therefore, sporting events often take place during the school day. That was the case with the cross country meet, so Johanna, Ariana, Luc, and I showed up at school at 7:20 a.m. so the kids could join the other IIL representatives on the luxury bus that would transport them to Lausanne for the meet. Johanna says that she plans to participate in many other school events if they involve rides in nice buses. I had planned to follow in the car, and asked the attending P.E. teacher if he could give me an address for my GPS. He helpfully showed me something that looked like a 19th century surveyor's chart. There were no street names, but the words "Chalet-à-Gobet" were written in script on a large amoeba-like shape, and he told me that's where I should go. It was unclear to me whether Chalet-à-Gobet was a town, a park, a road, or perhaps an actual chalet, but I didn't let such a minor detail bother me. The coach also explained that the races would be held "on the plain above Lausanne." Apparently he thought this would be meaningful information. I foresaw a long morning of driving around searching for children in running clothes. Miraculously, though, typing "Chalet-à-Gobet" into my GPS actually brought me directly to the large park where I could see the buses and tents that told me this was the right place. I could not see much else, as a cold rain was falling and a thick fog obscured most of the park.
     Despite the chill and the damp, the park was full of the kind of enthusiasm and camaraderie that attend such events. A cheery man wearing plaid shorts and carrying a megaphone gave directions in French and English, teams walked the course to scout out the slipperiest mud patches, kids painted their faces with mud warpaint and cheered for their teammates.

Johanna and Ariana with two fellow IIL runners before their race.

Lucas with teammate Ricky.

Cheering for teammates as they finish. The kids got to know several new IIL friends who share their enthusiasm for running. Though in general I like the relaxed attitude toward sports, this did make me wish that IIL had a real XC team.

The boys set out. The course started on a big hill, effectively wearing out the runners before the race even got underway. The hills and the mud made this a TRUE XC meet! 

Lucas finishing. He was 6th, which I thought was outstanding, especially considering that he was throwing up two nights before the race. Running -- or even the thought of running -- seems to do something odd to my children's digestive systems. This time, though, Lucas really did have the flu; we know because other family members caught it as well.

The girls starting. Johanna and Ariana are the ones in green. It is very difficult to take good pictures of moving runners with a cell phone camera, so you'll just have to take my word for it that they are who I say they are. Johanna did throw up at the start, as usual. She discovered this time that this is the way to deal with the runners who elbow and push for position. After you puke, everyone gives you plenty of space.




Johanna finishing. Sorry this is a bad picture, but I had to include it. She is running with a bike in front of her because she is WINNING!!!! (Please excuse the proud mom.)



Ariana finishing. She was in the top quarter -- running against older girls -- and I was proud of her as well.



The top three. Even though Johanna is on the highest pedestal, the second-place finisher is taller. Typically, Johanna became bosom friends with the other girls while on the podium, and gave me a full report afterwards.



Snacks while waiting for runners to appear so they can cheer some more.

     IIL may not prepare their competitors well, but with running, anyway, the school seems to know how to pick them. Johanna was one of four IIL students to make the podium; the 1996-1997 boys were second and third. Most amazing of all was the sole IIL girl in the 1996-1997 race. Because fewer students participate at that age and the race is longer, the boys and girls ran together. Nancy from IIL was the first girl, which was impressive enough, but she was also fourth overall. That's no small feat against high-school boys.

     While I enjoy being part of a community that isn't obsessed with children's sports, the day made me realize that I also miss the fun of being a sports parent. As the only IIL parent in attendance, I pitied the moms and dads who had been forced to spend such a lovely day inside their dry offices and homes while I hung out on the sidelines with the cheering, muddy kids.