Good morning, Blogging Family! I’m super excited to be writing an 110 % certified organic blog post this morning. As fun as it is keeping y’all posted on book updates, I sure have missed telling the good ol’ yarn. And what a yarn do I have for you!

Some of you may already know that Ivan and I spent 10 days in London and Paris last month. We were on a “working trip” for Ivan’s school that included 29 highschoolers, three parents, and a couple of other teachers, but I didn’t mind. We were just super grateful I was able to join. That was possible only because the students spent five days in each city. The pace allowed me to join a few excursions but rest at the hotel as much as I needed. Instead of giving a detailed summary of our fortnight in the Old World, I’ve selected a few episodes from my travel journal to give y’all a flavor of the trip:

LONDON: “I really have to make a call, Miss!”

True to the stereotypes of vintage films and fashion magazines, London still has red telephone booths almost every block. A few years ago, I’d heard about a movement demanding they be removed. Obviously no one must use them anymore, I extrapolated in my American omniscience. I felt pretty justified: who would pay to use a dumb phone in the era of AirPods and iWatches? 

Almost every American (girl) who goes to London poses for a picture in one of those red booths. I pulled Ivan away for my shot while the kids were wandering around outside Westminster Abbey. Honestly, it was meant to be a “one and done.” But then there was wind, my bag looked awkward slung across my torso, the noon light insisted on dissecting my face neatly into dissimilar halves. Suddenly a perturbed man’s voice battered its way through the wind. “I really have to make a call, Miss!” I hadn’t even noticed the scruffy man in shorts and a t-shirt leaning against one of the shops. He stormed off down the sidewalk before I could answer.

~

LONDON: The King’s English

Occasionally someone comments on my annoyingly correct grammar here in the U.S. (E.g. “Gift” is not a verb. “Gift” is a noun. You cannot gift someone a present. You must give them the present.) 

Nevertheless, I was on pins and needles when we landed in the U.K. because that was where the real English speakers lived. It didn’t matter how much time I’d spent reading and writing over the course of my life: I was positive my language skills weren’t up to scratch.

Alas forsooth.

Our group stayed in a charming Victorian mansion that had been converted to a small hotel. Ivan and the kids were usually out from 8 am – 9 pm, while I either went out in the morning or the evening. Our second day in the hotel, I thought I’d arrange my schedule so I’d be out of the room during housekeeping hours. I spotted a petite brunette woman in what looked like a housekeeping uniform at the end of the hall:

“Excuse me – what time is housekeeping today?”

“No English.” Her accident was unidentifiable.

“Oh. When – clean – today?”

“No English.” Apparently she wasn’t kidding.

I was completely out of my depth. Ivan and I are functional in Spanish, so we don’t usually have a problem communicating with the majority of non-English-speakers in California. The only other language I’ve studied was French, and I was very sure my new friend wasn’t from France either.

“Translator?” She almost begged.

“Yes please!” I tried smiling to show I wasn’t angry.

A couple of minutes later my dainty friend returned, accompanied by a sturdy, matter-of-fact woman I recognized from the hotel bar. 

“So sorry to bother you!” I began, finally processing just how much trouble I was raising over a simple question. “What time is housekeeping today?” 

The new woman cocked her head to one side and looked at me quizzically.

“No English.”

~

PARIS: All I wanted was a Bandaid…

Surprise surprise! Paris was by far my favorite part of the trip, and I would go back again tomorrow if I could. Both Ivan and I had studied French in the past, and we reviewed a bit before the trip with a particular goal in mind: Could we make it all 5 days without speaking English? (This was a personal challenge; most of the kids did not speak French, and our tour guide was bilingual.) 

Most of our group’s excursions were á pied or en métro, which on average had us walking 6-8 miles in humid, 85º F heat each day. (No, we did not experience central air in buildings, trains, or hotels.) With all that sweatiness, I wasn’t terribly surprised to slide off my Crocs one night and discover that my left pinky toe had been skinned as perfectly as you might peel an apple or grate a carrot. In other words, I had toe but no skin. 

Pro travelers would have brought their own bandages. But this was our first trip abroad and I have more important medical needs to remember than a hypothetical Bandaid. Besides, the front desk always has those, right? Then Ivan and I looked at each other.

We were in France.

Did concierges provide anything? There was a pharmacie across the street, but Parisian store hours seemed different from ours, and that place didn’t open until after we would have left for our morning excursion. 

“Can you just make it?”

We looked at my foot. The fleshy, red toe dermis looked like it was pulsing under the bathroom lights.

“I can’t even touch it.” All this, after 10 pm at night. 

I prayed for miraculous restoration, but the Former Toe was even worse the next morning. I told Ivan to go ahead and feed himself. My priority was someone who had anything remotely like a Bandaid. Recognizing that brand names are probably different in Europe, I looked up the word for “bandage” (pansement) and sallied forth. Such cultural awareness could not fail.

“Je suis desolée, mais j’ai besoin d’un pansement.” I smiled professionally.

“Quoi?” The Saturday morning concierge was lost in something fascinating on her computer.

“Un pansement. J’ai besoin d’un pansement.” I spoke more slowly in case I’d rushed the first time. I’d watched more than enough French movies to know that my grammar and usage was correct.

“Desolée, mais je ne comprends pas.” 

“Bandage. I need a – ” There was no good hand signal for a Former Toe.  “ –  Je peux vous l’ẻcrire?” I gestured for a pen and paper. Just then, an older member of the hotel staff approached. 

“Qu’est-ce qu’il se passe ici?” she asked.

“I want a pansement!” I was approaching the end of my rope.

“Un pansement?” the woman smiled, “Tout de suite!”

I smiled pathetically at the concierge while waiting for my coveted bandage to appear.

“Desolée, mon français est vraiment mauvais.”  

“Pas du tout! We say ‘pansement.’” She nodded encouragingly, waiting for me to try on my own.

“Pansement.” 

“Pansement – much better!”

I could not for the life of me tell the difference.

~

Are you as excited as we are about Walking with Grace the book? Watch the trailer and preorder your own copy here today!