“You do that again and I am sending you back to America.” It was only a matter of time until these hallow words would be uttered…or yelled. Clearly as these syllables echoed around the house our collective minds were filled with a few logistical questions, one of which was probably how do we get a lawyer to bail us out.
It had been a long-ish day as somehow we are struggling to find our groove in France. Ironically I thought this would be easier than Italy. We had an ominous start with a delay leaving Genova that forced us to change tickets for our connecting train. Interestingly as we finally pulled into Nice the driver of the train was quick to point out the delay was due to issues in Milan where the train started and not due to his slow driving. This was the same tactic that was used when I was delayed coming back from the states. The pilot of Air France was quick to blame the delayed take off on airport logistics. Nothing like a good washing of one’s hands to ensure that blame is fairly and squarely placed elsewhere!
Our first dinner in St Martin de Castillon was a perilous one as meals took about an hour and half to arrive but thanks to UNO and a liter of wine we struggled through. With pent up excitement the next morning I ran down to the village shop and loaded up on French sugared cereal, pain au chocolat and a fist full of croissants. After receiving what could only be described as questionable looks from my marie the kids loaded up with sugar and I felt content in that it was at least French sugar. We spent the rest of the day paying for it and so I suppose the later threats of being sent home were inevitable.
One would think that the morning’s sugar fest punctuated with the immanent change of airline tickets would be enough to call it an early night but apparently the idea of going to a village fair where one can burn off the huge amounts of cotton candy available on two different bouncy houses and a buckin’ bronco is irresistible. Camilla opted to stay behind and re-group.
We headed down to the fair ground and found everyone sitting waiting for dinner and no one on the rides. I saw a notice that said tickets needed to be booked by August 5th. On breaking this news we had four melt downs of varying degrees. Niko went quiet which made me nervous, Rufus was upset he missed the parade despite me telling him this was a fair and there was no parade and hoping desperately that that would fix concern. He didn’t catch on. Jake fell apart as wailing and gnashing of teeth proceeded the bad news and Zach kept telling me to go ask someone if we can still go. He annoyingly keep making very valid points about how one typically pays on a per ride basis so the ticket thing didn’t make sense and that perhaps they take walk-in reservations anyway.
The thought of trying to ask a carnie in my broken French if, of all people us Brits, could gate crash their party filled me with dread and a longing to be the one sent back to America. For about the 27th time that day I caved and went to find the least intimidating carnie to ask if the fair was pour tout le monde to which she replied “biensur.” Clearly wondering if I had never been to a fair before she laboriously explained that we paid on a per ride basis just like any other fair in the world and upon finding out that I had four children proceeded to enlighten me to the benefits of her ride.
I politely excused myself and went back to the kids who were standing with fingers crossed. Rufus was quick to announce that he had crossed his fingers so hard they had turned white. I delivered the good news to a huge roar and was greeted as a hero for about a second and then boys ran to their first ride. I was overcome with a wave of guilt of how close I had gotten to not even trying to ask.
The rides were a hit. What had seemed like another questionable parenting decision to go in the first place was paying off. Euro after Euro was shed. I was bouncing back from one carnie to the next having lengthy conversations about what I am not sure desperately trying to understand their thick accents. Whatever was discussed must have gone well as they never flinched when the Beevor Boys came bounding up for another turn and at one point we even scored four free bracelet decorating kits. As our college fund was going down, their’s was going up.
The inevitable was about to happen; we had to leave but to soften the blow another dubious parenting decision was made as promises of a return visit were delivered. Just as we turned to leave Camilla arrived having been released from her self imposed timeout and we are all back to flying home on the same day….until the next fair night.