Growth vs Fixed Mindset in Practice

I have no idea how far an average 9 year old can (and should) run.  Until today I might have taken the token elementary school “one-mile run” benchmark, grossed it up for good measure and said 2 MILES.  In fact I invoked that line of thinking when my 9 year old insisted he wanted to join me on my run today.  Thankfully my day’s training schedule called for a short 4 mile run so having him run HALF of that with me seemed like a worthy goal.

Training to run a marathon in a 45 year old body not wired for sustained efforts of self-discipline has a way of loudly intruding on family life.  On days when I have a double digit mileage target I’m both out of the house for hours and then talking about my recovery, requesting foam roller massages and affirmation for the remainder of it.  It’s hard for my boys to miss this Marathon business is kind of a big deal for their Mom.   They’ve been really sweet about it. 

So there we were today – earbuds in– embarking on our inaugural mother/son 2 MILE run.   Heightening this already big milestone was the fact we were doing it in the picturesque if not relentlessly hilly French countryside and aided by an unusually cool morning after a night of rain.  We started out on a confidence building downhill.  By 0.4 miles there was talk of it “being easy.”  By 0.8 miles there was the question of how far his 13 year older brother had just run on his own.  (Answer: 3.8 miles at a much faster pace than his Mom.)  By 0.95 miles, as I expected there might be, there was the bold declaration that he was not yet ready to turn back.   He wanted to go the full 4 miles with me.  When I suggested maybe 2.5 or 3 miles he would have none of it.

Given the course up to that point had largely been downhill, 4 miles seemed like an overly ambitious goal for someone, a wee-little loved one especially, who had self-reportedly never run more than 8 laps around a school track.   I also wanted our maiden marathon training to be a win/win.  I wanted him to feel successful and to enjoy running and I wanted to get my 4 miles in.  But instead of giving in to that well-meaning impulse I flashed to Carol Dweck, the Standford psychologist, talking about fixed versus growth mindset and how maybe I needed to use this experience not to help my child succeed but rather to give him the chance to grow.  I said, “Ok.  Let’s Do It.”

By 1.8 miles the “easy” talk had subsided and that’s when it got interesting.  Over the next 2.2 miles I taught him all the strategies I’ve learned.  On the steep uphills I told him about leaning forward into the hill and not letting it work against you.  When he got a cramp in his side, I suggested he have a word with the cramp and tell it to please leave him alone.   I taught him how to relax his arms.  I taught him how to slow his pace so he could go longer.  I taught him it’s okay to stop and stretch for a minute. And when he was really gassed I reminded him to focus on one foot at a time … to which he said, “Like that show Unbreakable where Kimmy says you can do anything for at least 10 seconds.”   Exactly!

And so when at 3.5 miles with a final uphill to finish my red-faced, exhausted 9 year old boy asked me in hopes of a reprieve: “Mom, are you tired?” I answered honestly, “No, because I’ve trained my body to do this … and you can do this … it’s only as far as 2 more laps around the track.”  To finish would mean he would do 8 more laps – or exactly double – his personal best.  He asked at every remaining driveway if it was “our” house but didn’t stop until I confirmed it was and my watch confirmed it was 4.0 miles.

I still don’t know how far an average 9 year old can (and should) run.  What I do know is that today mine ran further than he (and I) knew he could.  Not only that but he’s asked to go with me again tomorrow. 

We can be content to remain as we are, we can push to reasonably sanctioned limits or we can be willing to get red-faced to go farther than those around us believe is possible.   Children routinely do this better than we can so let’s give them the berth to try, pick them up when they fail and encourage them to do it again.  They have something to teach us in what it means to truly be unbreakable.  10 seconds at a time.

Camille Bloom: Luxembourg House Concert

Nowadays with time in such short supply we leave less to chance. So imagine getting an invitation to a House Concert (a what?) in Luxembourg (where?) with a musician from Seattle (who?) for Sunday night, June 19 (during end of school year/I need a vacation crazy?) You might be understandably counting the hours (and cost) and politely take a rain check. I might have too had I not been the co-host.

In retrospect, I probably wasn’t the most qualified co-host. I had never been to a House Concert. I don’t even know that many people in Luxembourg. I’m not in music circles (except in my own head.) And though I’d spent a cherished 3 hours with the way cool Camille Bloom on a layover in Luxembourg last summer thanks to a mutual friend who connected us (Cindy Randles Hagen), I had never heard her perform.

I had of course listened to her gorgeous, lyrically rich music and was a fan. I also stumbled on an April article the Seattle Times wrote about her recently released album “Pieces of Me” entitled "Camille Bloom May be the Next Great Seattle Singer-Songwriter.” (Wowza! – as Seattle is kind of proud about their music) but not even that high praise can capture the surprise it is to listen to Camille perform live. They say that your first concert is always the best and the chances of having your mind blown decreases with every concert because you’ve had more experiences. Whoever said that is wrong because they haven’t heard Camille perform 10 feet in front of them yet.

John O’Donohue, the Irish Poet, said, “I would like to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” For twenty of us on Sunday, June 19th at Eugénie Jactat Krampe's house in Luxembourg, we were carried by the goodness of Camille Bloom’s talent through a set of acoustic songs that touched on big dreams, cell phones, friend crushes, gluten, long term love and garden TV.

Her voice is soaring, her lyrics poetic, and her storytelling between songs so genuinely real and funny. In a previous life Camille used to be a high school English teacher which means she knows both the power of words and wit and how to command a stage. She also knows how to rock the polyester shirt. You might say that after performing for more than 20 years Camille knows how to connect with an audience but it’s more than that. Camille, full of a radiating joy, knows how to open up a room of strangers and make them feel like family.

Though Camille can and does play bigger venues she says that House Concerts remain her favorite because of the intimacy she can create with her audience. I doubt an artist with only talent would say that. You have to be an artist with both talent AND a spirit of generosity to give yourself over in that way. As Camille says her songs aren’t really sad or really happy, they are somewhere in between - where most of us spend our time and energy. So … imagine getting an invitation to sit on someone’s couch to listen to the stories of life performed with way more poetic language and potentially, because you are in the company of others who seem to be nodding in affirmation, an incremental shard of hope or cathartic chuckle.

Some of you reading this may have that invitation in your inbox for her last concert on this European Tour this June 24 in Haarlem, The Netherlands – so my good word to you is this: Don’t miss it! (And hopefully it’s not sold out.)

For my Luxembourg friends, thank you for coming! AND good news is that Camille is hoping to come back to Luxembourg again next summer. Eugenie has made Camille promise to let her host again.

For everyone else, do that thing you do when you want to support local musicians doing their thing and doing it their own way. Buy and listen and share and say thank you!

Camille's Website

Mumford & Son: Dusseldorf, Germany Concert Review

There is music that is fun to listen to, music you can appreciate, music you can’t escape and some music that moves you.  The music of Mumford & Sons is like that for me.  Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I most often listen to them in the forest running with the earth below my feet, a dance of light and dark flickering through the trees.  Though all bands have their haters, especially bands who make obvious musical departures like Mumford & Sons did on their 2015 “Wilder Mind” album, I know I’m not alone in saying this.

For music that routinely lifts you out of the rut of the ordinary, there is no better legit test than seeing your Band Crush play live.  I got to do that on May 14 in Dusseldorf, Germany for the second half of Mumford & Son’s Wilder Mind Tour.  Curious as to how their old folksy infectious sound of “Sigh No More” and “Babel” would intermix with the new powerhouse rock sound of “Wilder Mind” in the context of a live performance, the answer is: really good.   Like the wide arc of most their songs which take you low, high, then round again, the juxtaposition of style kind of just fits.  After opening with “Snake Eyes” and two more songs from their new album, the German crowd – demonstrating their first love - roared their belated welcome with the knee-slapping, banjo-infused, drop the F-bomb classic “Little Lion Man.”  Bouncing between the new and old material with an almost 50/50 split made for a richly varied and never boring nineteen song concert.  If anything, it left you wanting more of the songs they didn’t have time to play.

In contrast to my last recent dome-sized show with U2, this show was less about high production value with slick lighting and videography and more about the straight up music.  Marcus Mumford, who looks ridiculously like Alec Baldwin from a distance, can certainly carry a large venue with his smooth vocals and energy.  No lackey to the demands of the stage, the only knock was the band seemed like they were still adjusting to a less intimate venue.  This seemed most obvious to me when Mumford decided to crowd surf the entire arena during the song “Ditmas”which looked like both a security nightmare and watching an out-of-shape guy with a guitar run a 5k.  I noticed it again before the encore when the band played an acoustic set of “Timshel” (one of my favorites) and “Cold Arms” which was beautiful but interrupted by a few drunken fans able to hide from public hushing in too cavernous a space.

As someone who has no ear for notes or musical composition (even saying that string of words together feels like I’ve done it wrong), I do like words.  Marcus Mumford apparently does too as his lyrics matched with a rollercoaster ride of instruments invites a kind of searching.  There is a quality, not in every song, but in many of them that cause the listener to stop, listen and even yield.  Weirdly, it can happen among a community of arm-swaying people not in your own country just as easily as it can in the quiet of a forest.  When music is rooted in some reality, whether we understand the artist’s precise worldview, a redirection of spirit can happen.  Though Mumford resists the Christian label, for me whether consciously or not, his music moves me closer in my relationship with Jesus.  While I and others may hear deep calling to deep in their music, others may only hear the tambourine or a shout of surface emotion.   Regardless, we are all fans and fans love the reciprocity of a live performance rooted in something. 

Happy Mother's Day

As mothers we work hard to ask our children the right questions. The ones that elicit more than an eye roll or a yes/no response. The kind of questions open-ended enough they might lead to a discussion, or if we’re lucky, a small reveal of some below-the-surface thoughts.

Middle school is prime time for the exploration and formation of inner lives and yet puberty and peer orientation make it harder for parents to break in with good questions. I have some evidence.

This week in the car I asked my middle schooler about opinions on today’s pop music. Open-ended. Radio on, timely, topical, relevant. He paused, giving me hope, and answered: “I like it.” Bubble popped. The next day on the way home from basketball practice, I asked him what he thought about NBA players being vocal in support of political candidates. This time a quick response, but equally abrupt: “Mom, I’m 13.”

Thursday was a public holiday and so we went on a family hike. I lingered back with the 13 year old, armed with a few probes, forgetting that where brothers and freedom to pee are combined, Mothers-of-Boys and conversation are sure to lose. “Cool, thanks” was the longest response I got. Kinder, yet still dismissive and definitely with a period at the end.

But then there was last night. When no one comes to the table with scripted questions because it’s Friday night, everyone’s tired and the game is on in the background. The dinner conversation begins with your middle schooler’s concern for a friend who shared news of his parent’s divorce; crosses into a discussion about the benefits of being uncomfortable; transitions to news of the latest seventh grade couples; remarks on how we get better by doing hard things, then great detail on the difference between mature and immature seventh graders and extends past the last bite, weaving and winding conversation, several layers deep. A natural lull and then the middle schooler asks YOU (even as the game on TV starts to get exciting):

“Can we keep talking?

As Moms we may not always get the answers to the questions we ask our kids. But I have this suspicion our kids know when we’ve been generous and sincere in the asking and they will respond with a piece of themselves. Sometimes even with some elaboration, when we are least expecting it.

Can we keep asking questions? I think so. Even with the white noise of the middle school years. Happy Mother’s Day!

Sicily in Seven Acts

We spent 72 hours in Sicily this past weekend.  Here's a few of our most memorable encounters from the trip.

Act 1: Giacomo, the sweeper

Early one morning on the terrace, a cheerful, Sicilian man in his early 60s came to sweep. “English? Deutsch?” he asked.   We answered “English.”  He nodded, said "No English" and proceeded to talk to us in German. Thanks to the ein bisschen German my husband knows we learned the sweeper’s name was Giacomo, he had worked for Interpol for 7 years in Wiesbaden, Germany but was now retired from the police force and collecting his pension.  After 15 minutes of careful sweeping and constant chatter in the second language he was proud to know, he downed an espresso, bid us "Arrivederci" and hopped in his car, on to the next terrace.

Relais Parco Cavalonga, Donnafugata - Sicily

Act 2: Lovers at Sea

One afternoon we were trekking along a long, mostly deserted beach with sand dunes and a scented eucalyptus park on one side and the Mediterranean Sea on the other.  So strong was the head wind that we bundled up in all the clothes we had, only our toes in the water.   After not seeing a soul for a long time, we spotted a couple in the distance who were changing into their bathing suits – she only half of one and he in a very small one.  Locals, we reasoned.  By the time we reached them, which was truly no time at all, they had already run into the sea and were kissing, seemingly unaware of the wind or water temp.  Love does, cold water be damned.  Not long after, wind now at our back, two young emboldened American boys shed their wind breakers and took the plunge too.

The beach of the Forest Reserve, Randello - Sicily

Act 3: The American

While playing cards in the hotel lobby I overhead a conversation at the front desk.  Without line of sight, the accent confirmed the guest was a fellow American, though from the opposite and more candid coast than I.  Said she to the obliging woman at the front desk:  “We don’t want a late dinner.  Does this restaurant have their menu online?” Stuffing down laughter given what even I knew to be an absurd question in Sicily, the woman at the front desk did not miss a beat when she responded: “No, no menu online … but if you’d like, I can call them …” What happened next was a protracted three-way conversation where dinner was pre-ordered and would be ready on arrival but not before the American asked, “Can you ask them if they have anything with beans.  My husband likes beans.” It is hard to make slow food go fast, but some are willing to try.

Relais Parco Cavalonga, Donnafugata - Sicily

Act 4: Roberto, the waiter

Speaking of slow food, one night we were seated at a four top in a much too brightly lit restaurant at 8pm.  In walked a man, who took off his coat, spoke to the hostess and made a bee-line for our table.  Roberto had been called in from his night off to speak to the Americans.   Dinner he explained was a set menu of 12 starters, two pastas and a whole fish.  The only question was whether we wanted a mix of cooked and uncooked seafood.  We said we’d take both, our two boys included, and he turned to the hostess and said with conviction, “QUATTRO.”   When we jokingly asked Roberto why the restaurant was full of men, he said without a note of sarcasm: “It’s like that every day except Saturday night and Sunday brunch.”  “By the way” he continued, “the only rules are to say STOP when you are done."

During the next four hours we tasted everything the sea had to offer, several things requiring explanation, twice involving Roberto’s wife feeding me with a spoon.  As our adventuress children eventually fatigued, Roberto’s wife serendipitously poured them half a glass of Coke Zero while she bounced between the tables of men, sipping the rest of what was left of the can.  The Owner, whose photos on the wall suggested he was both restaurateur and local politician, roamed the tables of the men he clearly knew well, helping himself to their mussels as he went.  

By time the eleventh starter came, or so we thought, our middle son asleep at the table, with his long checked out younger brother, woke briefly and laughed out loud when three more starters came all at once. After our third attempt at STOP was insistent enough to be received, the second pasta and whole fish were waved off.  It came as no shock at the end of the meal, given the squishy counting of starters, when there was a shotgun exchange between the servers.  Out came a calculator, a shrug of approval and the presentation of the calculator screen in lieu of a bill with the final question:  “Lemoncello?  Grappa?” 

Skallelo, Scoglitti - Sicily

Act 5: Antonio, the shopkeeper

At 2:10 pm in the central square of a Baroque town in Southern Sicily, gelatos in hand, we stood nose to glass at a trendy little t-shirt shop.  It teased us come hither with its colorful window signage only to find on approach it closed for siesta.   Sensing our curiosity and perhaps our wallets, the shopkeeper unlocked the door and invited us in.  Right away it was clear Antonio was less interested in our wallets and more interested in telling us the story of the shop. 

The shop was mostly t-shirts with unique pithy Sicilian proverbs – such as “The more you think about something, the bigger will be your mistake.”—which had been given life in an ironic way through their designs.   Started in this small town there were now 43 of their shops across Sicily.  Proud of their proverbs, Antonio showed and explained each one of the “joking” shirts which we heard as “jogging” shirts until about the 4th one. Once our private consultation with the lively Antonio was finished, we left the store that should have been closed for siesta with a souvenir of Sicilian wisdom: “If you want the bike.  You have to pedal.” 

Siculamente, Ragusa Ibla - Sicily

Act 6: airport passengers

Before the plane had come to a full stop, in a collective disregard for the seat belt sign the Sicilians stormed the aisle.  Only when we deplaned into the brilliant Sicilian sun did I understand.  The prize they were racing for was coming home.  When we were boarding the plane 72 hours later, I chatted up a friendly looking passenger.  “Are you from here?”, I asked.  “Yes, but it had been 10 years since I’ve been back.” he said without a note of longing.  “How was it?” I asked.  “The same as when I left 30 years ago.  Same roads.  Same problems.  Same everything.” No matter where you're from, I remembered, coming home can cut both ways.  

Comiso Airport - Sicily

Act 7: Anna's father

At breakfast one morning we had a lovely conversation with some people:  Anna, a Sicilian born, now living in Brussels part owner of the hotel we were staying in; her husband Carlos who of all things was head of Tourism & Emerging and Creative Industries for the European Commission; and Anna’s elderly father who was still living in Sicily only 30 kilometers away.  Anna's father eagerly shared with us many of his favorite places in the nearby towns. 

Later that day after repeatedly striking out in search of a simple pizza lunch, we ended up at a fish restaurant by the sea mentioned by Anna’s father.  Given the bleak exterior we only went in because we were dejected and it was recommended.  As is often the case when we judge a book by its cover, we were led upstairs to a beautiful dining room full of well-dressed families overlooking the sea.  Lunch, the server explained, was either pasta or fish.  After, he said - in a barely audible voice - 22 starters. Believing our marathon dinner the night before to be a once in a lifetime experience, we agreed to chuck our desire for “simple” and tucked in for remainder of the afternoon.  If we were going to have back to back epic meals at least we were following a true Mediterranean diet.

An hour into an even better meal than the first, a group obviously well-known to the restaurant staff and clientele walked in.  It was Anna and company.  Only 6 hours into our friendship we were the first people they warmly greeted.  Anna’s father, whose zest for life and people reminded me of my Sicilian grandfather, told the waiter to bring us the best bottle of Sicilian champagne. Maybe it was the 22 starters or the champagne or both but for the hours that followed my vision blurred between restaurant and family table. 

Viri Ku C'e, Scoglitti - Sicily

In loving memory of my Sicilian Poppop, James Baldanza.  At the table of course.

Road Trip through Spain

Of all the trips I’ve planned none has been more involved than last summer’s almost three week road trip through Spain.   What made it complicated beyond fitting five people, two bikes and weeks of stuff in our small car was the fact that my sister and her family would be traveling from the US to join us for two of the weeks and my husband would need to fly back and forth for work.  Multi-stop logistics are not my strong suit but expectant company and employed spouses have a way of bringing out the best in you.  (In case it was troubling you, the first logistic was telling my sister she would need to also rent a car.)

It was indeed a fabulous, memorable trip in every way.  We covered a lot of ground from the Basque Country up North, through Madrid and down to Andalucía and back home to Luxembourg.   Before this trip Spain had already won my heart as my most favorite European country but this three week route confirmed how much there is to love about Spain’s dramatic scenery, delicious food and special places to stay. 

Everything just worked.   Hunting down antibiotics in rural Andalucia took a little more work.  Parking in central Madrid, with bikes on the car, both did not work and was a very bad idea.  Otherwise the trip, which included my brother in law running with the bulls in Pamplona, was without incident.  My sister and her family got the tour through Spain they were hoping for, my husband made all his trains and planes, and I did not ditch the bikes in Madrid.

The guidebooks can more than adequately fill in all the details of the places we visited.  The “genius” (if there was one to the trip) was the itinerary.   Aside from a marathon first and last day of driving from Luxembourg to the border of Spain, each day was a manageable amount of driving. You could also do this trip in less than 3 weeks.

The Itinerary

Here is the interactive map of our trip minus the first and last long haul days across France.  The red markers are places we stayed and the yellow markers are places we made day trips to.  The blue line is the driving route we took between our lodging hubs.  Below the map is the order of our home base stops with the "+" for easy day trips from each one.

A. BASQUE & Navarre REGION (Larrasoana)

We started the trip by meeting my sister and her family in the North of Spain.  We drove from Luxembourg and they rented a car in Barcelona and drove about 5 hours to Larrasoana. Larrasoana is a small village town located at the base of the Pyrenees (some of us biked the mountains), on the second stage of the Camino de Santiago (some of us walked a portion of the route and met a new wonderful Spanish friend) and 15 minutes from Pamplona.  We rented a village house on Airbnb large enough for all of us with a nearaby jai alai court for indoor wiffle ball competitions, sisters included.

This is the villa house on Airbnb we rented.

+ Pamplona

The capital city of northern Spain's Navarre province.  We were there in July during the multi-day festival of the Running of the Bulls (Fiesta de San Fermín). One of us was brave enough to run.  The rest of us enjoyed the countdown.

+ San Sebastian

The gorgeous, gastronomic resort town in the mountains and on the Bay of Biscay in Basque Country.  One day trip wasn't enough time to enjoy the beach promenades and pintxo bars so we came back for another day on the drive home.  San Sebastian would make for a better home base but because our group was large and biking in the Pyrenees was a priority we made the village house choice.

+ Zarautz/Getaria

A beach town and a fishing village near San Sebastian. I had been obsessing about wanting to get to Getaria for over a year ...and then people rushed me.

b. Burgos

A stopover on the 5 hour drive from Larrasoana to Madrid is the provincial town of Burgos with few tourists and a beautiful French Gothic Cathedral. 

c.  MADRID

Most non-Europeans flock to Barcelona but most Europeans love Madrid.  Madrid requires a post all its own but if truth be told we didn't do enough of Madrid for me to give it its proper due but it's a place I'd like to visit again.

We rented an Airbnb apartment in the center of Madrid which used to be an old convent.  In terms of quality, location and value, I highly recommend this rental.  For parking, it's a beast.

This is the Airbnb apartment we rented.

d.  ANDALUCIA REGION/CARCABUEY

We then drove 4.5 hours from Madrid to the Cordoba region of Andalucia for some pool time and relaxation.

We rented a villa in the heart of the a natural park near the small town of Carcabuey through Rustic Blue.  Summer villa rentals on Rustic Blue do require a Saturday to Saturday stay.  You can read my post on "Tips for Renting a Villa in Europe" for more information on how I found this one.

This is the villa we rented through Rustic Blue.

+ Toledo

On the way to Carcabuey the walled old city of Toledo is an easy stopover for lunch.

+ Cordoba

Córdoba and famous La Mezquita mosque is 90 minutes away for an easy day trip.  (One day tripper was a little hot and tired in Cordoba...)

+ Granada

No trip to Andalucia would be complete without a trip to the historic city of Granada and the beautiful Alhambra. It was even more beautiful than we imagined and we had the benefit of meeting up with Spanish friends (my son's girlfriend and her family) who shared their knowledge and history with us.

e.  near madrid/ALCUNEZA

After our day in Granada my sister and her family flew home out of Madrid, our oldest son went to spend a week with his girlfriend's family on the southern Coast of Spain and we took our time driving home.  I picked a few special places to sample on our way back.

The first place was a lovely flour mill turned luxury hotel an hour North of Madrid in Alcuneza.  Parking was much better.  This isn't a place to go out of your way to but it's a a great overnight alternative to staying in Madrid.  We stumbled on a spectacular gorge carved out by the Rio Dulce near Siguenza.

Here's the small hotel we stayed at.

f.  near san sebastian/BIDANIA

The second stop was a countryside hotel called Iriarte Jauregia in Bidania 20 minutes from San Sebastian.  This would be a nice place for an overnight after staying a few days in San Sebastian.

Here's the small countryside hotel we stayed at.

G.  ILE DE RE (France)

The third and last stop was at La Baronnie Hotel & Spa in Ile de Rey's main town of Saint Martin.  This place is France's own version of the Hamptons with miles and miles of flat cycling paths designed with families in minds, quaint villages and beaches.  This island connected to the mainland by bridge deserves it's own trip.

Here's the quaint hotel we stayed at.

Thailand: Bangkok and Beach

As the most visited city in the world Bangkok needs another travel blog like we need a sixth star to the spicy rating system.  And yet here I go.

I'm writing this because a) I said I would b) I need an outlet to justify carrying around my camera in 95 degree heat and c) when I set out to  plan our trip to Thailand I was completely overwhelmed by all the options.  Guidebooks are fantastic travel aides but nothing beats personal referrals to get you pointed in a direction.  So thank you to several of you who shared your Thailand travel stories and those who assured me that the probability of encountering a snake were about as likely as my family catching dengue fever.  Guidebooks, like State Departments, are required to tell you about all the potential threats and experienced traveler friends are there to remind you 30 million tourists made it safely home from Thailand last year.  

(By way of full disclosure, none of us got dengue fever but we did get touches of a few angry somethings in our tummies and while there weren’t any snake sightings the jellyfish were as reported ... except so much bigger.)

I am also writing this to give you the confidence to plan your own trip rather than buy one of those all-inclusive packages.  Here’s something I learned from my 18 year old who studied tourism in Thailand as part of his Geography class … when you buy an all-inclusive package to Thailand from a travel company based outside of the country  80% of the money you spend leaves the Thai economy.  80%! That leakage is disheartening when you consider how much Thailand’s economy depends on tourism and how hard they work to make you feel welcome.  So if you can, DIY! 

I should say at the outset that there are two ways to do Thailand – the budget way and the more comfortable way.  If the former, I’m not sure these pointers will be of much service but if air conditioning is a prerequisite of your travel jam then maybe …

1.  Pick a hotel or apartment that will serve as an oasis from the chaos.  Bangkok is a stimulating, exhausting city so you will be glad if you splurge a little on lodging where you can recharge your batteries.  I'd also encourage hotel over apartment as hotels are plentiful and the Thai service which would be absent in an apartment is so warm it would be a shame to miss it.

We spent three nights in Bangkok at the beginning of our trip and one additional night at the end.  The first hotel we stayed in was the Metropolitan Como, a contemporary hotel set back on a quieter road from the embassy-lined and busy Sathorn Road in Silom.   It’s a 169 room hotel with beautiful people, close to shopping with a large 20 meter lap pool, a spa that looked fancy and the world-renown Nahm restaurant (ranked 22nd in the world.)   We ate there and it was fabulous and probably one of the most affordable of the restaurants in the top 100.  As a family we had two adjoining, very spacious rooms with a full service breakfast included.   You know it’s full service when there are multiple french toast options and quinoa porridge on the menu. 

The second hotel we stayed in was the Ariyasomvilla, a traditional Thai style house that was converted into a 24 room hotel with lovely gardens set close to the well-known Sukhumvit Road which is interesting by day and too-many-single-white-males-walking by night.  The English owner previously worked building Shangri-La Hotels in Asia so the boutique hotel which was initially his father in law’s house has a quality aesthetic and service approach.  In addition to the gorgeous rooms with let-me-sleep-longer-linens they also have a very nice non-meat restaurant serving breakfast, lunch, dinner and mojitos.   This hotel is highly rated on Trip Advisor and for good reason, especially if you want a more authentic Thai place to stay.

2.  Get out on the streets and walk.   Bangkok is a city of crazy contrasts where skyscrapers and upscale malls are scattered like seed without regard to neighborhood.  Street commerce - especially the food stalls -  is every bit as busy as places with a street address (assuming you knew how to read them.)  You need to smell the smells – most good, some challenging -- and watch people do or create something with what my Western sensibilities found to be a ridiculously small amount of personal space. 

When you are done walking, the BTS Skytrain will almost always be faster than a taxi.  And because it’s elevated, the air conditioned Skytrain also gives you a great bird’s eye view of the city.  It’s not an economic decision but a time one as the traffic in Bangkok makes Seattle traffic look breezy.  The few times we asked the hotel for a taxi, they suggested the Skytrain or Metro.  The traffic of cars, vans, pink taxis, scooters, tuk tuks and pedestrians in Bangkok is more “civilized” than in other parts of Asia because everyone is following the same rule: “just keep moving.”  Be aware however that “just keep moving” at 11:30pm without traffic in a tuk tuk means way faster than you will be comfortable without a seatbelt. Oh and do yourself a favor and accept the transport service to and from the airport if your hotel offers it. 

3.  Hire a private tour guide to see the city’s major temples and attractions.    If tours aren’t normally your thing (our case) or if you tend to do larger group tours, I would urge you to hire a private tour guide.  The price is right (very cheap) and with a private tour guide you can craft your own agenda and go at your own pace which is important for when you start melting or need some sticky rice with mango.  In addition to getting the benefit of their knowledge you will also save boatloads of time not having to worry about navigation. Now I know some of you like your map challenges but even my world-tested navigation team agreed it was nice to be off duty from maps when trying to cross a city with the purpose of visiting temples, the heart and quiet soul of the very busy city. 

Private tour guides is a competitive business in Bangkok so there are many affordable options but do book ahead.  Like weeks/months ahead.  I booked an 8 hour day with Your Thai Guide and requested Nina as our travel guide.   Opting for public transportation instead of private van, we did the Grand Palace, Wat Pho and a canal tour through Thonburi by private long tail boat plus lunch which amounted to a very full day.  We learned and saw more during one guided day than we could have manufactured ourselves in three days.  Nina was fantastic and like so many Thai people enjoys kids (even mine after 8 hours!) and I would highly recommend her to anyone. 

4.  Do a food tour.   Food is so central to the Thai culture and every meal, breakfast included, is a feast.  There is much food being sold on the streets as in the restaurants and so you will want some guidance on what and where to eat. 

We did two food tours and no one in the family can say which was better.   The first one we did was a cooking class and market tour called Cooking with Poo.   The class starts at the Klong Toey wet market where we saw all kinds of local Thai produce along with insects, chicken feet and a host of other things we didn’t know were edible. 

After the market tour and rain storm, we headed back to the cooking school (via van) which is still in the slum where it started.  Working in two shifts of six people, each of us – my kids included - got to make/prepare 3 Thai dishes.  Now that they’ve made green curry I have skilled help to pound the paste.  The food part was great fun, instructional enough to learn a few new tricks, but hearing Poo’s story and the story of the cooking school was the highlight.  Her testimony to the beauty of community meant that in addition to leaving with tummies full our eyes saw more than the slum when we left. 

The second food tour with Bangkok Food Tours was completely different.   We choose the Best Eats Midnight Food Tour by Tuk Tuk as a means of experiencing both street food and late night Bangkok in a slightly more civilized way.  Even though it doesn’t qualify as a hidden secret and it took a little of the mystique away when we bumped into another group of 12 with the same company at a few of our stops it is still completely worth doing.  With eight stops along the way – including a stop at Wat Pho at night to let the previous food stop digest, a night time flower market and a rooftop drink stop along the river with spectacular views of Wat Arun – you get to sample a lot of food and connecting the stops via tuk tuk was much like having an amusement park ride between courses (fyi, you do sign a waiver).  At 11:30pm one of my children (not the youngest) was face down asleep alongside his plate of Bangkok’s best pad Thai.  (We took it to go.)

5.  Once you go deep and experience Thai culture in Bangkok, head to the beach for some relaxation.  There are lots of options in every direction so give consideration to the way you most prefer to unwind.  We are of the not big resort, golf club or national luxury hotel brand type but there are lots of options if that is your speed.  After exhaustive research I finally choose the Aleenta Hua Hin which is a local boutique resort in the little market town of Pranburi, 30 km south of Hua Hin (about 3 hours by van from Bangkok.) 

Set on an un-commercialized stretch of long empty beach nestled between “baht billionaire villas” and local fish cafes, we spent five nights in our 3 bedroom villa which was about 100 meters away from the main Aleenta building.  We did nothing noteworthy except to enjoy the peaceful beach, a few massages and the afternoon entertainment of kite surfers.  You know you are staying in “Old Thailand” when you see a man walking his sheep on the beach.   Aside from a few lunches a the local fish cafe, we ate all our meals at the two very good but shy of excellent Aleenta restaurants with a mix of Thai and westernized fare where all the organic food is sourced within 30 kilometers.

Aleenta means “a rewarding life” ... I'll spare you any more details ... but you can trust me when I say after 22 countries, all three boys declared this "the best trip ever."

Travel adapters and snakes

We are leaving for Thailand on Monday. Our nine day trip to Bangkok and the beach resort town of Hua Hin on the Gulf Coast has been booked for a long time. I did all the necessary due diligence checking on visa requirements (not required if staying under 30 days), confirming immunizations with my doctor (all set), and the hard work of bathing suit planning and finding five complete sets of flip-flops.

Last night my husband casually asked about travel adapters. That was a mistake.

I grabbed our Thailand Guide Book and flipped to the section called “Travel Essentials.” There I found the (vague) answer about travel adapters under the heading “Electricity.” Smug with satisfaction on our preparedness for every voltage and pin scenario I casually turned the page where the next heading in “Travel Essentials” was called “Other Bites.” Where are the trigger warnings when you need them?

This is the exact moment I learned that Thailand has not just any old snakes, but lots of poisonous snakes AND snakes in Bangkok?! AND venomous sea snakes meaning neither land nor water is safe and the only truly safe way to make the trip would be to spend nine days in a hot air balloon.

For those of you who know me and my well-known snake phobia, you might be able to imagine what this discovery did to me. Hyperventilation. Blooming hysteria. For anyone else reading, you might wonder – or join my husband in saying – “What is wrong with you? You’re going to SOUTHEAST ASIA. How did snakes NOT cross you mind?”

Why? Because when you think about visiting a city of 8 million people you aren’t expecting urban danger you might step on or when you are really scared about something you try not to think about it or you think about jellyfish instead which is a danger you can handle. It’s called denial and it works well when your husband doesn’t ask you to look stuff up.

Then I Googled “snakes and Hua Hin” and the search results sent my phone flying to the floor. Reading my private How-To-Cancel-The-Trip-Now thoughts knowing they were about to be made public, my husband got all tough love on me. He thought it would be helpful for me to know all hospitals are well supplied with antivenins. Positively Unhelpful. Knowing the ubiquity of medical help was essentially implying a bitten limb was all but inevitable.

When he reasoned, “There are millions of tourists in Thailand and have you ever heard one say, it’s great but watch out for the snakes.” “No,” I said, “but maybe all these years of fears I’ve had about snakes is because one of my children is going to die from ….” And that was the end of our conversation last night. It’s hard to have a conversation when one person has gone apocalyptic and the other person wants to talk probabilities.

I know it sounds overblown and dumb but I’ve spent decades doubling down on this irrational fear. Fear is the overbearing frenemy we let ride shotgun. And if they’ve been riding with you since you learned to drive, they were there long before you got GPS and they always think they know the best way. They can be so bossy.

It started when I was 11 years old living in New Mexico where our grassy backyard bumped up against the desert and every dog on our street had had an encounter with a rattlesnake. The fear started with a real threat but has been unreceptive to new and better information in the years since. Though I’ve been told they are almost always more scared of me than I am of them, I see all snakes as a threat, not just the dangerous ones. It’s caused all kinds of mortifying situations on hikes, at the zoo, in the movie theatre. Regretfully, I’ve passed on this fear, in all its spectacular theatrics, to two of my children.

So here I am today. It’s a new day. It’s also Good Friday. I haven’t spent the morning Google searching myself into a frenzy or firing off emails to the hotel with special requests and impossible questions. I’ve started to pack. I may not be able to fully restrain my fear but I can ask it nicely to move to the back seat – to the third row seat – and ask it to not talk to my children. I’ll have to make the same choice again tomorrow, and on the third day and for the nine days I’m there. I am reminded too that there will be other people on my flight facing different fears – the fear of flying or the fear of walking into a European airport terminal to name just a few – but if we don’t push through the fear we’d miss the surprise of being lifted up and taken to a new, mysterious, marvelous place.

My husband sent me an email this morning from a local blog:
“Long story short, there are snakes. You will probably not see them, and if you do, they are easily avoided. Avoid walking in tall grass or a rice paddy, which most tourists are unlikely to do. If you do see a snake around the hotel, tell somebody who works there. They will get rid of it.”

Now there’s a thought worth holding on to. Someone else - available - to get rid of it … for me.

The College Application Process

For those of you not a few weeks away from putting a deposit down on a college tuition at some institution yet to be decided, might I bend your ear for a word?

You know that feeling when you are up big in a card game and then you have one bad hand where you’re left holding lots of face cards and jokers and you slide out of the lead? October until the end of the March during your child’s last year of high school – the protracted season called the college application process -- is a little like that.

Get ahead now while you can.

You mean well, and genuinely have your son or daughter’s best interest in mind, but sometimes your own intensity about the whole thing comes around and surprises you. Of course you’ll get tangled up in the wide ranging emotions that come with watching your child (check that: young adult!) separate from you and as a result swing from encouraging a nearby school or one in Singapore. You’ll have feelings you didn’t know you still harbored about your own college experience - some good, some bad and some completely irrelevant- but all with an urgency to be shared.

You will check the mailbox like its 1988.

In the early rounds, you are open to all sorts of possibilities – firefighting, Egyptology, bakery science, schools in the Deep South. You talk about stuff like finding the “Best Fit” for your kids and mean it even when you’ve never heard of the place and are pretty sure they’ve only heard of it because it’s near the beach or because a 6’10” Lithuanian got a basketball scholarship there. You swallow hard but quietly when you wonder if “best fit” is 100 miles from an airport or if a school with a Fighting Artichoke as a mascot is sufficiently reaching.

(Here I must mention - in order to protect the innocent - these examples are not specific.)

Your remarkable openness lulls you into thinking you will NEVER be one of those pushy college parents. Trouble is when the rubber meets the road and you near the end of the process; you want not just the Best Fit but also the Best. Even if you were mostly hands off up until this point, you might find yourself doing “school ranking research” and emailing it to your son or daughter during school hours or even find yourself trolling sites like College Confidential or the Student Room to “gather data.” You’re not like one of those crazy Moms who posts anything there (except FB posts like this one!) but if anyone saw your browsing history one might wonder if you were the one going back to school.

(Here I must confess these examples are very, very, embarrassingly specific.)

What is 100% sure is you will want to talk about it 10x more than your college bound son or daughter. This imbalance might be manageable if the process was compressed but when the process takes six months, you’ve all but guaranteed TOO MUCH TALKING. Secret signals with siblings is likely to follow. Add to the waiting the numbers of universities kids nowadays are applying to (like 10!) and you’ll need a matrix to keep track of all the details.

The truth is you know in our your heart that Best Fit doesn’t always equal Best in the same way that sometimes progress is not a step forward but an about turn. It is possible than Best can be measured but Best Fit is a complex algorithm you can’t solve. The other, harder truth is that at 17 or 18 years old, they know themselves better than you do now and so are in a much better position to gauge which school will get them closer to the place they’re heading.

So while talking and matrices might be a strategy at the twilight of your core parenting years, being in the service of good listening might be a better one. I have a few weeks left to take a dose of my own medicine. I’m open to having my browsing history checked.