italy

If you can only go to one country in Europe and you want to be sure that you leave feeling like you've been to a place that connects you to history and culture and weaves the two into all the other places in Europe that you may see, go to Italy. This is an art in your face country. It is impossible to get away from it. We spent 13 days in Italy, more time than we gave to any other country, and it wasn't enough. We've both been to Venice and Rome, so we skipped those this time. I came here several times with students and have always loved it. I still do and can't wait to go back.

If you can avoid driving anywhere near Venice , do it. It took us three hours to get through the traffic caused by the toll gate just north of Venice . I was on the verge of telling Paul to turn the car north and get the hell out of Italy when we finally inched around the bend and saw the toll booth 200 yards ahead behind a sea of cars with no lanes. Chaos, but that's Italy.

Before the trip, Paul met with a colleague of his who is Italian and got some advice about what to see and where to go as we drove down to almost the heel of the boot and then back up to the north western side. He recommended Ferrara since we'd both been to Venice and we just needed a place to stay on our way south. The day we arrived, we only had time to set up camp and do some shopping before it was time to put Tim to bed. It was Saturday, and our camp director warned us that no shops are open Sunday.

On Sunday, we walked from our camp through the walls of the fortified medieval city and into the center. It was ghostly quiet, but once we were in the main tourist area, we managed to find a gelato shop open. We picnicked in a small, grassy park with view of the castle complete with moat.

the castle

the moat

From there we wandered the cobbled streets and enjoyed the Renaissance architecture and absence of cars.

the church off the main square

By mid afternoon, we were foot sore and looking forward to the thick grass and cool shade at our campsite. Tim enjoyed practicing his new found crawling skills.

our shady campsite

From Ferrara , we drove to Ravenna via Comacchio, described to us as a poor man's Venice. I think we were the only tourists there.

daily life in comacchio

a comacchio canal

Ravenna is famous for the stunning mosaics on a number of churches. We thought we'd visit one or two but were so impressed that we saw all of them.

close up of the three wise men

the three wise men from across the church

none of this is painted; it's all mosaics

impressive



beautiful

We only stayed one night in our campsite near the sea, but it was enough time for Tim to get yet another grandmother. This one was Italian with grown children but no grandchildren yet. She exchanged hellos with us several times as we passed her camper on the way in and out of our road, and finally asked to see Tim. She held him, sang to him, got on the ground and played with him and generally lavished him with attention. Her English was excellent and we enjoyed conversing with her and her husband who spoke little but smiled a lot. When we left the following morning, we stopped to say goodbye. She insisted on making us a cup of good Italian coffee and did not disappoint. I may not remember all of the people we met in our campsites, but the fact that we met so many, that they all praised and pampered Tim, and that they all were interested in us and willing to share things about themselves, is a memory that I will cherish of this trip. I want to experience more places via camping, starting with the US as soon as we can after moving there.

our ravenna campsite was sand, but that didn't bother tim

Our next city to see was Alberobello in the south, but we didn’t know how long it would take to get there. Tim was in a cooperative mood, making it possible for us to cover a lot of ground, and we made it that afternoon. I’m sure that Paul had told me about this place back when we were planning our time in Italy, but too much information had passed into my head since then for me to remember it now. I didn’t know why we were going there. He told me in the car several times that it was to see the trulli houses. He described them, but it didn’t mean anything to me. Late in the afternoon, as we drove through farmland, I asked Paul what all the Teletubby houses were about.

teletubby homes?

no, trulli houses

still used as homes, but mostly rented for holiday makers

At first, he didn’t know what I was talking about. As the driver, he’d been watching the road and god (our divine satnav) and nothing else. My question made him look around a bit more. When he saw the cone shaped stone houses, he realized that what I’d nicknamed the teletubby houses were the trulli houses that we’d come here to see. That evening as we had a beer at the bar next to our camp site, we laughed about the state we were in. We’d traveled so much and seen so many things that we were constantly in the state of one of us not knowing what we were doing in that location and the other of us being too numb to mock. We went to the historic area of the city the next day to see the densest collection of these strange structures. We had a lunch and bought a bottle of wine that a man at the bar the night before recommended in broken English – nero vino, black wine. It was expensive and we decided to save it to share with the Lawn’s when we got back to England. Tim served as the ice-breaker once more in our conversation with him. He’s a grandfather many times over and loves children. He was obviously proud of his city. He told us to have the local cheese and olives as well, but we didn’t manage to do that. We were only there for two nights. I would have liked to stay in one of the trulli inns. Maybe then, we could have enjoyed the local olives and cheese. But we wouldn’t have met him or learned of nero vino.

This part of Italy seems to be one hilltop medieval city after the next. All of them made of white stone and all of them surrounded by dry, dusty farmland, mostly of olive trees. It’s easy to see why the south is the poorer part of the country. However, we didn’t suffer when it came to food despite what northern Italians will tell you. Paul’s colleague gave us a lot of good advice on this trip, but the best was to visit Matera and stay at the Hotel Sassi. We liked the hotel and the city so much that we blew our budget and stayed two nights instead of one.

Matera is like no other place I’ve seen in Europe.





It feels older than Europe like Jerusalem or Damascus. The stone houses are built on steep hillsides, on top of each other. An ant colony comes to mind when I think of how the city is situated. Most of the dwellings are not accessible by road or even bicycle. You have to be on foot or maybe on a donkey. Sassi are dwellings that are part cave part man made structure. This was one of the poorest places in Italy after WWII, and now it is one of the coolest. At least half of it needs to be renovated, but what has been repaired and improved is cool to the core. We visited a museum of Sassi life, which helped us visualize how people lived here.

the front door to a sassi

a typical street in matera

Our hotel room was in a Sassi, but as you can see from the photos, it wasn’t representative of life here, and not so long ago.

the entrance to our sassi hotel room. the upstairs has a reading area and beneath it is the bathroom

the sleeping area of our sassi as seen from the upper reading area

Our guide book recommended a restaurant that the locals like. If you spend 5 euros on drinks, you get free tapas only Italian style. The first time we went there, we doubtful. We ordered beer but that wasn’t 5 euros worth so we had cokes as well. 6 different ‘dishes’ arrived with our drinks consisting of four morsels per plate. Most of them were stuffed savory pastries and all of them were delicious. We were full for 10 euros! Of course, we ate there for lunch the next day as well.

our free food

so romantic

From Matera , we went to Sorrento, which was a mistake. It’s packed with people, expensive, and hard to get around. We played with the idea of going to Capri , but the crowds, congestion, and cost turned us off. We stayed one night and getting back into the tent after two nights in our posh Sassi was hard.

sorrento coast

On the way north to Umbria, we stopped at Pompeii and Paul took it all in while Tim and I napped in the car and wandered around the campsite next to the entrance. If we’d known of this place, we’d have skipped Sorrento and stayed here instead. Pompeii is impressive and well worth seeing, but it was hot and I’d been there twice before, so I was happy to skip it.

pompei city walls

a statue in someone's garden

frescos in a home

a quiet garden

Umbria is gorgeous. Beautiful hills, lush farmland, and more medieval cities on hills. Our most romantic campsite was just outside the walls of Assisi where we had a birds eye view of the entire valley and a glorious sunset to top it off. The campsite was nearly empty and we had a spot amidst olive trees, high on the hills. Once the sun disappeared and our view of the valley with it, the stars played the encore as we sipped our wine and talked about what we’d seen. One of the best things about this trip is the amount of talking that we do. With no TV, phone or computer to distract us, we spend our time discussing our past, our future, and what we’re doing each day.

our camp site

typical street

roman temple

the famous church on top of a church

From Assisi, we drove further north into the Tuscan hills and to our campsite outside Florence in the Chianti hills. On the way there, we stopped at Cortona, another charming hilltop, medieval city.

cortona

Florence is my favorite Italian city after Rome. I’ve been many times with students. Tim needed some time to crawl, play and hide in the shade, so we stayed at home while Paul went into the city. Read Brunelleshci’s Dome and The Agony and the Ecstasy before you go to Florence. They are great books, wonderful to read, but they also serve as excellent guides. I’ll let Paul’s photos tell you about the city.

florence

santa maria del fiore

the medice chapel (chapel?!)

ponte vecchio

the baptistry

By now, we are sick of camping. We no longer just envy people in their campers, we hate them. We decided to stay longer in Florence just so we wouldn’t have to take down and set up camp again. We did a day trip to Arezzo and Sienna. Paul’s Italian colleague told him that Arezzo is his spiritual home. It’s another lovely medieval city, but nothing compared to Sienna. It does have the church featured in The English Patient when the Sikh shows the nurse the frescos in the church. They are lovely, but we couldn't take photos.


arezzo

Sienna is a glorious place. If you go to Florence, take the time to visit Sienna. The main square is jaw dropping. Just a few weeks ago we saw Quantum of Solace, with its opening scenes in Sienna. I love seeing places in movies that I’ve visited. The movie doesn’t do the city justice. It’s that great.


sienna's narrow medieval streets


the main square


the city from the tower

Pisa was a stop on the way to our final Italian destination.


the church and the tower


the tower

Our last Italian destination was a national park called Cinque Terre, meaning five lands. I first heard of this place from Pete and Tracy, who say it’s their favorite place in Italy. I understand why they love it. I still like Rome and Florence better but that’s probably because I went here with a baby and a car. This place is for couples. Do not. Do not. Do not drive here. Take the train. Get a hotel in one of the five cliff hugging, seaside villages and spend your time walking the streets of each village holding hands, riding the train between villages holding hands, cooling off in the sea holding hands, and enjoying sun downers holding hands. It’s nearly impossible to hold hands when pushing a stroller. The roads are constant switch backs, narrow and slow. The villages are cute, the views spectacular, and the food fantastic. Our campsite director sold us some wine that she said never caused headache. Ha!


riomaggiore


riomaggiore


manarola


vernazza


monterosso-if you blow this up you can see four of the five villages

I want to go back to Italy. There is still so much to see and taste and learn. I’d love to rent a villa with friends with kids and spend a week or two taking cooking classes and being Italian for a while.

slovenia

island church on lake bled

The first photo sums up my memories of Slovenia both from this trip and my first visit. This lake is about a 45 minute drive from the capital, Ljubljana where we stayed for our first two nights in Slovenia.


the city sits on the ljubljana river.

Slovenia is a feast for the eyes. Croatia has beautiful mountains with thick forests, but we didn't visit these, making the change from Croatian beach to Slovenian Julian Alps a stunning contrast. The temperature cooled and we slept easier. Our guide book describes Slovenia as having the "Germanic work ethic with a Mediterranean joie de vivre." This seems the perfect combination to me because it means that deadlines are met and things get accomplished but time is taken for food, family, and fun. To us, the people of Ljubljana appear to be chic like Parisians, but relaxed and friendly. This country enjoyed considerably more freedom than others behind the Iron Curtain, and it shows.


the cafe culture thrives here, and the setting is picture perfect. ljubljana means beloved.


art nouveau buildings line the cobbled streets


fountains and statues appear around every corner

We stayed two nights in Ljubljana at a resort type camp site with crowds of people. We went to bed both nights listening to the local talent sing songs that were bad when they were new twenty years ago. Surprisingly, 'Alice' didn't make the play list. Still, the setting was pretty and the weather perfect. Our camp site at Lake Bled might have been our favorite camp site of the whole trip, but that's hindsight speaking. We agree that it ranks in the top five. It was clean, across the street from the swimming area of the lake, had nice laundry facilities, a restaurant, a small grocery store, and free wifi. The grass was so thick that Tim, on the verge of crawling for weeks, mastered the skill.


our lovely campsite with real toilets after weeks of turkish squat toilets


We walked half the circumference of the lake along a path that allowed for Tim's stroller. each time the path brought us against the shore, we saw teams of fish. we watched a fisherman wrestle in a huge carp at least as big as Tim, and that's no fish story.



Lake Bled doesn't just have a church on an island in the center, it has a cliff hugging castle on one side. We hope to return to Slovenia. The skiing is supposed to be good here.

croatia

15-18 august

It's hard to start writing again. Phrases and clauses of what I wrote and lost in the robbery keep floating in and out of my head, and chasing them into coherent thoughts is frustrating. I've got to stop delaying before even the broad details start to get lost.

The first thing that I remember about this visit to Croatia is getting there from Montenegro. We had spoken of how the hard part of this journey is behind us now, how the roads were going to be good from tomorrow on, and how easy getting around would be. Enter a ferry crossing and a border crossing, and all that changed. The coast of Montenegro includes a large cut inland that takes hours to circumvent, or you can take a ferry across a ½ mile strip of water and save a lot of driving. It took us an hour to get on the ferry and there were four of them running. It’s a great place to build a bridge, but it seems that too much has been invested in the ferry business to do that. Paul refers to it as the ferry mafia; he probably isn’t wrong. There’s an ice cream seller that does a smashing business by the ticket office.


the section of water the ferry crosses

The border crossing took even longer. The most frustrating part is watching cars jump the queue. Actually, it’s more frustrating to watch cars allow enough of a gap so that someone can jump the queue. On the narrow road, a Serbian car cut in a few cars in front of us. Paul nicknamed him Milosevic (My past experience with Serbians has been negative, so I enjoyed this.). As we got to the spot where one lane turned into three, we moved into a lane different from him. It was very satisfying to get through the barricades before him. At the Montenegrin check point, the guard gave us a smile and wished us a good day.


our first view of dubrovnik from the road above

It took us so long to get to Dubrovnik that all we did was set up camp in an overcrowded and huge campsite and head for the beach for some soothing time in the water. Tim seems to love the water more each time. He doesn’t care about the temperature at all anymore. As soon as we get close, he barks an “Ah!” and starts wiggling. He splashed and kicked happily.


tim enjoying the croatian beach (across from split - no photos of him at the dubrovnik beach

Like Montenegro , Croatia has wonderful beaches. Neither Paul nor I are big beach holiday people. I like the sea and I like to get in the water, but sitting on the beach bores me. Also, I don’t like sand. The final strike for me against beach holidays is that the only beach holidays I had as a kid were in Hawaii. (Don’t you feel sorry for me?) I’m beach spoiled. When I first came to the Adriatic in Croatia in 2004, I felt I had found my kind of beach, even better than Hawaii. The water is comfortably warm. It’s so clear that swimming around on top of a float face down is almost as good as snorkeling, and there is no messy sand. I think Paul is becoming as big an eastern Adriatic fan as I am. It’s hot here, and the Adriatic is unlike any other, so we’ve become beach people.

My colleague at ACS Egham described Dubrovnik as a sea of red when you see it from the road above and a city of white marble from the streets below. She didn't lie. The old town is walled, and inside everything is done in the same white rock that seems to be Croatia 's trademark. The highlight of seeing the old city was walking the wall. It takes a while but the view of the sea on one side straight down and the land on the other is well worth it. Just don't leave your sunglasses when you stop to feed your son. I was holding Paul's and set them down. He found them again, but didn't enjoy the climb back up the stairs and the slope up. Of course, I left them on one of the highest parts of the wall.


our walk along the walls around the city


the city within the walls

From Dubrovnik we continued up the coast. We camped across a bay from Split and did a day trip in. The center boasts Diocletian’s Palace. Again, lots of white rock and the Roman stuff is impressive. Our campsite had a small private beach and we spent one whole day enjoying it. The rocks were smooth and just big enough that Tim could put them in his mouth without worry of choking. He liked the salt. The moonrise over Split and across the water was good enough to sit and watch both nights. Tim was good enough to go to bed just as it appeared, so we got to enjoy the romantic atmosphere as much as you can in a campsite.


a view of the moonrise over split from our campsite across the bay

Away from the coast, Croatia has great roads, so we hightailed it for Slovenia and the cool Julian Mountains.

end of intermission

The thieves didn’t just steal items and passports; they stole six weeks from us. That’s how long it took for Paul to get his visa reissued. Tim and I were in the US for five of those weeks having come over here on 16 September as originally planned. We didn’t think it would take more than a week to get the visa. On the 16th, my dad flew from Denver to London in order to fly back with us. When we travel on his companion passes, we get his seniority number if he is with us. Otherwise, we get put at the bottom of the standby list. His plan was to catch a flight to Heathrow via Chicago, arrive in London just in time to meet us, and catch the return non-stop to Denver. This way, he’d never have to deal with the time change. He gets to fly first class, so it’s a chance to enjoy a few good meals, a couple of movies, and all the booze he can take. It didn’t quite go as planned because the flights to Chicago were all booked, so he went through Sioux City. In total, he was on planes or in airports for 36 hours. Thanks Dad. What a guy. Really. Because of Dad’s presence, Tim and I got the isle and window two-seat combination in Economy Plus (infants can’t travel anywhere but economy and economy plus on companion passes). When I arrived at my seat and sat down with Tim, I said to the older couple behind me: “Let me apologize now for what may happen with my son on this flight. He’s never flown before.” The woman laughed and said that if he makes a racket she’ll just smack him. They are parents and grandparents several times over. The flight wasn’t too bad other than I couldn’t go to the loo-no way to leave Tim. Dad came back to check on me once but I didn’t think about it. Tim took a couple of naps and entertained himself with the seat belts, tray table (no one in front of him) and magazines. I had a backpack full of his books and toys but left it when I came through security – too many things to keep track of. I left his beautiful hand knit Springbok sweater that Gran made for him on the plane. Again, I couldn’t keep up with all our stuff. I just am not cut out for being a single mom.

Paul and I were silly thinking that because he had a sealed packet from the embassy with all his immigration paperwork inside, his passport wasn’t that important. I am familiar with several people, international teachers, who didn’t have visas when they went to work in foreign countries and just entered as visitors and then sorted out their work visas after they arrived. We were a bit naïve. He didn’t even make it through check-in before he was turned away. We should have known that a work visa and an immigration visa are poles apart and that the US is a country under a perpetual state of Orange Alert, now ruled by Homeland Security. We made a quick decision for Tim and I to go ahead and Paul stay behind and said our good-byes. Paul had a sad and long journey back to Smalldrinks. That’s the name of the home of our dear friends Jon and Tara and their children Edie (3) and Dominic (1). They let us stay with them in June when we had to leave our flat because it was rented and wait for Paul’s passport to come back from the US embassy a week later then we’d planned. They also let us stay with them for a week when we returned from our trip and did our final errands before moving to the US. They then let Paul live with them for the six weeks that it took for him to get his new visa. Paul became their cook and favorite uncle to the kids. We’ll never be able to express our gratitude for opening their home to him and then Tim and me when we returned to the UK. Just know that when they make their way to us in the US, they are in for one good time!

I won’t speak too much about the difficulties of the time that Paul and I spend apart. Tim and I suffered terribly from jetlag. It took Tim at least two weeks to come right. I made it after three days, but his sleepless, restless nights made it feel like I was never going to recover my sleep. Mom and Dad helped me during the day, and without this, I would have had a much harder time. Paul was stuck in the UK with nothing to do-a blessing to some but a real curse to him. He struggled with helplessness, and I struggled with single parenthood. We looked forward to our webcam chats and always came away from them heart sore and frustrated. The worst of all of it was that we did not know when it would end.

In the middle of the fourth week, my dad and I went to dinner. I told him that if the week ended without word from the embassy, I was going to take Tim back to the UK despite the jetlag he’d be subjected to. Dad said, “Why not go tomorrow? Even if you’re only there one day, it’ll be worth it.” No truer words have ever been spoken. Isn’t my dad great?! Word became deed, and my family was reunited on Friday, 17 October, one month after we left. The flight had plenty of empty seats, so Dad didn’t have to make the trip and Tim and I enjoyed three empty seats. He slept 6 hours and I was able to nod off a few times. Still no trips to the loo.


Tim waiting to board our plane back to the UK.

In the UK, Paul emailed the embassy the day before I decided to return, politely asking how much longer it would be until he received his visa as his family was separated and he needed to make decisions about reuniting us. On the Monday after I arrived, he received an email from them stating that his visa had been reissued and would be delivered via the courier soon. What is soon? Take a minute and answer that question for yourself. My time working in the UK and being Paul’s partner has reinforced my understanding of how slippery English is. For example, the word now means different things to different English speaking people, especially when adverbs are attached to it. To me, just now means in the very recent past as in “I got a call from my boss, and I’ve been given the new job.” “When did you get the call?” “Just now” (as in a few minutes ago.). Just now to Paul and many South Africans means I’ll do something in the near future, as in “I’ll fix the leaking faucet just now” (meaning probably today but maybe tomorrow). So what does soon mean? Paul and I thought it meant 24 hours, but to the person who sent the email who may have been either an American or a Brit, it meant four days. We were together and it was much better, but it did seem it would never end.


An English pub is a good place to kill some time, especially one as picturesque as this.

When we finally got the visa, we had to wait two more days until there were flights on United with seats for us. It looked like we could get out early on the Sunday morning flight (26 October) from London to Washington DC, so we spent the night at a hotel near Heathrow. We had to be up at 04:30 and Tim wouldn’t sleep in his own bed, so we appreciated the extra hour that came with England’s return to GMT. We got seats in economy plus again with Tim getting a seat between us. I got to use the loo! Our flight was delayed two hours due to mechanical problems, so we missed our connecting flight to Denver. Immigration and customs was easy peasy for Paul, a matter of getting his documents checked, visa stamped, and a fingerprint taken. We made it to the gate for the next flight to Denver. Dulles airport has TV monitors with updates on boarding, names of people who need to get seat assignments, names of people who are waiting for an upgrade, and names of people on stand-by. We were 33 and 34 on the list of stand-bys on a flight that was oversold and trying to cope with the spillover from our delayed flight. We didn’t get on that one. We didn’t make the next one either. We sat at the gate for the last flight to Denver of the day, again 33 and 34 on the list, and started discussing getting a hotel and eating dinner. The agent started calling names on the stand-by list and we watched person after person get a seat assignment. In front of us was a family of five. They made it, and just as they were about to close the doors, Paul and I were given seats. Paul was in 1A, first class and the very first seat on the plane. I had something like 48H, an inner seat in the very last row of the plane. Tim had to sit on my lap. We grabbed our bags, the stroller, the kid and nearly ran down the jetway as the agent hurried us along afraid they wouldn’t take our stroller so late in the boarding process. It was a miserable flight for Tim and I. The seats were so close together that I couldn’t get Tim’s bottle out of the bag at my feat. He screamed for 1 hour and 45 minutes – sick of traveling, sick of being held, and sick of me. The women on either side of me were helpful and understanding. I couldn’t even walk with Tim as there was turbulence and the flight attendants urged me to stay seated. By the time Paul was finally able to come and offer to change seats, Tim was asleep and I couldn’t risk moving. He didn’t have to ask for the story; he could see the misery in my face. After he left, the flight attendant from first class arrived with news that my husband wanted to buy me a beer. The ladies beside me shared the laugh with me and I enjoyed a cold one as Tim slept and my legs and bum went numb. Mom and Dad were waiting in Denver and our drive home was an easy and happy end to a long day.

We’ve been here 9 days, four of them we spent at Mom and Dad’s cabin. It’s getting cold up there now, but the fishing was good and the peace and quiet were just what we wanted and needed. Tim celebrated his first Halloween. He had two costumes: a kangaroo from our next door neighbors here and a Chinese suit from Pete and Tracy in Hong Kong. We also celebrated Paul’s birthday with a delicious meal at PF Chang’s.
Our plans are back on the original track. We aren’t going to do some of the travel that we planned because it’s too cold to go to some of the places like Mesa Verde. However, Paul is going to stay on holiday until his parents leave in mid-January, and we’re going to try to see some of the US between now and then. Mom and Dad have turned the bottom floor of their home over to us, and we’re settling in. Our goods from the UK arrived last week, and half of it is scattered on the floor, draped over the furniture, and stacked against the walls. We have so much room here that we can’t find anything. Poor us!


The lake in front of our cabin: perfect for fishing or just staring at while enjoying a beer or a hot cup of coffee while forgetting things like visas.

I’m going to get back to writing about our wonderful Europe trip. Paul used the time he had while he was trapped In the UK to organize our photos. As we go through them, I’ll write our recollections and share them and the photos with you. The robbery hasn’t tainted the trip or France for us. We’d do it all again, and we look forward to something similar when we leave the US.

intermission

The following is an email that Paul sent to our families on 11 September. We found a good campsite in the Loire Valley with lots of grass on 8 September. Our first truly unhappy incident occurred on our second night here. At about 02h30 in the morning someone cut a small hole in the side of our tent, reached in, and stole my watch, phone, and car keys (missing my wallet though) from an internal pocket in the tent where I keep our valuables when we're asleep. Using the car keys the car was opened and our laptop, cameras, and passports were stolen. I heard nothing but Kathleen awoke and woke me asking if I'd locked the car as she thought someone was outside. I was certain I had, but thought I'd simply use the remote to unlock and relock to make sure. I reached for the keys, could not find them, and realised something was wrong. When I looked out of the tent the car light was on which could only have happened if a door had been opened. I got up to investigate, found no one in the car, but saw immediately that the laptop bag and the camera bag were missing. Later we realised the passports were also gone. It then dawned on me that all the photos were on the laptop and the cameras. I have been religiously backing these up to a usb drive which is on the key ring, but with the car keys taken, all the photos had been lost. Feeling very depressed we sat the rest of the night out in the car (taking turns holding Tim), as I thought the thieves might return for the car and Kathleen didn't want to be in the tent alone. At daybreak we realised an Austrian couple had been robbed in a similar fashion. They still had a car with keys so I joined them and we went to the local police station to report it (where I had a serious crash course in French, why did I not try harder at school?) When I returned to the campsite the reception desk informed me that a runner had found car keys, with a usb drive attached, on a path outside the campsite and handed them in. The joy of discovering they were mine is simply indescribable and the luck with which they were found quite unbelievable. This joy soon changed to anger at all the other stolen stuff and I had to remind myself that in the sad, dark hours of the early morning I had told Kathleen that they could have taken everything we have, just left me the usb drive.

We have altered our route now to allow us to visit consulates in Paris and are staying (in a hotel) in Versailles. We spent today in Paris and should all have passports by tomorrow, with the consular staff being very understanding (Kathleen managed to shed a few tears while applying and I took Tim on my own to the British embassy, holding him with his bottle, while talking to the staff). The cost of getting replacement passports so quickly is quite exorbitant, so we had a nice expensive meal afterwards to make us feel better. While in Paris I also plan to get the usb drive surgically implanted under my skin as the current on-person hiding place is rather unpleasant.

In Paul's passport was his immigrant visa to come to the US. Tim and I are in Colorado with my mom and dad getting spoiled. We arrived on 16 September. Paul's with the Lawns (thanks Jon and Tara) in London wading through the bureaucracy to get a new visa issued. Maybe he'll be here by the end of the next week, but that's a big maybe.

Entries for almost a month of our trip were saved on my laptop. I haven't had the heart to rewrite them, but have started to think about it, so the writing should follow soon enough. I still wake at night (thanks to Tim whose suffering extreme separation anxiety from his father) and play out different scenarios for the night of the robbery. Most of them end with Paul and I catching them and justice being done, but a few end with violence and I'm reminded that we are all safe and healthy and that he won't be in England forever.