Morning Commute - Riviera Style

From the desk of Jase:

So a few weeks ago we had a large corporate event in Monte Carlo, which is one of the zones of Monaco. Monaco is a small principality on the Riviera coast and entirely surrounded by France, but treated (somewhat hilariously, I might add) as its own country. With an actual Prince, a Princess, and even a chic looking version of Bowser. Well, that's how I explain it to my kids at least once they find out the Prince who lives in the palace is a schlubby guy that looks more like a sitcom Dad than the square-jawed Disney stereotype. And like many other modern-day princes, this prince followed the classic fairytale plot of choosing among, courting and connecting (wink wink) with many dizzyingly pretty socialites who loved him "for who he is", taking his sweet time in the selection process, before his receding hairline reminded him firmly: "Dude, you had better lock this down right quick."

But back to the event. This particular incentive trip event featured a lot of distributor guests from all over Europe, so we local corporate staff who live in the area commuted to/from the venue each day. This meant that we had some late nights, a 45-minute drive home, and then an early morning wake-up call to get back there and fight the traffic in time for the business meetings. Not terribly convenient, but it saved some costs by having us all commute back and forth. And we were trying to save costs wherever possible. I even asked some Europeans to drink "still" water instead of "sparkling" during meals. Yes, it was that bad.

One particularly early morning, as I was driving from my house past Antibes, Villeneuve Loubet, around Nice, up into the hills, and then through the 1,600 meter tunnel into Monaco, I caught myself from thinking about how a cold Diet Mountain Dew would really help me survive this late-night-early-morning commute situation. And instead, like a ray of sunlight, I noticed the actual view of the sun coming up over the calm, beautiful azure Mediterranean. Instantly, I felt like--as the French might say--"le cretin."

Herein then are my hastily shot photos from my BlackBerry as I tried to remind myself that there are worse places to commute to than Monte Carlo. Places with snow. Or tractors. Or zombies--no, worse--Idahoans (shudder)!

Looking out the window as I descend the steep cliffs into Monaco.

Look at that scooter just passing us by! The nerve of some Vespas.

One of my favorite things about the calm Mediterranean is that you sometimes can't tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. This smooth and sometimes psychedelic effect can also be noted if someone were stupid enough to take 3 Benadryls to defend against a foreign pollen attack.  Not that I know anyone that lame (*tear from itchy eye*).

There are also buildings and people here on the Monegasque cliffs. But no goats. Unless they are outfitted with Louis Vuitton collars and matching underpants, then they are allowed but must first be registered with the gendarmes.

A regular old boring construction crane for those residents so poor that they can't have their villa pre-assembled and dropped in by helicopters. How mortifying.

The front of the famous Monte Carlo Casino and its less famous "Fountain of Belgian Tears." Dip your finger in and try it--definitely a little salty with a hint of beer. Very authentic.

A closer shot of the Monte Carlo Casino. Those are gardeners and not mirror worshippers (I hope). They did, however shoo me away when the car alarm sounded. The alarm goes off whenever a non-Bentley/Rolls/Ferrari/Lamborghini/Aston Martin tries to get within 50 meters of the front door.

Heading down the Princess boulevard, with cherry blossoms in bloom.

Here you can see some of the apartments and the cliffs behind them.

Arriving to the front door of the Monte Carlo Bay Resort, where the valets huddled up and drew straws to see who HAD to park the Nissan.

Side view of the Monte Carlo Bay Resort. Hoping to myself that wearing board shorts under this suit-and-tie combo was not just wishful thinking. (It was....or was it?)

The view from a hotel room balcony where a corporate visitor was staying. The air is a little hazy, but the view beats the typical Utah inversion weather patterns.

Final shot from the hotel balcony.

In summary, if I had stayed overnight at the hotel, I would have enjoyed some exhilarating views, peaceful sleep, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, flaky croissants and 2-egg omelets every morning for breakfast. Which is pretty much what I get at my house every morning anyway, minus the occasional crying fits and creating cereal box "walls" to separate problematic behavior. (Not to mention when the kids finally wake up and join in.)

But by driving, I was able to take in the full experience of this corporate assignment, and enjoy it for what it is: a job and not a vacation. But every job has its perks, and mine sometimes includes an amazing commute all the while listening to my French language CD's test me on phrases like: "I'll bet when you were much younger, you were quite beautiful", "Excuse me sir, but I think that front tooth is dead", and "Who taught you to drive?! An Italian?" You know, all the useful phrases. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to clock in.

'Cause You Had A Lousy Day

I haven’t posted in a while, and I noticed my lousy (heh heh) husband is taking over our blog (I secretly thought of it as MINE)!! I hope you have all enjoyed his musings the last little while. I haven’t had the best month so far; hence, the lack of blogging. At a nearby roundabout recently, I was in a minor car accident that wasn’t my fault, but it was still terribly inconvenient (French bureaucracy and all that), AND I also sprained my ankle really badly yesterday at the zoo. The first day of my kids’ Spring Break vacation, and I go and twist my ankle so badly that I can’t walk. I suppose I just feel picked on. You don't know how literally I mean that, but please read on. . .

One of the exciting things about having kids in school is that they start to pick up things from everyone they associate with. New words, new phrases, new skills and information since they are learning and absorbing so much. For example, neither Jason nor I remember teaching our twins the game of tic-tac-toe, but they learned it somewhere and love to play it during church. They also learned about dragon moray eels recently, including a somewhat disturbing story about a diver whose thumb was bitten off, and he surgically replaced his thumb with his big toe. We all got a good laugh out of "Big Toe Thumb Diver." Usually, these are good, interesting items and concepts that are being transferred to their cute little heads. And sometimes, these items are lice.

Yes, I am embarrassed to admit that the very worst thing that happened recently to the Pierce household is that last Wednesday I found a blood-sucking, parasitic, completely revolting large live LOUSE in my sweet, little blond 3-year-old daughter’s hair. In retrospect I wished I had remained calmer because Maisy saw the louse in the sink and started to get scared and cry. She said, “Mommy, what was that bug in my hair?” That day and a few days after were NOT good days for me. According to Jase, I immediately shifted into Defcon 1 Mode, and the entire family was on HIGH alert and allout war.

First of all I have to say that Maisy’s teacher is THE SCHOOL NURSE. She’s the one that’s supposed to find lice in kids’ hair, then call home and report it, right? So when there was a sign two weeks ago posted outside Maisy’s classroom saying, “NOTICE: We have lice at school,” I figured, well, at least Maisy’s teacher--a qualified medical professional and educator--will be checking these kids daily and she will know what to look for. I have since learned that head lice are extremely common in the south of France, and they are a year-round problem for all schools. My friend whose children go to the same international school told me her kids had three outbreaks within the last year alone. None of this information made me feel any better when I found the adult female in Maisy’s hair. I had never seen one before and wasn’t completely sure what I was looking at, but of course, I suspected the worst. After a little internet research, I was 100% sure it was a louse, and I even knew it was female since I could see eggs in her abdomen. Grody to the max!

This is just like the one I found in Maisy's hair!  Can you even imagine?

Of course after all my screaming, ranting, and just general FREAKING out (which instantly transmitted and heightened all the girls' emotions until nearly everyone was crying or "wigging out"), my very patient husband says to me, “I’ll go to the pharmacy and get the shampoo or whatever we need. You just start stripping the beds and CALM DOWN.” Not only did I strip the beds (and I have to include here that I had just washed all the linens in the house the weekend before), I also stripped the couch, the cushions, the chair covers, and washed every blanket in the house, whether we had used it recently or not. I even washed every coat and jacket in the house. I know I overreacted, but this was my very first experience with lice, and I was not taking any chances!

In addition to the laundry, I had to sterilize every brush and comb in the house. Even the Afro Pick.

Jason went straight to the pharmacy, asked in French about lice treatments, and was directed to an entire aisle of products. In typical overkill fashion, his question: "How much and how many products can I comfortably buy from a single pharmacy location before the pharmacist sends a Gendarme to follow me home?" The answer is 10 products, 4 fine-tooth combs, and 1 magnifying glass. Even though he claims to have received a look from the pharmacist indicating that: 'This crazy American probably lives underneath a bridge with all his ketchup-eating infected brood like an untalented, immobile gypsy camp of flea-bitten varmints', he eventually came home from the pharmacy with 80 Euros worth of stuff: combs, shampoos, sprays, and creams. All directions were in French, of course, but we think we figured out how to correctly use everything. The directions said to treat all members of the family on the same day, so after the twins came home from school, they got a treatment too. I found a few small bugs in Jocelyn’s hair and also a few nits (eggs), but nothing in Jenica’s. Every time I would find something in Jocelyn’s hair, she would rant, “OH, COME ON!!!” Needless to say I haven’t let the girls wear their hair down since.

Here is the buffet of products Jason bought at one pharmacy location.  There were plenty of "anti-poux" products, so he had a lot to choose from.

That night, I treated Jason’s hair and my own hair. Sure enough, Jason and I both had been infected too!!! Can you imagine anything more horrible? My infestation was worse. I didn’t find a single nit in Jason’s, just two tiny adults (or maybe they were nymphs), so fortunately we caught it very early. Maisy loves to come get in bed with me at 5 or 6 in the morning, and she loves to snuggle close to me. Obviously she transferred some of the lice to me maybe 5-7 days ago. I had nits as well as 2-3 small adults, but nothing like what I found in Maisy’s hair. I can’t help it. . .I keep checking and rechecking the kids’ hair. They are so sick of being combed out with the nit comb, but I just can’t stop trying to be thorough. I swear I am instantly at RED ALERT at the sight of any little flake or fuzzy in their hair.


Just to give you an idea of size if you have never had the good fortune to experience these critters first hand

As I was treating Jason, and carefully looking in his hair for nits, he said he felt a bit like a chimpanzee getting groomed (insert obligatory banana joke from Jase here). I should have laughed, but I’m sorry, there was just nothing funny about the situation. Maybe someday I will laugh, but right now, I am just a stressed-out mess.

It look three full days to complete the laundry. My little washer worked overtime, since I stayed up until all hours of the night finishing it all. When I finally was convinced Maisy was nit-free and took her to school, I told her teacher about the lice. I said to please check the other kids, because if she brought it home again I would surely have a nervous breakdown!

Believe it or not, this is day 2 of the laundry.  I had already completed at least 8 loads the day before

Six days later, I treated the whole family again with a spray and then a shampoo.

Here are the girls with their final treatment in their hair

I am happy to report we are clean!! Exhausted, but clean and lice free. Our emotions ran from revulsion to disgust to anger to shame to embarrassment to resolve to commitment to methodical purpose to compassion to paranoia to frustration and reconciliation, before settling down finally on revulsion. I still can't stop feeling a creepy-crawly sensation everytime I think about it. Thinking about it from a higher perspective, we had a good run. Out of all the countries that Jason has visited, even the fact that we lived in 3rd world countries during our missions, this is our first experience with it. But, like using rented shoes at a bowling alley, getting engaged, or signing up for a Costco membership, the first time is always the worst. Now we are prepared and vigilant to handle the situation. Plus, it's not like that pharmacist is going to think any LESS of us now.

Look at me!!  I'm lice free!!

Monaco - La Marche de Noel

From the desk of Jase:

Inspiration for writing projects can come from many sources. It's been said that an unexpected dismal & gloomy summer spent at the Villa Diodati in Switzerland in 1816 served as the basis for the classical horror stories Frankenstein and The Vampyre (not Bram Stoker's version). In my case, I have some Italian neighbors next door who have decided to throw a Spring party for their friends ce soir. This party also serves to educate all neighbors within a 400-meter radius of the important musical differences between Europop, Eurotrance, Euro-House, and Progressive House. Common elements appear to include an incessant, thumping bass as the backbeat, spiced up only with alternating high-hats, keyboard sequencers, and the all-important "hook girl."

This gives me the perfect reason to catch up on some blog posts. Before we moved to France, I could not have told you much about Monaco. I probably would have been lucky to point it out on a map. Yet this tiny, charming principality (completely within the borders of France, yet sovereign) has grown on us with each visit. We first visited it in November as we were "surveying" the area for incoming guests and noted the tunnels, windy roads, exotic sportscars (some easily worth more than our house), the port for "super" yachts, the Royal Palace, the Monte Carlo Casino, and the Oceanographic Museum founded by THE Jacques Cousteau. But besides riding the little tourist train around the city, it seemed like there wasn't much else for younger kids to see or do.

Then, returning in December for another afternoon drive, we unexpectedly arrived at the Christmas Market at the main port (Port Hercule). From the backseat: "Dad--what is THAT?", "We wanna get out!", "Rides!", etc. The enormous ferris wheel was the most visible draw.

Dear Parents: It doesn't really matter what we charge for this ride. You WILL pay it. Sincerely, The Grand Wheel

We immediately parked and went to go check it out. The entire Port Hercule had been converted into a Christmas Market, flanked by animatronic Nutcrackers, filled with Swiss chalet-type food and gift shacks, and offering ice skating, tobogganing, and other carnival rides. The girls had never put on their coats, mittens, scarves and hats faster in their lives than when they saw the 115-year-old traditional carousel with a full working calliope band using wooden sheet music.

"Fairies of the non-Sugarplum variety will NOT be tolerated!"

Even though it was cold, we checked out the giant Ferris Wheel with an incredible view of the harbor at the top. I had to take these pictures because of the unique background.

The kids were fascinated by the huge, animatronic snowglobes, complete with nature scenes and blowing "snow."

--"Can we go inside and pet the Christmas animals?"
--"No, there is a polar bear hidden under that drift."

We also loved seeing the scaled-down candy houses for the kids to visit. They were hesitant at first until I informed them that the resident witch was on a break to get some foie gras and spiced, hot wine. And that it would be at least 15 minutes before she came back to toss any naughty kids into her oven.

On the food shack side, they had your traditional cotton candy (called strangely "Barbapapa", which translates as Dad's beard--how does associating THAT term with candy not lead into some psychoanalysis discussion?), local fare like goose liver spread sandwiches, sausages, crepes, Belgian-style waffles, pasta, baguette sandwiches, and roasted chestnuts. We couldn't find caramel apples, but only candied apples called "Pomme d'Amour", or Apples of Love because they were brightly colored in the shade of...er....candy apple red. But if all that stuff wasn't cool enough, they also made fresh churros with Nutella dipping sauces, which was the hottest booth on the pier for kids and adults like.

But then, we found the booth that cemented the Monaco Christmas market forever as the Best Thing We Did In December 2010. The "Catch the Ducks" game. The premise of this carnival game is simple: Everyone pays the same price. You pick out 10 plastic ducks or 10 plastic swans with a hook from a moving series of neon waterfowl. Once you're done with all 10 (no time limit), you pick your prize. Easy as that. It takes about 3 minutes for the kids to play the game and then about 15 minutes for them to pick their prize (mostly dollar-store items, but they WON it, so it means more and therefore requires considerable deliberation).

In these pictures, Jenica and Jocelyn have already played and picked their prizes (in hand). But Maisy is just now getting a chance. I love her face in the second shot.

Clearly, this game was created for the under-7 crowd. At this point, any town festival or fair featuring a Catch the Ducks game is automatically considered worth checking out. Here is Maisy trying to decide on her prize--still pretty thrilled that she found a game she excels at as much as her older sisters.

Besides these attractions, there was a Bubble Machine float with an old-timey vehicle that looked like something straight out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, an all-Santa marching band, and plenty of people-watching. One of my personal faves there is that I was mistaken as Italian at least twice--the vendors started speaking to me in French; then, when they saw I didn't understand, they assumed I was Italian. It didn't hurt that I was wearing my most European-looking scarf. But for the record, I was not carrying a satchel (aka a "Man Purse"), so it's not like I had assimilated that much.

These days, all we have to do is mention the term "Monaco" and the kids jump into the car and buckle themselves. We will continue to explore and check out the Oceanographic Aquarium there or maybe other kid-friendly venues. But the Christmas Market of Monaco was one of our very favorite things in December 2010. It not only helped us feel a tad of the commercial holiday buzz, but also it was such a fun family activity that it was one of those first "we can probably make it living here" moments of pause. We plan on going again this December and every year that we can while enjoying this region. But don't expect us to order the goose liver quesadillas at the food shacks. There is still a line over which we cannot cross, no matter how much the Bubble Float jazzes us up.