All I Need is the Air That I Breathe and Some AC

We made it to the airport, all of the planning and packing is done. French is being quietly spoken around me. The kids are settling into their distractions, the adrenaline is wearing off. Katie saw another kid from her school at the gate. And, here I thought we were taking the most original vacation in town. Ah bon, it's all good.

Traveling across the Atlantic with the whole family is not easy, but there were moments on the flight that were magical.  Like, while we were waiting to take off, and the stereo was blaring "All I Need is the Air that I Breathe and to Love You."  Tim started laughing so hard, his shoulders shook. 

Later that night, we were south of Iceland, and Tom looked out the window and asked what the swirling yellow-green lights in the sky were. I said I thought they might be the Northern Lights. I tapped the Katie and told her to take a look. She did and agreed. We all watched them for awhile, and then they faded, swirled away into the dark. Tom fell asleep on my shoulder. James fell asleep on Katie's shoulder. The plane flew on - all was quiet, into the night.

Then, six hours later, we saw the sun rise over Ireland as we descended toward France.  At 7:15 AM, we landed; made it through customs; passports stamped; no lost baggage; picked up the rental car; and hit the road to Normandy . . .right at rush hour into Paris. 

So, there we sat, sat, sat in our Ford Espace, crawling on the Paris Peripherique -- the road that goes around Paris -- which Tim dubbed, the "Paris Freak," for about an hour.  Now, this would not have been so bad except for two things, it was about 70 and sunny and the car had no AC.  Well, it had a button that said AC, but pressing the button got us a tepid breeze, so we were 4-70 all the way to Arromanches.  Let's just say, that by the time we got there, the car had an odeur about it than was more stinky than a good cheese pour ce soir.  Who knew, at the time, that the lack of AC foreshadowed the lack of another thing that is cold and rare in France, but that Americans use often?  What could that be, hmmm?