When the Hotel is the Best Part

Hotels in Europe are my nemesis. I sit looking at their shiny web sites… analyzing… skeptical. The restaurant photo, is that crystal on the table? The building is old, how thin are those walls? Do the reviews mention those red-flag words: “sleepy’, “quiet” or “romantic”?

I ignore all claims of a hotel being “family friendly”. I am no longer lured by offers of a “family sized” room. I’ve been to enough hotels. Those hotel marketing people cannot be trusted.

I am not a seasoned traveler any longer, I am a jaded traveler. I have to be:  I am a mother of three small children.

Every so often, though, I do get it right.

Normandy, France is known for a World War II invasion and a certain Tapestry in Bayeux. But in the hearts of my children, it will be known forever as the location of the Manoir d’Herouville.

I found the Manoir on http://www.tripadvisor.com/, my travel bible. There were 67 reviews about the Manoir, each of them giving five out of five stars. Could this be possible? No, I thought. These must be honeymooners, or maybe traveling retirees. But, there were reviews by families, claiming to have small children, using phrases like “beyond all expectations” and “everything we wished for.” High praise. This I had to see.

Set in a valley of farm fields and forest, the Manoir offers classic Norman architecture dating from the 16th century. The early 18th century Pigeonnier was our home for the week. In pre-Revolutionary France, owning a Pigeonnier was a symbol of special favor with the king. For a nurse with the heart of an archtectural historian, like I am, it was nirvana.

Of course the kids don’t care at all about the impressive history or the fact that the Pigeonnier ceiling had 15th century timbers (so cool!). Ask them what they liked about Normandy and they will tell you about fishing in the pond, exploring the Manoir gardens, and a certain chicken named Reggie.

Reggie is a chicken who thinks he’s a dog. He begs for scraps, he cuddles, he coos when he’s petted. He chased after us on little chicken legs, betrayed that we would leave him in the driveway.

I loved this place because it offered us space to be a family, to make a little noise, to cook dinner in a kitchen, to put tired, happy, and sunkissed kids to bed on a separate floor, and at night to go out and see the stars of the Milky Way.

Sue and Dave, our hosts, were so accommodating. Sue told me up front, “We just love having children here.” And she meant it. Imagine, someone who was thrilled to see my kids each day. Someone who offered them treats from the kitchen. Someone who gave my son and husband a tour of the Nazi anti-aircraft artillery that just happened to be hiding in the barns.

This was such a far cry from our experience in Vianden, where a B&B owner followed my 2 year old around the dining room buffet hissing, “Shhh!!!” each time she spoke.

This place was like home. Actually, it was better than home, it was a real vacation.

Zen and the Art of Traveling with Children

Rick Steves, the travel writer, says that people frequently ask him where to take their children during their European vacation. His answer is “to Grandmom’s house on the way to the airport.”

Traveling Europe with small children is chocked full of complications. What will they eat if everything on the menu is French and covered with sauce? How do you fit three children and two adults into a European sized hotel room? What do you do if your six year-old is tired of walking and is now begging to ride in the baby’s stroller? Where will you ever find a bathroom in a country where public bathrooms do not exist?

I would love to introduce you to the women on the playground at my children’s school. They collectively know more about traveling Europe with children than any travel author I’ve ever found. Children throwing temper tantrums in a long immigration line? Pull a latex balloon out of your purse and start a slow motion volley ball game. Worried about your potty training toddler on that long road trip? The best rest stops in Europe are in France. Going to Paris? Don’t waste your time at the Louvre, take the sewer tour and then climb to the roof Notre Dame Cathedral for a view of the city.

My biggest discovery here has been the Giet, or self-catering apartment.

Giets are everywhere in Europe, but I love the ones in the countryside. These rural gemstones can be almost any kind of building, from a modern apartment on a German family farm to an 18th century French pigeon coop. They offer enough space for our family of five, as well as the holy grail of all travel with children, a kitchen. This allows us to cook our own breakfast and dinner each day (saving hundreds of Euros and tons of wasted food).

If you have a willful and frequently defiant three year old, like I do, a giet also offers enough privacy to put that special someone on time-out without disturbing other guests.

When we first started traveling here, I made the mistake of booking a hotel room in an 18th century cloister in Luxembourg. The walls were paper thin. The frail antique doors did not even fit the door frames. Every footfall in the corridor could be heard two floors below. To make a long story short, we left early because our little one acted like a two-year old. On that trip, we learned a valuable lesson: just because a hotel offers a “family guest room” does not mean that they really want a family in it.

While planning a trip to Normandy, I found a recommendation for a giet that was a Pigeonnier, an ancient French pigeon coop. I was thrilled to see that the stone walls were two feet thick! “Ahhh, this is the place for us”, I thought. The kids could make all the noise they needed or wanted to make! We could cook our meals at home. There were two lovely bedrooms on separate floors. The farm offered a swing set, a barn full of animals, and a pond for fishing. Best of all, it was cheaper than a Motel 6. We went and had a fantastic time.

Another thing I’ve learned about travel with little ones is to allow them to be kids. Places that involve running and jumping will become immediate favorites. Distances further than ¼ mile are best covered by stroller for little ones and razor scooters for big ones. (Yes, we bring our razor scooters everywhere we can). Avoid museums where you can’t touch anything and guided tours that involve standing still as if they involved electric shocks.

Most importantly in this year of travel with children, I’ve learned about myself. Those of you who know me know that I am not the most patient person. I can be intense, direct, and perfectionistic. I believe I have been given these three children to teach me about patience.

Lately when I'm traveling and the kids are acting up, (especially my Audrey who is going through a screaming phase), I imagine jumping waves at the Jersey Shore. Jumping waves in the ocean is all about letting go of control. If you fight the wave, stand your ground, insist on having your own way, you are in for a nasty tumble. But if you let the wave happen around you, time your jump, enjoy the rise and the fall, you’ll find yourself on the other side before you know it.

With a little special planning and some good advice, we’ve had a wonderful time traveling with our children. Difficult moments are just waves in a big ocean. They will be over soon, so time your jump, keep your head above water, and enjoy the ride.