SWAPPING
'Traveling with small children is like traveling with untamed dogs’ said the Englishwoman to my left in her best ‘Upstairs/Downstairs’ accent. Six hours into a ten our flight, I felt she was being very kind. We were, after all, packed cheek to sweaty jowl in our middle seats with one son rhythmically kicking the chair in front and the other licking the tray table from left to right (having previously covered right to left).

I never thought our little home would be snapped up so quickly when I placed it on the home swap site: homelink.org. After all, unlike many of the other houses, we didn't have a swimming pool, fireplace, or even upgraded appliances. We didn’t live in an upscale community or own a mansion on five acres, or even a ‘Mc’ mansion. No, just a tiny 1930’s house with a pretty yard. Its fine, we just never imagined it’d be popular on the house exchange circuit. Flattered, we wrote back and forth and agreed to a date quickly before they changed their minds.

Sixteen hours later (true, I'm including a 4 hr layover at London Heathrow and another flight to Montpellier), I put the kids on the baggage cart and whirled them around the boiling airport waiting for the luggage. To their credit, the perfectly dressed and polite natives tried their best to pretend I was nothing more than a fat American fly on the wall with two little beastie flying along side me. Frankly, I didn’t blame them: We were a mess. One son was rolling a baggage cart back and forth over his peed-dried blanket while the other was smacking the back of his brother’s head with a green goopy lollypop. At least they were quiet.

Thank God because France is the quietest country around. Even the children whispered quietly among themselves while their parents went about their business of smoking, sipping espresso and staring at us. A sudden distraction came when two burley baggage handlers broke into a huge "fight." I used quotes here because they whispered the entire time so, for all we knew they could have been asking after each other's health. Once the belt started, however, all bets were off. People stopped trying to divide their stares between the baggage handlers and us and briskly retrieved their luggage so they could hop in their convertible Jags and zip down the French Rivera with their quiet, perfectly behaved children.


After stuffing our suitcases (I know, American joke –but I had to bring diapers) into the front of the car because there was no trunk, I picked up the hand written detailed map and started journeying toward our new home for the summer. The roads in the South of France in July are like….well, you can’t really explain it. The only good thing is that the cars are so thin that when you’re parked in traffic you can check out the guy to your right and watch the couple to your left doing god knows what all at the same time. The circles are a particular treat – I found it best to just barrel in as fast as possible with my eyes shut – that way I got out sooner and didn’t remember the trauma.

The map my exchangers left was fabulous in all detail. It cross checked perfectly with the Euro Atlas my Dad had given me along with the print out from Map Quest, except for one little problem: massive amounts of construction. I also quickly found out that since most people had lived in these little towns since France was known as Gaul, they didn’t waste any money on detour signs. Everyone else knew where they were going – they lived in their great great great great grandparent’s home. Not so helpful for me or other travelers to these parts.

This was certainly one of those many moments I've had since having children when I suddenly look around and think, 'what the hell am I doing? Someone could get maimed or worse.' My boys had stopped whining and had nodded off to a coma-like sleep with the sun beating on their cherry red cheeks and sweat pouring down their two day old T-shirts. I aimed for rural roads outside of the city, hoping they’d cross back to a main highway out of town. Thankfully, we were able to get enough speed up to have wind blowing into the car for circulation. I might say something about air conditioning, or lack thereof, at this point, but I’ll save it for the house description.

After some great luck and a few very nice people pointing the way, we drove up a quiet street just two blocks from a quaint town and parked at the little stone house at the end of the cul de sac. It was more than I imagined: Lavender sat in the window box on the sill, and the stone walkway was decorated with the petals from the Azaleas and red roses that shaded the walk. The boys had stirred and were laughing quietly at a white cat sneaking up the stone wall. I felt our ‘home away from home’ had the perfect "Joss" for a great summer vacation. Only now I had to figure out how to break in because the keys I had been shipped by the owners didn’t seem to be working. C’est la vie, at least we had arrived.

REAL FACTS
homelink.org is $110 to join online. There are similar sites, but we found this one is best for reliability, breadth of choices, search engine, etc. We did a few exchanges through other sites as well and I’m waiting for the lawyer’s response to see if I can give you the details on those experiences.None of the sites, including homelink, will check references so you have to do the vetting yourself (or do nothing like we did and take your chances). You can include swap of cars or not. Some people even swap care of each other’s animals. You work with your exchangers to share information on your area like places to visit and local restaurants, customs, emergency information, etc. Even though there were some bumps along our way, we found home swapping the most convenient way to move about when you're 'traveling with small children' or untamed dogs as the case may be.