Half Board and Silent Hotels A Good Combo

If you enjoy being away from the crowd and love fine dining, booking a night in the Hostellerie de L’Ardève is a win/win situation. Perched at 1350 meters, adjacent to Ovronnaz and Les Mayens de Chamoson, this hotel offers a stunning view overlooking the Rhone Valley and the Alps. The annex to the hotel, le Chalet de Kalbermatten, was built at the beginning of the 20^th century and is protected as a historical landmark.

In 1968, several hoteliers, who believed noise is a social intrusion undermining our health and happiness, created the Relais de Silence. Hotels listed in this guide are often difficult to find, they are hidden in the countryside, by the sea, along the banks of a river, on an island, at the edge of a mountainside or along a side street in a busy city. They are known for their peace and quiet. Located in a natural environment, in comfortable buildings with unique character, Silent Hotels must offer a warm welcome stressing quality of life and gastronomy. Each is reflective of the unique style of the country where it is located.

It is usually a gamble, but to reserve a room with demi pension (half-board), a fixed rate that includes breakfast and the evening meal, is a better deal. Our hotel, a 3 star, also known for its gastronomy, was a good bet. We were not disappointed.

Friday we were served a Russian salad followed by sea bream in lemon sauce with mini potatoes and zucchini au gratin. Desert, an apricot cauflirori, an egg flan with a scoop of rhubard/honey ice cream was served on plates of ardoise, which looked like the old chalk slate we wrote on in grade school. On our walk the next day we found unfinished pieces of slate chipped off the mountain side.

Saturday night, our starter was the traditional “assiette valaisane”, which is a plate of artistically arranged cold cuts – salami, dried beef, cured ham served with pinky sized pickles and baby white onions. The main course was chicken in cream sauce accompanied with risotto and scalped zucchini.

Dessert, a vanilla ice cream soufflé, was the house specialty. The Frenchman charmed the waitress into trading the menu fare for a wild blueberry tart. Why does your husband’s dessert always looks better than your own? Souffléd ice cream – not for me. It was tough and chewy, but Gerald’s tart was exquisite.

We were in the Leytron and Chamoson wine territory, so naturally a glass of Humagne Blanc or Johannisberg Grand Cru, local favorites, were recommended. Every spare inch of soil on the mountain ranges, southern flank was filled with vineyards.

I am not sure what it is about that mountain air the wets your appetite, but, no matter how much you devoured the night before, the next morning you are hungry again.

In Europe breakfast is often included and in mountains it is usually copious. On a self-serve sideboard an enticing display of cereals, fresh fruits, paper thin slices of salami and ham, and thick chunks of cheese of local cheese as well as a choice of bakery fresh breads and croissants and homemade preserves awaited. All to be savored with piping hot coffee or tea.

Over breakfast, from the brasserie we had a panoramic view of the mountains enticing us to go hiking, if only to work up our appetite for the next gourmet meal.

Family That Boats Together Floats Together

Back in the good old days when my grandparents ran Ney-A-Ti Boys Camp in the 50s and early 60s, the only way a boat would propel forward was by our own manpower. The camp was sold, but luckily they had the foresight to build a cabin on the property for generations to enjoy. We kept camp hand me downs -a rowboat and an Old Town wooden canoe – tied to the dock. But over the decades the McKinzie family grew and each new member added another boat to the mix.

In his first visit to America, ze Frenchman fell in love with water skiing and twenty years later purchased our first used motorboat, so he could to share his passion with his kids, nieces and nephew. The boat that never started on the first try became the bane of our existence.

Born and raised by the sea in Normandy, Gerald also loved sailing. His little Butterfly was traded in for bigger 445 sailboat and finally the Hobby 16 catamaran. No one other than Nathalie, and my brother-in-law Cliff, a veteran of the US Coast Guard, has a clue how to maneuver it so it only sails 3 weeks a year. But oh boy, ze Frenchman is the talk of the town when locals see his tail hanging in the wind, his sail soaring like a giant yellow bird.

My brother-in-law, Dick, an avid outdoors man, living in the fitness capital of the country, bought a kayak and got us into that sport. Then Cliff added a couple mini kayaks for his grand kids to tool around in.

In 2014, a pedal boat was a parting retirement gift from my sister’s Yorkville High School teacher friends. Darn it all if we didn’t throw our backs out carrying it down the hill to the water for its first launch.

Poor Grandpa used to love to putz around the garage when the cabin was invaded with noisy grand kids. But he lost his garage. It turned into a dry dock boat storage: 4 kayaks, 2 canoes, (no one can part with the Old Town, which hangs from the rafters) a pedal boat, a rowboat and the new used Glastron GT185 motorboat.

But what goes round comes round back to “man”powered watercraft. Rumors have it that Dick bought a used stand up paddle board, the latest sport.

The inflated tractor tire was the all time favorite floating device. The finest activity of summer was standing on the inner tube while balancing by holding arms and seeing who would be the first to teeter off into the icy water.

One thing led to another, as our family grew, so did our state of the art dock. We kept adding sections to accommodate our toys. At this rate, our dock will soon be called the McKinzie Bridge linking one side of the lake to the other.

From our earliest memories of rowing the boat with Grandma, to taking children for a maiden voyage in the tippy canoe, to balancing a kayak with Kizzie (family dog) aboard, to watching kids learn to ski, our memories of floating and boating on beautiful Summit Lake bind us together.

Every summer we travel thousands of miles just to float together.

Chez Mamie -To Grandma’s House We Go

Even though I knew the 7 hour drive from Geneva to Trouville would be arduous, I am glad I went. Our bittersweet trip down memory lane was made all the more meaningful because our daughter was along.

Mamie answered the doorbell at midnight wringing her hands with worry that it took us so long. We fell into the lumpy old beds and slept, the sleep of the dead. The next morning, we threw open the shutters of our attic nest for a bird’s eye view of the cloud-covered sky, casting melancholy shadows over the spindly old village. Trouville was built where the Touques River meets the English Channel.

Mamie lived in the gangly, 18th century fisherman’s flat chiseled on the side of the cliff that opened onto the Quais Fernand Moureaux. Her front door – three stories up – was on the rue des Ecores on the street above. Underneath her house was a clothing boutique, Blanc de Nil, which sold only white clothes.

Baby yellow rose buds and purple pansies grew in flower pots behind the wrought iron balcony railing where Mamie and Papie stood in their robes waving goodbye as we began the long trek to Switzerland with wind burned faces and stuffed bellies. On that very same balcony our children and their cousins searched for eggs falling from the skies when the Easter bells rang on their way to Rome. In France the Easter bells delivered chocolates instead of the Easter bunny.

On sunny days, we opened the French doors and let the warmth seep into the small sitting room/dining room. An oak table with folding leaves expands for family was squeezed into that 12” by 14” space. A love seat and matching chair faced the TV screen. An antique Normand armoire, storing Mamie’s wine glasses and wedding china dating back 64 years, was tucked against one wall. Every spare inch of wall space was covered with photographs of her 3 children and her 5 grandchildren.

The focal point of any French home was the dinner table, where families shared meals over a lively repartee of word play, heated debates, biting sarcasm, and endless discussions about food: what we ate yesterday, what we are eating today and what will eat tomorrow.

In Normandy where the land meets the sea, dining was of the finest quality in France. On the wharf, fishermen sell mackerel, sole and bar – caught the night before.

At the open market, the locals offer free-range chicken, as well as lamb and veal that romped on lush green pastures only days before. Tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, artichokes, asparagus – all locally grown – looked as if they sprouted out of the ocean blue tablecloth.

Mamie, a woman who never served a sandwich in her life, will ask, “What would you like for lunch?”

Lunch meant dinner in the old-fashioned sense – a five-course meal with a starter, main course, cheese platter, dessert and coffee with chocolates that she had hidden for special occasions. Then she would set out thimble sized glasses and poured “just a taste” of her homemade plum liquor. As soon as one meal over, Mamie started preparing for the next one, scurrying around the village filling her wicker basket with fresh supplies from the butchers, the bakers and the creamery.

Like Trouville, Mamie lived in rhythm with the tides and seasons. She served tart apples and blackberries in the fall, fresh scallops and oysters in the winter, succulent strawberries and melons in the spring and lush peaches and cherries in the summer. Once again Mamie filled our stomachs with local specialties and our hearts with happy memories making us always feel welcome back home in Normandy.

Inspiring Voice of Dancing Feet from Down Under

You might be getting tired of hearing my stories, so today I bring you the voice of my dear friend, Rachael Jefferson-Buchanan, a.k.a. Dancing Feet from Down Under. As head of the physical education department when I first arrived in Switzerland, Rachael taught me dance, aerobics, and yoga.

Like many women today caught in the fast track proving one’s worth in the workplace and home, this educator/writer/mom shares how she unshackled the cloak of superwoman and found peace in just being.

Being and becoming woman

A long time ago someone asked me who Rachael was and who she willed herself to be. I thought it strange that at the early stages of our relationship I was asked such deep, meaningful questions. They resonated deep inside of me and I have asked myself those same questions time and again across the last eight years or so.

I have been called ‘superwoman’ by friends and acquaintances wherever I go, and yet I never felt that I deserved such a title. I was, after all, merely doing what other women had done for centuries before me – juggling family, work and domestics. But there was something that drove me further and faster at every turn of life’s journey, taking me on detours and then guiding me to park up and stay a while. I did not realise at the time that this was my inner friend, my intuition, my unconscious voice, my mindful self who was longing to lead the way.

So I kept spinning those plates, took on a head of physical education post, raised two children – for the most part singlehandedly, completed an MA, moved from Switzerland to England, secured a new lecturing role, wrote a book for teachers, began a PhD, worked as an international educational consultant, moved from England to Australia to begin a lecturing-research post, and… and… and…

I look back on all these domestic and professional milestones and take a deep breath, releasing it with the realisation that these are akin to the very same trappings of ‘superwoman’ that I had been denying for so long.

It was time to drop some plates and watch them smash down to the ground to find out who Rachael was and who she willed herself to be…

I needed to become aware of why I was driven to over-perform in the workplace…

I needed to learn to wrestle with those deadline demons and pin them to the ground, holding them there until Rachael felt able to wrestle again…

I needed to recognise that my hamster wheel of busy-ness was making me dizzy and footsore…

And above all, I needed to put myself first for once… something that I have always found so difficult as a mother, daughter, sister and woman. But something inside my very core knew that these other roles would fall into place as long as I was centered and felt ‘safe’.

This journey, which I believe is one of mindfulness, has not been an easy one. There have been moments when I have been called selfish and moments when I have felt that I was. It is a relentless balancing act of ego versus selflessness. Indeed, each and every day – and sometimes each and every hour – I know I am still learning the ropes of being and becoming the woman I wish and will to be.

On a bad day, Rachael can be cantankerous and sloth-like, dropping those spinning plates and subsequently picking her way cautiously through the broken pieces to reach a clear space when she again feels ready to continue. But there is no longer any guilt about this – for this is Rachael; love me, ignore me or become irritated by me – I do not feel the need to change for you, only for me.

On a good day, Rachael can fly high on the success of her professional or domestic accomplishments, secure in the knowledge that these were for Rachael and not to prove anything to anyone else. Look on me then with envy or appreciation, and I will bear you no grudges nor talk loudly about my triumphs.

This Rachael is no superwoman, she is woman.

Embodied and mindful, she is a healthier model for her teenage daughters.

No more the dutiful wife.

No more the doormat for others to walk on as they please.

No more striving to be the perfect mum.

No more the workaholic.

This woman is instead engaged in a daily search of self-improvement and self-love.

This is a woman who can, finally, just be…. on a good day!

Rachael’s book, ‘Fundamental Fun: 132 Activities for developing Fundamental Movement Skills’ is available from her directly by e-mail: dancingfeet65@hotmail.com

GBP 20 plus p&p.

This book has been written as a resource to support generalist primary teachers and others who assist and lead in the teaching of primary physical education. It provides a range of creative, cross-curricular, holistic activities that serve as the building blocks of successful fundamental movement skills (FMS) experiences. I began to develop ideas for this book, by reviewing and reinventing old favourites such as ‘Simon Says’ and ‘What’s the Time Mr. Wolf’, and then combining these with new physical education activities of my own creation.

I subsequently explored ways of individualising the child’s activity experiences. The link between all the activities presented in the book is the explicit means by which they each aim to promote one FMS; whilst not excluding the development of other FMS, this allows the teacher of primary physical education to hone one FMS at a time. I hope, therefore, that this book will be a useful practical guide to the teaching of specific FMS through generic primary physical education activities that include elements of dance, gymnastics, games, outdoor and adventurous activities and athletics.

King James Introduces Kate and William to his Court

What is it about the Royal Union and their heirs? At the risk of offending my colleagues and friends, I can’t help but roll my eyes at the British medias’ insinuation about those blundering Big Kids, the so called Americans. Apparently « we » made another faux pas when LeBron James innocently put his arm around The Duchess of Cambridge for the photo shoot after the December 8th game between the New York Nets and Cleveland Cavaliers.

Now what could be more natural when cheesing it for the camera than to offer an arm slung over a shoulder and a big smile especially at a good ol’ American ball game?

The British tabloids were even more offended when Our First Lady breached protocol and hugged the Queen in 2009. But hugs are as much a part of our culture as tea is a part of theirs. When in the USA, especially the Midwest, it is considered good manners, part of our warm hospitality, to welcome visitors with a hug or extra long hand shake.

However, LeBron inadvertently broke rules of royal etiquette. Who speaks first, what to say, how to stand and when to sit have been divinely ordained but aren’t they a little outmoded for the 21st century?

Apparently not. An insider, who worked for the British royal family or Her Majesty’s Household, offers these tips when encountering royalty.

Do not speak unless spoken to or ask inappropriate questions.
Never touch a royal. A handshake is the only exception and only when royalty initiate it. For heaven’s sake don’t dare keep holding on.
Address the Queen, as “Your Majesty,” then “Ma’am” and the Duke and Duchess, as “Your Royal Highness,” then “Ma’am” or “Sir.”
Stand when royalty enters a room. Men should bow and women should curtsy on introduction. Are you kidding me ? Curtsy ? In this day and age ?
When the most senior royal in attendance finishes the meal, so do all the guests. Huh. What if you are still hungry ?

“From medieval times, monarchs were divinely appointed to rule by God, so they demanded to be treated as gods,” Dr Kate Williams, a historian at London’s Royal Holloway University explained.”They are treated as people set apart from the rest of us, creating distance and grandeur.”

Ironically, Americans really do like Kate and William, but oh, if only they could buck those pompous traditions.

Get over it already. Remember the bloody Revolution of 1812? We are the ones who dumped your tea in the harbor and refused to bow down to the British crown in sovereignty. The French beheaded their King and Queen.

I am not suggesting anything so radical, but I’d like to offer insight on how to behave in the ‘hood. If you hang out in our playground –what’s more American than a basketball game in Brooklyn– learn to play by our rules. A bit of down-to-earth, genuine appreciation for the common folk can go a long way in smoothing public relations.

People on the other side of the Atlantic wonder if it is time that royalty stopped putting on airs and stepped out of that glass castle. To make a difference, you have to relate to the downtrodden. To commiserate with the working class, it’s time to take off the white gloves, get down on the ground and roll in the dirt. Take a tip from our King James; human touch speaks louder than words. Put protocol aside, learn from the kids across the Pond, be real and hug.

How was your Summer Holiday?

Every September the favorite back to school topic is how was your summer holidays? Holiday? I spent my summer at our family cabin in Wisconsin running a resort and preparing meals for a dozens of hungry “campers” who thought they were at the Club Med of the Northwoods. It seemed like when we weren’t hiking, swimming, sailing, skiing, and eating we were recovering from hiking, swimming, sailing, skiing and eating.

We never saw the bear, but we sure had lots of other excitement: one sever allergic reaction, an episode of vertigo, a tick bite, an acute lumbar spine injury, a broken toe, 2 herniated disks, plantar fasciitis, tendinitis elbow, and an infected bite from an unidentified creature. Thankfully these ailments did not befall the same person.

We were so lucky to have access to free medical advice. When in doubt call Dr. Nat.

“I am a pediatrician,” she repeated, “and I hate to break it you, but you are all over the age of 18.”

Ah, the blessing of having a doc in the family. “I’ll tell you what I told you the last time you called. Go to urgent care or check with your general practitioner!”

So we learned that if you call 911 on one of those old-fashioned land phones, the rescue squad could locate a cabin hidden back in the woods with only a fire lane number.

Ze Frenchman, the only one who ignored the doctor’s advice, waited to seek treatment until the bite on his shoulder morphed into an abscess the size of a turnip requiring minor surgery and major antibiotic intervention.

We also had a lot of back injuries. Fortunately, we are blessed with a first rate chiropractor, Dr.Dave. Unfortunately, he moved his practice 50 miles further north to Eagle River.

It seemed like every day someone had a chiro appointment, so we switched in names of patients depending on whose pain was greatest.

“I twinged my back,” Nic said, “but right now my toe hurts worse. I dropped a weight on it.”

Dr. Dave was surprised to see our son, who lives in Minneapolis, limp through the door.

“Doc, you always know we’ll be bringing a bus load from Summit Lake,” I said. “You just never know who’ll be on the bus.”

In between our ambulance rides, urgent care visits and doctors appointments, we had a blast.

We had birthday celebrations for my dad, my sister, and my niece. We threw a wonderful party for my mom’s 80^th. We toasted my sister’s retirement, my siblings wedding anniversaries and our daughter’s first official day on the job.

You know those Frenchman; they never pass up an opportunity to raise a glass in good cheer.

And surprisingly, on the coldest summer on record, we ran out of ice every day because we were nursing so many injuries.

But hey, no one is complaining. When friends and colleagues asked about our summer holidays we tell them, “It was great!”

When we look back on our Summit Lake summer, we forget the aches and pains; all we remember is the love and laughter.

So, do tell, how was your summer holiday?