The day we have been longing for...

The road trip from Paris to Madrid is 1250km long. This year given the circumstances we decided not enjoy our habitual pitstop in San Sebastian. We would skip the long walk along La Concha, the crescent shaped urban seaboard of the city and the delicious Basque "pintxos" the local word for small bar bites otherwise known as tapas in the bustling old town.

We would rise at the crack of dawn to avoid the Parisian rush hour starting at 7am and hopefully make it to our destination in time for dinner... Spanish dinner time that is to say is anything after 10pm.

We had cool runnings, we cruised out of Paris watching the long queues form coming into the city. We sailed around Bordeaux, usually a hotspot for traffic riddled with speed cameras. We hardly noticed the border crossing... no check points, no police, no nothing... and were in! Loud cheers and yelling followed by a feeling of accomplishment that we had finally managed to get out of Paris, past the 1km radius, further than the 100km radius and the realization that confinement was definitely over.

We were lucky, the journey took us 12 hours door to door with a few coffee stops along the way. No tourist cars in sight, petrol stations were deserted but trucks were lining the right hand lane of the road from Paris to San Sebastian. We assumed this magnitude of the single queue sometimes denser than others was due to the Iberian border just having opened up and the air transport still extremely limited. Thankfully, however, the lorry drivers stuck to their side of the highway and let us sail by to make it home in time for dinner.

Let the summer begin! 

A summer day in Geneva

 A hot summer day in Geneva and I cannot get enough of the colours and sights...

A ferris wheel in Geneva ... this is new?!?

The Île Rousseau is an island and park in Geneva, situated in the middle of the Rhone.

Who said the Swiss weren't welcoming?

The world-famous Jet d'Eau dates back to the 19th century. Its white plume rises 140m into the air from a stone jetty on the lakeside at Eaux-Vives; that is about 50m higher than the Statue of Liberty.

Turned on each morning by caretakers whose job it is to keep the fountain working, the Jet d'Eau is one of the city's most famous landmarks.

View from Bains des Pâquis onto the Cathedral and Geneva's city center

Flashback from my childhood... Hero Confi in little portions!

A simple healthy Swiss breakfast 

A touch of luxury spotted everywhere you go...

... but a pink vintage Jaguar just takes the cake!

My white chocolate mousse in form of cheese surrounded by meringue mice is a close second! 

Geneva is also wine country. Chateau du Crest - a castle built in 1222 - is one of the largest privately owned farm in the country, and grows more than 18 different varieties of grapes including Chasselas, Gamay, Riesling-Sylvaner, Pinot Black, Gamaret and less common varieties like Malbec and Muscat. The vintners in the Château du Crest fields practice an unusually meticulous handwork to care for their strategically planted low vines with high density yield.

Hanging out with old friends enjoying the view, the sunset and a glass of Dôle Blanche... 

... life couldn't be better!

Heading south...

This is for my girls

The following video is just too cool not to share on my blog. It is not about Paris or Expats but should get you smiling or even moving to the groove. It is linked to an initiative I feel very passionate about: Education.

In March 2015, the First Lady Michelle Obama launched Let Girls Learn to address the range of challenges preventing adolescent girls across the globe from attaining a quality education that empowers them to reach their full potential.

But Michelle Obama did not stop there, this spring she enlisted a major girl squad to sing the power anthem "This Is For My Girls." The song, which was inspired by the Let Girls Learn initiative and the 62 million girls around the world who do not have access to education, features Kelly Clarkson, Missy Elliott, Jangle Monáe, Kelly Rowland, Zendaya, Lea Michele, Chloe x Halle, and Jadagrace.

While the First Lady is not featured on "This Is For My Girls," it was a natural fit for her to join James Corden for a Carpool Karaoke segment to sing the song and celebrate the power of musical activism.

Now, I don't know about you, but my vote definitely goes to the current first lady!

Une agréable rencontre après tout

It is Wednesday night, pouring with rain and I am heading over the Pont d'Iena to pick up Expat girl from her acting classes the other side of the river. There are roadworks on the bridge and cars are streaming from all side, crossing the Place de Varsovie aiming to squeeze into one lane which leads towards the overpowering Eiffel Tower.

A little shove and a push and it seems I've hit a Mini with the side of my car. Not thinking much I carry on at snail's pace following the traffic flow when I notice through my rear mirror the lady behind the steering wheel taking note of my number plate. I move forward crossing the bridge in order not to produce a complete melt-down of the traffic and stop right below the Tour Eiffel.

The tower lights start sparkling which means it is seven o'clock sharp and I am now officially running late. It is the first time I am looking down rather than up.

I am checking the fenders and bumpers of my car which seem to be in tact. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about the Mini which has come to a halt behind me. It looks to me as if this lady has had quite a few run-ins. I prepare myself for a downpour of insults and am ready to shoot back. This is the way things work in Paris... you attack first, no matter what.

Instead a French lady steps up to me and says politely: "I think you hit my car." We walk around the vehicles evaluating the damage and seeing that I am late in picking up my daughter, she suggest we telephone later to meet over the weekend.

Well, to cut a long story short, we met on another rainy afternoon in a little bistro in the 15th arrondissement over a cup of coffee and had a pleasant exchange of information while filling in the accident report. Turns out she has a son who's in his last year of school just like mine and from what I could tell her priorities seem to be very similar to mine.

Nobody got hurt, the damage is done and the insurances will cover it. However, there were two ways to go about such an incident: aggressively or with a civilised conversation.

We said our goodbyes and as she was crossing the road with her bright red umbrella, I thought to myself: "I like this mum, we could have potentially even become friends."

Little does this lady know but she has done a great deal in restoring my faith in the Parisian people's ability to show empathy for others.

Je vous adresse tous mes remerciements, Chère Madame, pour cet agréable rencontre qui aurait pu être très énervante.

A traffic free Sunday in Paris

Dozens of animations, two times less noise on the central axis and a drop of 20 to 40 % of nitrogen dioxide levels compared to a similar Sunday... the first car free day met with a resounding success. It was an initiative by the city's mayor Anne Hidalgo who wanted to make a point that Paris can operate without cars and what a great initiative it was! It seemed as if everyone was outside enjoying the beautiful fall day.

I dragged my family out with the excuse to visit the Vide Grenier in the 7th arrondissement. Turned out it was more of a junk sale but being never the ones to falter we just decided to join the crowds and make our way across town by foot with the bikes, rollerblades and skateboards whizzing past us.

Let's see what the outcome will be for the United Nations Climate Conference which the city is hosting end of November. In the meantime, we enjoyed a glorious sunny day surrounded by smiling Parisians...

Pedestrian traffic on a sunny Sunday afternoon on the Champs Elysées

Sacre Coeur in the background

Big and small biking along the quais

Musée d'Orsay taken by assault by tourists

Skateboarders having a ball

Ooops, I lost the kids...

What would Napoleon think of all this?

The Dôme des Invalides, which contains Napoleon I's tomb, is the emblem of the Hôtel National des Invalides and an unmissable monument in the Parisian landscape.

Driving to my hot yoga class...

So here I am in the hospital. Luckily I have only ever needed to see the inside of this kind of institution twice: to give birth.

This evening, I experienced first hand what it feels like to be hit by an airbag, or should I say by an oncoming car and subsequently by the white pillow!

I now have an inkling of a Formula 1 crash. You can see it coming but it happens so fast your brain can't get the accelorator or the brakes to react fast enough. They say the situation passes before your eyes in slowmotion. I can confim that. As I am pulling out of our driveway - having looked left and right and then left again - I drive ahead only to confront a speeding car heading directly towards my door.

Bamm!

I am whirled through my car, it seems, eventhough I am wearing my seatbelt. I crouch, a protective instinct I guess, and next thing I know the car is still and I have an airbag in my face. Oh shit!

I believe I sat there for a few seconds to register what had happened but it might have been longer. I see people gathering around my car with worried looks and then smell something burnt. Having watched too many action movies I quickly jump out of the car ... just in case it blows up!?!

I hardly have time to think straight and the police have arrived already. Not too friendly I might add. More police arrive. Some angel above sent my Spanish friend who just happened to drive past and stopped to give me moral support and sort out the Macho police. Why is it, men are always taken more seriously when it comes to cars?!?

When asked for an ambulance I accept given that the back of my neck is hurting and I have a headache. Five minutes later I am in the emergency vehicle with a collar around my neck. I do feel a bit like living a TV series.

I cannot see a thing that's going on outside. Being a controlfreak, the fact that I am in complete limbo of what will happen next disturbs me to no end.

Think, girl, think! The car! Where will they tow the car to? Will I have to have it collected and re-towed to a repair garage? Oh gosh, what a hassle. So I call the insurance in FRANCE who promptly put me on hold!!!! I don't believe it!!!

Explaing that I am sitting in an ambulance and want them to react immediately, I am informed they need to find out the procedures for accidents in Spain and put me on hold again! Meanwhile I reach the hospital, have my pressure taken and am wheeled to the waiting room and I am STILL holding!!! Bloody French!!! Finally the confirmation that my car will be towed to the right concessionary tomorrow morning. Well, we'll see about that.

After two x-rays and lots of waiting and a short visit with a very young doctor - whose name not even I can pronounce - I am dismissed with a few contusions. Expecting to take a taxi back, I find my lovely friend waiting for me in the hall to take me home safely. Now I am starting to feel emotional! Mil gracias, mi amigo, de corazòn!

...when all I wanted to do - before the car hit me - was drive to my hot yoga class to relax!!!

Attention, j'arrive!!!

I speak Italian, I eat Italian but most of all I DRIVE Italian. This has come in very handy many a times. French drivers take one look at my huge stationwagon with a foreign number plate. While driving they challenge you by eye contact and at this point I KNOW that they are thinking: "Ha, a women driver!". THAT gets the beast in me is aroused.... I love to drive. And given that we live down the road of the Arc de Triomphe I have the pleasure of driving round the Place de l'Etoile nearly every day, Paris' largest road junction.

Now, this is even a challenge for me. So the first time I ventured around it in my car I took a deep breath, pumped up the volume on my Energy radio station and shouted "Yiheaaaaaaaa!" My kids took one look at me and I knew they were thinking: "Mummy's lost it! She has gone into overdrive. Too many French made her go crazy." I could see their worried faces but at the same time they could not hide the excitement in their eyes. This was going to be a ride they would not forget.

And guess what? It worked. Driving fast enough (but not too fast), aggressively pushing forward (in a way you can only manage if you know your car's dimensions down to the centimeter) and keeping a VERY cautious eye to the right, to the left, in front AND behind, the tactic works to perfection. I steered straight into the center of the roundabout hugging the Arc de Triomph (avoiding the tourist buses which drive at 2 miles and hour) and went round twice. The kids were having a ball in the back.

The tricky bit is getting back out and onto one of the twelve straight avenues including the Champs-Élysées. Luckily French drivers stick indubitably to the rule of right-hand drivers have straight-away which helps avoiding accidents.

Place de l'Etoile at night

There is an urban myth that motor insurance companies will not cover driving around the Étoile, which is not strictly true. Insurance companies generally cover motor accidents only on the Étoile under a knock-for-knock agreement, whereby each insurance company will pay for losses by its own policyholder, provided that the other party's insurance company agrees to do the same for the other policyholder.

So, next time you go around a round-about, shout "Yihaaaa" and think of me navigating around the Place de l'Etoile.

View from the top of Arc de Triomphe 

down Champs Elysées

How to obtain a French driver's licence

Wow, I am back in my absolute favourite place in Paris....NOT! Remember? Way out by Porte de Clingnancourt next to the refugees' bureau? La Prefecture de Police. Six weeks after depositing all my documentation (on the third attempt) I have finally received my infamous convocation and am sitting in a grotty waiting room in the outskirts of Paris wondering how many hours it will take this time. And more to the point: will I walk out of here with a Freeeeench driver's licence?

90 minutes later it was with great regret that I had to hand over my Swiss driver's licence and was sent back to wait ANOTHER hour.

I am the last person left at the prefecture and I can hear the authorities discussing: She wants to convert a Swiss licence that was obtained from a Spanish one based on an Italian one, etc. etc. etc...

It is NOT looking good.... Why don't they just hand over that bloody licence? I've been driving for 29 years now, for goodness sakes!!!!!

EUREKA! My number has been called and a mouse-grey functionary practically flings the piece of paper at me. He's in a hurry to get home, no doubt ... it's 17:30. Much to my dismay the French still don't have the credit-card-type driver's licence format that the Italians or the Swiss use ... BUT ... there is a bonus point: the French driver's licence comes in the colour of ... PinK!!!!!

Admidst all this bureauracy, I am surprised they never asked me for a medical (French demand medical certificates for everything) nor did they ask for an eye-sight test. For all they know, they could be sending a raving lunatic who is blind as a bat out onto their streets. But hey, the protocol didn't mention that!?!?

Rock bottom Expat day!

I believe I have hit rock bottom with my Expat adventures. Over the past 15 years I have never ever gone through so much trouble for a single document.

Either the so-called United Europe is a load of bla or the French are off on a limb. Probably both would be my impression at the moment! How difficult can it be to convert a Swiss driver's license into a French one? We're neighbours for goodness sake!

I have trudged across Paris three times to have some DomTom French tell me I needed yet another document that neither his colleague the day before told me about nor was it listed on the official site of the prefecture de police. Which makes me wonder: if THEY can't get it right why should anybody else bother?

Today - after my third attempt - I am the proud owner of a little number ticket that grants me access to one of the officers' booths. It does NOT mean I will necessarily obtain my French driver's license. The officer who grudgingly handed me my number ticket announced that waiting time was four hours. FOUR HOURS!? So much for cutting public expenses, there are forty people waiting for their turn and only one booth is open. My calculated guess: the other four are out for lunch at 13:47.

Three hours later I get called to the booth to present my papers. The lady does not seem convinced with what I am presenting but keeps on asking me for more documents of proof. I have come armed with papers. I will give you any certificate you wish in French, English or Italian. Just try me. I did not travel out to the suburbs of Paris three times in one week to be sent back home again!!!! I am controlling my temper while staring her straight in the face with a big smile. She takes the entire stack of papers and tells me to go wait!

I am actually feeling quite chuffed with myself since I've managed to comply with the French authority by supplying an attestation from my Passport country that I lived in my License country when my driver's license was valid as well as an attestation that my driver's license IS still valid. All in French of course! A big thank you to the Swiss authorities at this point who managed to send me the necessary certificates IN FRENCH within 30 minutes! Oh, I cannot begin to tell you how much I loooove Swiss administration officers....

After three and a half hours patiently sitting in a cold waiting room I am called back to the booth to be told that I will receive a letter at home and am handed back my passport and my Swiss driver's license.

Is that a YES or a NO??

The lady insists that I will be contacted. I am starting to bubble inside and looking at her squarely ask a third time what this means exactly. I ask her a fourth time but she keeps on repeating the same sentence: "You will receive a communication".

I get up and walk back to the receptionist/gatekeeper who so kindly granted me a number ticket four hours earlier and ask the question a fifth time: "Yes or No"? She deigns to tell me that it has been approved by the French authority but that the whole dossier needs to be sent to Switzerland for their approval as well. Standard procedure it seems. Never mind that the certificates I needed to present were issued by the Swiss authorities stating exactly that fact.

Should I ever meet the French president one day I will give him a piece of my mind! In the meantime I'll be checking the mail wondering if I have won or lost this battle and feeling thankful I don't need to convert a Chinese driver's license?!

A German car with French number plates in Spain

On our expat travels across the globe we stopped in Spain for 3 years where we lived on the northern outskirts of Madrid. The whole family fell in love with the country, the city, the people, the food, the rhythm, the climate and the football. We therefore religiously return every summer to soak up the sun and hang out with friends around the pool. Though life, eh?

Driving from Paris to Madrid is quite a hike (at least for us Europeans) but well worth it. Unfortunately, I do need to drive around the city with French number plates. Swiss Ticino number plates were soooo much cooler. It seems I am not the only one who thinks so.

Last night while sipping my margarita de jamaica with my Mexican and Argentinean friends, some idiot decided to break into the cars parked outside the restaurant. My side window was smashed but luckily nothing was stolen. Within 10 minutes three policemen showed up to take note of the incident.

Being terribly Swiss I fetched a dustpan and brush from the restaurant to scoop up the broken glass. The charming Spanish policeman took over, put on some gloves and cleaned the mess up for me. Clearly he was trying to save Spain's image having detected my foreign accent. All I can say is thank Goodness I speak Spanish. I also picked up quite a few new technical expressions last night at midnight!

What can I say? A German car with French number plates driving in Spain - a country suffering from economic hardship - might be asking for trouble. Not only are Spain's long lunches threatened - as many now wonder if struggling Spain can continue to afford a tradition that borders on sacred - maybe so are foreign cars.

1200km from Paris to Madrid

“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.”
Lao Tzu

Admittedly I have been off the radar for a while. Springtime in Paris means lots of houseguests and more visitors than we've ever had in any other country. I wonder why? Just kidding!

I have decided to take off and drive half way across Europe to leave my car in a place where I can use it. In Paris I only collect parking tickets and the metro is faster wherever I go anyway, so why bother with a car?

I arrived in Paris on August 31st last year and have since filled my petrol tank once! Get the picture?

So, I undertook the journey to drive the car back to Madrid all by my little self: I danced to Whitney Houston's music, chatted to my best friend on the phone for nearly an hour, did some mental planning, reorganized my blogs in my head, listened to two audiobooks (chickflicks which I will not reveal they are so tacky) and spent a lovely evening all to myself when I decided to do a pit stop in San Sebastian, Spain.

I do love to drive and when your hubby is waiting the other end to spend a romantic weekend with you, the drive seems even sweeter!

So here are a few impressions of my 1200 km voyage.

Leaving the outskirts of Paris

Half-way across France

Opps, what is happening to the weather?

Guess I've crossed the Spanish border?!

La Concha, the beautiful bay of San Sebastian

Transported back in time

A Titanic feeling

Footprints heading towards the sunset

My new French number plates

“Bureaucracy is the art of making the possible impossible”
Javier Pascual Salcedo

There is something about changing one's number plates that make a move feel definite. After weeks or rather months of adapting, settling in and filing endless paper work for any document under the sun, giving up the number plate of your former "home" country always has an air of final, unconditional no-going-back-to-the-past about it.

Five years ago I trekked down to Bellinzona from Lugano to get my Swiss number plates. I remember being so incredibly proud of my Ticinese plates. Not only did it make me feel local but having grown up in Zurich, my belief was that a car with TI number plates was just plain cool!!!

I admit it was sad seeing the Spanish number plates go, nevertheless!

Two days ago, I was sitting at the "prefecture de police" of Paris which I had to walk to because the metro broke down. I did, however, manage to avoid stepping on a rat while coming put of the metro station.

Impressive police station!

It took all of 17 minutes to do the paperwork ... and I had had visions of me spending all day fighting French bureaucrats. I was beginning to wonder if the Swiss administration had some serious competition? Alas, you don't receive the number plates along with your "carte grise", you are, however, allocated a number.

You then need to find a garage or a cobbler who will print your allocated number on a pair of plates within 48 hours. Strange system if you ask me. I'm wondering at this point "where does the insurance fit in with procedures?"

Being Swiss at heart I decide to call my car concessionary who is scandalized by the fact I even considered ordering number plates on line (another option) and gives me an appointment for the next day.

Racing against the clock I decide on an insurance et voilà ... today I am the proud owner of a Parisian number plate. I can already hear the local Swiss drivers cursing at me when we spend our ski holidays back home!!!!!

Before

After