Home Away from Home

Forget hotels. A French teacher finds travel is more fun when you in other's houses.

by Suzanne Moore Colton '77

Living in a foreign home is a bit like living someone else's life. At least that's what my family felt when we stayed in French, British, and Italian houses. While the owners were away, we ate at their tables, slept in their beds, looked at their photographs on the walls, and learned to cope with foreign appliances and shopping. It provided an intimate and unique look at countries not our own.

There are basically three options for house stays house sitting, trading, and renting and my family has tried them all. Each offers advantages, and by avoiding the high costs of several hotel rooms and restaurant meals, they all allowed my extended family to travel together and make some friends along the way.

As a French teacher, I was delighted that our first stay was in a Paris suburb. Our adventure began when my father discovered a trading homes publication and placed an advertisement in it. I began contacting those whose houses might accommodate two children. (Apartments with fine antiques were out of the question!) Eventually a letter from Villebon-sur-Yvette arrived; a surgeon, his wife, and three boys enjoyed vacationing in the United States and needed someone to occupy their house and feed their cat, Mimsy. I did some research and learned that Villebon-sur-Yvette was an affluent area only 45 minutes by train from central Paris, so we began writing and calling in earnest.

After several weeks of corresponding, our Parisian family decided to vacation at a Jamaican beach resort but they remained eager to have a house and cat sitter. Since almost all French people vacation during August, they fear burglaries of empty houses. My mother, father, two children, and I made arrangements to go to Paris. One day a very French-looking long key arrived by mail.

At this juncture during all three of our trips, we began to feel apprehensive: Will the house live up to its description? In fact, will this strange key open anything at all? A few years later when we traveled to London, it felt odd to hand over our own house and car keys to the likeable British couple whose house we had invaded. They left the next day for our house in the States. Despite this natural nervousness, we decided each time to follow the Slavonic proverb: "Leap before you look. "

Arriving at the Paris address, we discovered that the strange key did in fact open the exterior gate and wooden front door. With relief and curiosity the five of us entered a comfortable four-story house with simple but elegant furnishings. There were toys and games on the top story and a big table in the garden where Mimsy the cat greeted us.

I found myself enveloped in jet lag for the first day or two and ill at ease among unfamiliar things. After all, these were someone else's dishes and towels. The small, very well-equipped kitchen made it obvious that someone in the French family was an excellent cook. One morning Madame's butcher visited and explained how to walk to the boucherie and which cuts she preferred. As the days passed, we became more comfortable. We learned where to catch the train for Paris and how to drive on the expressways in our host family's diesel Rover. (However, we never became accustomed to the motorcycles weaving between the lanes, passing to the left or right, wherever there was any space.)

Part of the charm and adventure of staying in a foreign house came from the daily shopping. Each neighborhood had its own shops for the fresh food and bread required for a true French meal. Apparently having busy, modern families has not eliminated home-cooked meals. The shops were bustling with people in business attire on their way home from the train.

Since my mother is the early riser and a good cook, she enjoyed morning walks to the boulangerie for bread, the boucherie for meat, and the patisserie. Dominique, a neighbor of the host's family, became friendly and invited us on a few outings and even to a party at her home. Being invited into a French home is a rare privilege and so were all of the quiches, wines, and pates. We continued to correspond with Dominique after our trip, and she and her husband later visited my parents in Kentucky. These memories have stayed with us more than the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. At the end of three weeks' explorations of Paris, the Ile de France region, and Normandy, we patted Mimsy adieu and returned home.

Two years after our first trip we participated in a true exchange of homes with a British family of four. Since both my brother and husband (Gary Colton '76) were able to join us, this time there were seven in our group.

Their London house was perfect six levels, with each bedroom a few steps up from the one before. We explored their neighborhood of Islington as well as the tourist sights in London. As in France, a car came with the house, but we did not dare drive on the left in London and often needed to think twice even before crossing the street. I had never realized how driving on the right side was so deeply ingrained in my psyche.

Since we spent a fair amount of time in our neighborhood, our routine including walking to the park in the evenings. British children taught my daughter how to play "picksies and dropsies," a game that consisted simply of dropping and picking up a cork from the playground merry-go-round. Sometimes at night my brother, husband, and I visited our local pub and played trivia games with the neighbors.

On the U.S. end, the British family had the use of two homes our place outside Washington, D.C., and my parents' house in Kentucky. They stayed a few days in D.C., but much preferred Owensboro and what they considered real American life. Since I had spent hours proudly gathering D.C. material and guides to the Smithsonian museum complex, I was disappointed that they chose not to explore our capital. Gradually I realized that each individual brings her own curiosities and background to travel and the host cannot and should not impose any agendas. Anyway, I could not argue that D.C. was more truly American than Owensboro.

Our last trip was to the wildly popular Tuscany region of Italy. Since this was my father's dream trip, he did all of the advertising and correspondence in preparation for another trade. Unfortunately, no exchange materialized. He did write to a Roman woman who rented part of an 18th-century villa in the Umbria area, only several miles from Tuscany. Renting would still be less expensive than three hotel rooms for two weeks. After some thought and discussion, my father sent a deposit for two apartments in the villa. We once again made arrangements to cross the Atlantic.

Florence, Rome, and the Tuscan villages were unforgettable, but the people we met and the daily life we experienced remain our strongest memories. It began with Laura, our lovely Italian landlady, who met us at the airport in Rome and led us back to her villa in Umbria. Much to our surprise, Laura and her friend Giorgio made a beautiful Italian meal for us. Outside on the patio, in the cool evening breeze, we enjoyed conversation and buffalo cheese, marinated zucchini, pasta, and home-made wine and olive oil. We never anticipated this introduction to Italian cuisine and hospitality!

After Laura and Giorgio returned to Rome, we became acquainted with a farmer's wife who taught us about various greens and lettuces. Mario, who helped maintain the villa, was patient enough to speak Italian with my brother and me. Our favorite topic was his lazy sheepdog, Emma, who napped in the shade and occasionally swatted flies with her tail. Next door an Italian man and an English woman were renovating the other half of the villa. One night during dinner they explained the nightmare of Italian bureaucracy and contractors, as well as some delightful discoveries they had made while chipping away layers of dirt from the 200-year-old villa. We climbed along a lovely wrought-iron banister to the second floor, where an unfinished room had exquisite Italian stenciling.

Obviously, using hotels and restaurants is easier in many ways than coping with foreign houses. For a large group with a sense of adventure, however, trading houses has given our family many memories and shared experiences. As the Jewish proverb says: "No matter what happens, travel gives you a story to tell."

A French teacher for 21 years, Suzanne Moore Colton '77 is currently working on an advanced degree in English as a second language. She lives in the Chicago area with her husband, Gary Colton '76, two teenagers, and a dog named Milou Louis. Her e mail address is sanssuzie@aol.com.

Let's Make a Match

¥ Be adventuresome. A house off the regular tourist route can be a springboard to an intriguing vacation.
¥ Plan your local transportation in advance. Are you close to public transportation? Is a car included in the exchange?
¥ Foreign appliances are often mystifying. Request instructions.
¥ Consider European houses during the fall, winter, or spring. It's less crowded and less expensive when you avoid the summer months.

Ready to Go?

The Coltons used Invented City at www.invented-city.com; 41 Sutter Street, Suite 1090, San Francisco, CA 94104; (415) 252 1141). Membership for one year from $75. Other home-swap agencies include Intervac at www.intervac.com; 30 Corte San Fernando, Tiburon, CA 94920; (800) 756-HOME and HomeLink International at www.homelink.org; P.O. Box 650, Key West, FL 33041; (800) 638-3841.

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