Au PAIRadise

Spending the weekend with 40 other jeune fille au pairs, from 10 odd countries, was one of the most interesting, eye-opening, silly and fun experiences I’ve had all year. After my initial highschool panic flashback had subsided (oh my god, where am I going to sit on the bus, are the “popular” girls going to talk about me behind my back, what if everyone already has someone to sit with, and I am left alone and loser-ish??!), I settled into the group realizing that most everyone was there to share each others’ joys and au pair-pains, and to have fun with others who are going through the same crazy experience.

Not to say that “cliques” weren’t formed. Not unlike the University of Michigan, where homogenous color coded hordes of students were the norm, the au pair crowd split similarly into ethnic groups. Germans in one corner, Swedes on the second floor, English speakers (the majority) filtering through the spaces between.

We went on the trip to ski, and to any outsiders assessment, the lack of snow anywhere the eye could see would have deemed it a bust. We had to take a télécabine 2200 meters up to find snow, and even then only ONE piste was open. That one run, however, provided hours of enjoyment, and a little scary chaos. To keep things interesting, Julie and I switched equipment. I put on her skis, and it was like riding a bike; in minutes I felt like I was 9 years, and tearing up the slopes (read: landfills) at Blizzard ski school in Michigan. To mix things up, we decided to follow some tracks cut by the lone male au pair in the group (an odd fellow from Iceland who au paired 10 years ago, and now takes care of horses….).

Mel went first, and slid on her butt most of the way down the steep part. She’s a good boarder, so I had my doubts about whether or not I could do it on skis. But I shut up my inner nag, and dropped down the steep slope. In seconds I was flying, trying to make turns when I could, poles flailing every which way. I was definitely going fast, but a hill was coming up and I was sure I would be slowed as I went over it. Mel waited at the top so we could cut through the rocks and trees together, and get back on the main run. I approached the hill, and started my ascent. I was going up, going up……halfway and still going up. Mel must have thought I would have slowed down too, but it was too late by the time we both realized I was going to smash into her. I speed up the hill, took her legs and board out from under her, then was stopped by my head (and thank god my helmet) smashing into a boulder. Then, Mel's board came crashing down on my upper body. For a second I was silent, then breathing fast, heart pumping and trying to catch my breath and assess the damage. Legs OK, wrists OK, head hurts but not TOO bad, stabbing pain in my upper arm. For a second I thought I had either popped my shoulder out or was bleeding badly, but attempted to move my arm with success and fairly minimal (considering the circumstances) pain. Mel and I disentangled from each other, and she helped me get back on Julie’s skis, which were what I was most worried about damaging, but were thankfully OK too.

After my fight with the boulder, the sun was going down, conditions getting icy, and my arm hurting like hell, so I went inside for some chocolat chaud while everyone else took a last run or two. Assessing the damage in the bathroom, there was little blood, but my arm was almost twice its normal circumference, with some beautiful colors already starting to appear.

Back at the Chalet (names Les Clos des Pierres, “the enclosure of stones”) we were put to work making dinner. I volunteered when they were looking “for people who know how to make fondue” (hey, I’ve done it once!), and got to spend the next half hour maniacally stirring 4 giant pots of melted emmental and gruyere cheeses on a massive industrial sized stove. A huge success, everyone gorged themselves on fondue with thick, rustic pieces of bread to dip, salad, and delicious cinnamon and butter baked apples for dessert.

Once everything from dinner was cleaned, the organizers of the trip, Paul and Becky, gathered everyone for the “non-snow snow games.” We divided into teams and played cheesy, fun, middle school-esque games such as a newspaper snowball fight, blanket sleigh pulling races, parachute games, and a dance off to end. The majority of au pairs are between 18 and 24, but everyone embraced their inner child and really got into the spirit of silly competition, which made for an amazingly fun and uplifting night. The dance off was the last competition, where we had to come up with 30 seconds worth of dance moves, and then perform them to an unknown song. I am probably THE worst dancer in the world, but luckily even I could keep up with the highly technically challenging arm swoops, leg crosses, and pelvic thrusts that our group choreographed. The best part was the end, where the rest of the group circled around me while I did interpretive dance, ending in a dramatic pose with my arms drawn to my face, then slid out in front of the crowd screaming “Au PAIRidise!!!!!,” the spur of the moment name I came up with for our group. We ended up tying for third, and were in uncontrollable fits of laughter almost the whole night. Definitely an experience I won’t soon forget.

Sunday morning, Paul, one of the organizer’s, gave an interesting and uplifting speech, something I’m still pondering. He talked about how even though there was no snow, that there was a near record-breaking number of au pairs who came on the trip. This, he said, was very inspirational because we were content to come and meet new people, spend time together, and enjoy ourselves despite the original “goal” of the trip, to ski. He busted out his Bible, and from the gold rimmed pages read a beautiful passage, which talked about being content through famine and feast, health and sickness, good times and bad. He asserted, as the bible has a tendency to do, that you can gain this contentment in life through “Him,” who strengthens you.

Being content with my situation as an au pair, living in Geneva, and life in general has been a struggle for me this year, and in a way all of my life. While I don’t know if my personal path to contentment is through a capitalized masculine entity, the speech really struck a cord with me. I felt connected, knowing that he wouldn’t have broached that specific subject if he had not been thinking others in the room were grappling with contentment themselves.

Thinking to the night before, how I was able to throw myself full force into the cheesy “non-snow games” 100%, and just go with the flow and ending up laughing til' I peed, made me feel like maybe something is starting to click. Slowly yet surely, I think I am starting to understand how to just “be” and to be happy just being. Taking a little more joy in the mundane details of making porridge, folding laundry, hanging out with the lil’ monsters, reading, grocery shopping, talking and being with a friend…just the ordinary business of life. Not pouting over a muddy mountain weekend devoid of powder or half-pipes, but taking it for what it is, and consequently discovering my inner rockstar. I’m sure there will be many days ahead of me where the nagging feeling of the ambiguous “something more” will haunt my spirit, or when one, two or even three cookies will be not enough, and I’ll still think “more” will make me satisfied; but I can think back to the fun I had on the weekend that supposedly went awry, remember the fun and spirit of the Au PAIRadise, and be happy for where I am this moment.

A Wrinkle In Time

**Started Dec. 20th, 35,000 ft somewhere over France**

The longest day of my life isn’t even half over yet. I’m in the air as we speak, somewhere about halfway between Geneva and London…..excuse the possible lack of coherence in my writing, considering I jump at every ping, ding and movement the aircraft makes.

I was pumped and ready to go at 5am this morning, my oversized pink suitcase, duly overstuffed with too many clothes for 2.5 weeks, and presents for my friends and family. The journey started without a hitch; I was on time for the tram and train, and all checked in at the British Airways guichet (window) with an hour to spare before my departure at 7:45. Minutes before we were set to board, they informed us that heavy fog in London would delay us for 45 minutes. 20 minutes before this departure time, the delay was bumped up to an hour (one scary minute where they announced our flight had been cancelled, then seconds later before the angry mob attacked the counter, they announce, “excuse me, sorry, your flight has NOT been cancelled.” (PSYCHE!)

Finally at 10am, we board the plane. 20 minutes later, another fateful announcement, “The weather conditions which were supposed to improve, have actually worsened, so our projected take off time will now be 2 hours from now.” AHHHH. 2 hours on this stuffy little plane, I thought I was going to go crazy. To top things off the food was horrible, only bacon or sausage sandwiches, or cheese and chives for the vegetarian option (which I spitefully scarfed down, out of frustration and sheer necessity). Chatted with some interesting kids who were from Kuwait, and in Geneva for a model UN competition at the Palais des Nations. They were all psyched and hoping for the flight to get cancelled because as they put it, “any day that’s NOT in Kuwait is a good day.” Seniors in high school, they had taken full advantage of the 16 yr old drinking age à Genève, and even more so than normal underage kids, considering drinking is totally illegal in Kuwait (Islamic country). One of the Indian kids was all excited when he saw my Michigan shirt and asked if I go there…..turned out he had found out 2 days ago that he had gotten accepted, and would be going there!

An hour into our 2 hour delay…more bad news. Conditions hadn’t improved and we would have to wait another 2 hours before going to London, if at all (rumors were circling that no planes would be able to fly into Heathrow today, if tomorrow even!). At this point, I got up to stretch my legs and couldn’t hold back my emotions. Not only was I up at 5am and sitting on a plane for 4 hours (and in an airport for 3), but I have a congested sinuses, AND would most likely be missing my cousin’s one day with me before he heads off to the Rose Bowl. I cried, not caring who saw me or what they thought. Luckily, a nice French steward saw that I was upset, and offered me reassurance that I would get to London today, and if not to Detroit then at least put up in a hotel by BA, and some water.

Feeling refreshed I went back to my seat, and let McDreamy comfort me through half an episode of Grey’s that I had already watched 3 times….it was wonderful. 20 minutes later the captain buzzed. I braced for the worse, mentally preparing myself to………………

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This was as far as I got that fateful December day, going crazy on a tin can also known as an A-380 airbus. I finally made it home (though had to spend the night in London before eventually making it out), and got to spend the most wonderful, albeit fastest ever 3 weeks at home with my family.

Funny thing is, although I’ve left my life and everyone in it behind for nearly a half of a year, nothing has really changed. Hell, even dirty laundry I didn’t have to time to put through the wash before I left was still laying in a dejected, crumpled pile in my laundry basket! In a way, I feel like the day I left was freeze-framed, and although life continued on after my august departure, the second I stepped out of baggage claim and into my dad’s arms, the “play” button was hit, my frame animated, and my life back to how it was.

And falling back into a routine at home was no problem. There was months of TV to catch up on, sleeping-in to be done, and lots of catching up with the people who matter most in my life. Full advantage was taken of all things pas disponsible en Suisse: non-$15 drinks, vodka & tonics/rum an diets, garbage disposals, proper shopping malls with normal prices, non-disgusting vanilla soymilk, quarters/beer-pong, large roads, freedom of movement (a car!), and streets where you can actually see the houses, not just dreary grey concrete gates encircling the property.

Going out to eat, one of my favorite activities and something I have only done maybe twice since I’ve been in Geneva, was fully enjoyed and done at least 3 times a week. I visited Ann Arbor, almost crying on the ascent up main street into the beautiful, spacious downtown of my alma mater, and spent the night drinking cheap beer out of a pitcher, singing along to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in a tipsy haze.

But the nights that meant everything were spent doing nothing. Sitting on my couch with my twin bestest friends, sipping champagne, watching Sex & the City OnDemand. Trying to steal a quick look at an IM conversation that made one of them giggle, curious whether it was genuine humor or literary dirty talk. Listening to my cousins and my best guy friend discuss (for the millionth time) Lance’s V02 max, who has the lowest resting heart rate, and what the optimal body fat percentage is for maximum performance in triathlons or cycling.

3 weeks felt like 3 days, and before I knew it I was packing my pink suitcase with my new Christmas presents and heading back à Genève. My dad thought it would be better leaving this time; at least I knew I had a nice place to go back to, and knew for sure I wouldn’t be locked in someone’s basement, forced to smoosh grapes with my feet (à la Bart in the exchange student episode). And while this time I didn’t ball my eyes out while stepping through security (saved them for the bumpy take off and turbulence over the Atlantic), I’ve felt caught in a melancholic doldrums ever since I set off for Au pair-ing, round two. Somehow already knowing the routine, the days consisting of porridge-making, blank space, ABC’s, and baths, makes the last 6 months seem nearly as daunting as when I first set out for the year.

No one can believe when I say it, but I can’t wait to get out there and have my first job. I’m sure in a year, when I’m up at 6 and not home til’ God knows when, I’ll look back fondly on my days of being a glorified babysitter, and pine (briefly) for the relaxed lifestyle and free time. But I’ll remember the gaping void of unstructured time everyday, and be thankful for the jam-packed days, stress, and intellectual stimulation.

Of course I want to enjoy the rest of my time here, to travel to new places and enjoy the sweet little monsters. But I also wish that the time passes like it did during Christmas vacation; that the moment when I got off the plane seemingly folds to the moment when I got back on, folding the time and memories in a perfect crease, causing a wrinkle in time and making it fly.