I'm typing on a French keyboard!

And we're off!!
At the Arlington, VA train station.

We're in France! Can you believe it?

We arrived Thursday afternoon, November 16th, not a minute past my projection in the previous post.

Ana Maria and Germán, Nico's parents, dropped us off at the train station in Arlington, Virginia last Tuesday afternoon with our two sweet children and seven pieces of luggage, which consisted of: two hiking backpacks, two small rolly suitcases, a briefcase, a small bag of food, and Moisés' backpack of fun and entertainment.  I counted these items constantly as we entered and exited each location we came to.  Seven bags, two children, check!  Seven bags, two children, check!

We made it without problem to NYC and walked the six city blocks to Nico's cousin Andrew's apartment.  On the way we passed Madison Square Garden, where (what's left of) The Greatful Dead were having a reunion concert. Nico chuckled at the scene: there he was, in a sea of Deadheads, but rather than joining them, he walked through them wearing an Amish hat and with a wife and two kids in tow, on his way to a Christian monastic community in France.  Back in college, if Nicolas had seen a snapshot of the present scene, it would've been more akin to a weird dream than a possible future reality.

This is the only photo I took of our visit with Andrew.
You can't see Andrew or the skyline anywhere! :(

Expecting our arrival, the doorman at Andrew's apartment building gave us Andrew's key and we lumbered our seven bags and two children into the tiny bachelor pad and "made ourselves at home", as he had invited us to.  Shortly, after his 20 minute walk home from work, Andrew arrived and treated us to a Peruvian chicken dinner and an 11th story rooftop view of Manhattan Island, lit up in every direction as far as the eye could see.  (Nico says: Thanks, Andrew for your warm love and great hospitality.  We love you, primo!)

The next morning Nico squeezed in a visit with our friend Jorian (of Farfields Farm) who lives part-time in Brooklyn, while the boys and I took an adventure to find long socks for Yanni at several mainstream clothing stores near by.  It was a disappointing discovery: all that's "à la mode" for toddlers these days are ankle socks and chilly calves.

In researching transportation from Andrew's apartment to the airport, we found two options: a pricey yet convenient shuttle, or a very affordable yet busy subway.  Obviously we wanted to choose the cheaper option, but it seems that metro trains are not prepared for people with luggage, even though they have stops at airports and train stations.  We would be travelling mid-day, not rush hour, but Andrew warned us that the system is busy no matter the hour.  Nico and I weren't feeling confident to brave the subway alone with seven bags and two children, but we thought it was worth a try with an escort if we could find one.  The Brothers and Sisters, a nomadic Christian troup, currently have a base in NYC, so of course we called 'em right up!  One brother quickly and generously agreed to help escort us to the airport.

Nico and Yehuda found the boys and I back at Andrew's apartment after our sock adventure, and we all had a quick lunch of leftover Peruvian chicken, tidied up, and headed for the subway.  We found that it was, in fact, quite crowded, and we were very thankful for Yehuda's help.  Furthermore, Yehuda knew the routes!

Here's what happens on a long
NYC subway train ride at nap time.

Yehuda left us at the subway stop connecting to the Airtrain, a train which (logically) rides to and around the airport, and which was incredibly less crowded than the subway.  I felt like a simpleton country bumpkin on the Airtrain!  Moisés' and Yanni's eyes were glued to the window, and so were mine!  We drove past terminal after terminal and saw dozens of airlines inscribed on unnumbered airplanes.  We rode past runways and hangers and saw planes taking off and landing.  Anyone could tell me, "Duh, that's an airport. They're normal and everywhere," but I was lost in amazement at what humans can do!  And I still had yet to board one of those gigantic machines that weighs tons and still manages to magically float up into the air and over the ocean at time travel speeds, but you know, no big deal.

At terminal eight we said goodbye to the Airtrain (literally: Yanni said, "Bah bah tain") and found our way to the baggage counter  to check our heavy bags and obtain boarding passes.

Next came the line where you awkardly take off your shoes and belts and empty your pockets, but only if you're between the ages of 12 and "old".  Or, as an overhead television claimed, you could pre-register on the internet and skip the TSA line, not having to check liquids or take your laptop out of it's bag.  What?!  So are the rest of us just playing some goofy game, sliding our personal items around in square plastic bins for all the strangers to see?  What's the point of waving the beeping magic wands around some of us when the young, the old, and the well-prepared remain to be feared?  They could have anything!  They're making it to foreign countries with their cheap pocket knives and shampoo!

Our flight left NYC at 5:30pm, right on time, and Moisés giggled the whole way as we taxied to the runway and took off.  By then it was dark, so we watched the twinkling city fade to black as our plane slowly moved along the red line between NYC and Paris on a GPS image playing on the seven television screens within view.

I hoped we could get four hours of sleep before landing in Paris at 6:30am, local time, to begin a new day six hours earlier than usual.  Moisés and Yanni didn't quite amass four hours.  I only got about two and Nico didn't do much better.

We landed in Paris and suddenly everyone was speaking French.  Our next steps were to get our seven bags and two children from the airport to Gare Montparnasse, one of several major train stations in Paris.  From there we would be taking a train heading to Quimper, the last stop on the train line heading west.  Someone from the Ark would find us at the train station in Quimper to bring us the last leg of our long journey to the community.

In the airport's metro stop, we bought and punched our tickets for what we thought was the only train leaving the airport, but as we descended the stairs to the platform, the list of destinations flashed up on an overhead screen and Gare Montparnasse wasn't on the list.

Nico peered in a nearby car of the waiting train and asked (in French!) if we could use this train to get to Montparnasse.  The passengers waved indifferently and couldn't help us.  As Nico and I regrouped wondering what to do, a friendly Parisian popped his head out of the next train car over and asked us in his French-accented English, "Do you need 'elp getting somwer?"

He confirmed for us that this was the only train leaving the airport and told us we could change trains with him later, as he would switch to a train that passed through the Montparnasse station.  I found a seat with the boys while Nico and the man checked the route map to decide which of several stops we would use to change trains.

Just before the doors shut to begin our journey into the heart of Paris, a woman boarded and overheard Nico and the nice man discussing train change options.  She joined our clan and quickly became the leader when we discovered that she makes the trip from the airport to Montparnasse regularly.  AND she was planning to catch our same train from Gare Montparnasse into northwestern France!  She claimed Chatêlet was the best station to change trains, so we all agreed.

As we zipped underground toward Chatêlet, we realized it was rush hour and the spacious seat we had chosen when the train was empty was now packed in tight on all sides, blocking us from the exit.  The crowd separated us from the friendly man and woman from the airport and we started to feel uneasy about how we would disembark at our stop with all seven bags and two children without causing a major scene.  After our effort to have a local escort and avoid rush hour on the NYC subway, we hadn't considered these two factors for the Paris metro train, and found ourselves lacking in both categories... Oops!

Two unrelated passengers near us noticed our deliberating and pointing toward the upcoming stop flashing on the screen.  One said to Nico with the same dry wave as the first people he'd spoken with, "Oh, your stop is next? Don't worry, we'll 'elp you."  We couldn't tell by their tone what - 'elp - meant, but as we stood and prepared to disembark, they jumped to action!  Each grabbing a rolly suitcase, they hollered in French to part the sardines and we cleared the doors quickly together with all seven bags and two children!  Before I could even muster a full "merci beaucoup", they smiled and turned around to join the crowds entering the train.  This wasn't even their stop!!

Busy people rushed around us in every direction while we quickly put the seven bags and two children in the proper order to lumber along.  As we began to move forward, we looked up and who did we see, but the friendly man and woman who helped us at the airport metro stop!  They waited for us!  We re-banded together and the woman led us all seamlessly through the gigantic Chatêlet station, which turned out to be the metro center of Paris.  We had to punch our tickets three more times and pass corridors splitting off in all directions.  I'm sure we slowed them down a minute or two, but with their help we probably cut in half the time it would've taken us to figure it all out ourselves.

As our family and the woman prepared to disembark the train at Gare Montparnasse, the man from the airport who still had a number of stops to go, smiled at Nico and told him, "Welcome to this country.  I 'ope you 'ave a nice stay."

I thought that the woman would surely feel her job was done once we arrived at the Montparnasse metro stop, but she walked with us to the very end, showing us which exit to take to avoid extra stairs, as she had a backpack and rolly suitcase of her own.

At the "main line" junction she gave us a tip that our train would probably leave from a platform between numbers one and eight (there were nearly thirty platforms spread over a couple of floors), and the number wouldn't post on the screen until twenty minutes before the train's departure time.  We said our goodbyes, feeling that even a hearty, "merci beaucoup beaucoup" wasn't nearly sufficient, and parted ways for our two hour layover.

We were given some serious gifts in our trainsition through Paris between the two people from the airport and the two on the metro train.  We praise God for the peace we had through the confusion and difficulty, and bad timing!  We had gotten a local escort on the NYC metro even though it wasn't rush hour, but we hadn't even seen what was coming when we found ourselves in the middle of Paris' rush hour.  Without so much help our story could be very different, and I'm thankful for the story of blessing that we have.

At Montparnasse.  Moisés and Yanni each show their
favorite dried fruit from Mimi's now world famous granola!

In Gare Montparnasse, the two children and I found a station restaurant where we guarded the seven bags and ate Mimi's (my mom's) homemade granola in million dollar yogurt cups from the airport.  Nico ran around the nearby streets of Paris and found an internet cafe, a place to change dollars to euros, and, would you believe it, LONG SOCKS for TODDLERS.  Practical people, the French!

Our four hour train ride from Montparnasse to Quimper put us all right to sleep, as anyone could imagine after a night of two to four hours of sleep per person.  Finally, when we arrived in Quimper, we counted up all seven bags and two kids, and entered the train station to find a friendly face!  Benoit (bun-WAH) from the Ark had come to pick us up in the farm's "truck", a tall van that has seats for six people and space in back  for countless crates of fresh veggies... or seven bags of luggage.  And he had car seats, perfectly appropriate for a twenty-two-month-old and a five-year-old, by my American car safety understanding.  As it turns out, Benoit's wife, Elisabeth (eh-lease-ah-BET), had asked folks she knew nearby if they were finished with any baby items and rounded up the two car seats, as well as a high chair, crib, toys, books, and training potty.  Wow!

We weaved through the roundabouts heading out of Quimper, a city with a population only slightly larger than our very own Harrisonburg, Virginia.  The scenery turned country, and in about twenty-five minutes we came around a corner and I recognized buildings!  Benoit turned into the driveway and we had arrived at the Community of the Ark of Lanza del Vasto at Guenvez, looking very similar to my memories of this place almost exactly two years ago to the day when we visited for four days.

Here we are in our new apartment, the seven bags (plus two
more we had mailed in August), two kids, and all!

For me it was a funny mix of feelings: joy of accomplishing what we had worked and prayed so hard for over the past year and a half or so, and overwhelm of the reality we found ourselves in, due to said accomplishment.

We have been treated so generously here already.  I look forward to being held by the slow and steady rhythms of this mature community life over the next year.