This was 1982, taken in Switzerland, where we took a camping trip where I was 16 because my dad had a conference to attend there. We drove across France from the Rosslare-La Havre ferry, the four of us squashed into the back seat of a Vauxhall Cavalier.
On the way to Montreux, Switzerland, we spent two days in Paris. The night we arrived, my father white-knuckled, driving through Parisian traffic at midnight, looking for our hotel. We went to the Louvre, and all I remember is running through enormous rooms looking for the Mona Lisa before it closed. The photo shows us clustered in front of the blurry masterpiece, alongside a startled Japanese man who happened to look at the camera when it clicked.
We got a puncture on a French motorway, and my dad changed the tire in the rain. Then the starter motor expired and we had to stay for a few days in the town of Auxerre while it was fixed.
It rained for days once we got to Switzerland and our tent leaked. At night, we heard the moles scratching beneath the ground and Liz and I held hands in terror, certain they were going to gnaw through the canvas into the tent. My mom fell on the street and injured her hand, it was too expensive to buy anything, and John and I were always fighting.
But the sun came out and we took a marvelous day trip, the highlight of the vacation. We crossed Lake Geneva by boat along with conventioneers from all over the world who were at the conference. Docking in the town of Evian, we had a splendid meal in a beautiful palace (probably an ordinary hotel, but I remember it being lavish). Then we came back to Montreux on the boat, with all the grownups in high spirits, singing and dancing, probably quite tipsy. A Nigerian man called Michael was teasing our brother Michael, who was quiet as a mouse, having never seen a black person before outside of Diff'rent Strokes.
I'm sure the Switzerland trip was hard and expensive for my parents, but it was such an adventure for us. I still have not been back to Paris. I think it's time.
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