As a family, we began the summer by demarcating it as a sabbatical.

The word itself seems to commands a specific reverence. Auto-reply on my devices stating such a word initiated responses of severe apology for the disruption from the sender.

After a heavy season of caretaking and grief, our trip to Europe, unbeknownst to us, has been the much needed rest and reconnection for the six of us. With little on the agenda we sought this adventure for world-schooling and exposure opportunities. To our surprise we have found pliability, soul rest and beauty.

Geneva was quickly a place to heal and slow our pace even further.

Zachary took a day to rest while the children and I visit the beach. The following day, the girls and I stayed back to rest in our room with a basket of food and Disney films to entertain us. Meanwhile the boys, more refreshed, went into the mountains for a scenic view.

Throughout our stay in Switzerland we lazily explored the hidden pathways of Old Town, various parks, flower gardens, and the swans at the lake. We sampled Swiss chocolates and cheeses. I even tried Suze, an aperitif at Helia, near the fountain in Old Town, hoping it might be medicinal for the germs I was starting to battle. Instead of trying it on it’s own, I mixed with the tonic water the Suze came with straight away. Together, the bright yellow liquor and bubbly quinine was entirely too bitter to truly enjoy on its own without salty meats or gamey cheese. Not one I will try again anytime soon but I’ll always remember.

Our first night, and most memorable meal, was spent at Da Paolo. A tough claim but perhaps the best Italian woodfire pizza outside of Italy I have ever tasted. It seemed as if it were family-owned and operated. The servers speaking brilliant English, Italian, and French in one breath to one another.

The caprese was fresh and the olive olive flavored we drizzled over the tomatoes with emulsified basil. A trick I must try when we return home.

The young man building pizzas cranked out as many as six at a time. With the peel he insert each pizza with a purposeful position near the flame. A moment later he tap the crust with the edge of the peel, testing for doneness before lifting the edge to check the pattern on the bottom of the crust. If it met his standards, he turned it 180 degrees. If it didn’t he let it alone awhile before checking again. When the flame began to dwindle, another log was retrieved from his station and placed, by hand, into the furnace close to the embers.

When a pie was close to complete the chef moved it closer to the opening of the oven for a final cook. Then removed it; placing the pizza onto a large white dinner platter. There he cut it aggressively with a rolling knife with six or so strokes before a server swept by to deliver it to the table.

Somehow he managed to get all four of our pizzas in, out and to our table at precisely the same time.

The property we stayed at was what we lovingly referred to as the von Trapp mansion. A privately built and owned historic home with terrace and unforgettable views overlooking the lake and moutains was converted into a boutique hotel. Here we had the second most memorable meal in Switzerland each day for breakfast.

A table was set for our family each morning. We practically had the terrace to ourselves. The coffee, pastries, juices and jams Sarah presented were truly a daily feast.

Sarah, French born, Swiss-raised, informed me it isn’t uncommon for children to learn English starting at eight then to learn an additional language in high school. By the time she was eighteen she could speak three languages! With her knowledge, she was very kind to spend as much time listening to the girls as they did talking and entertaining her.

Our final day in Geneva, Zachary retrieved the rental car just after breakfast. The children and I played in the park awaiting his arrival. A book engaged me while I supervised the children and luggage. The boys went off into the sequoias sparring with large branches. The girls makings a game out of piling mounds of pea gravel and collecting rocks worth keeping.

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L’Isle-sur-la- Sorgue

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Paris II