We drove down out of the mountains, descending 2000 meters in a few hours' time, from the snowy peaks to the foggy metropolis (where we stopped and took Jeremy to a bookstore - who would have thought that our 11-year-old boy would be so eager for new books?). And in the afternoon we drove on, all the way to our village by the Mediterranean, where the mimosas were coming into bloom, and spring seemed to have almost arrived.
We were in the car quite a while, but I've really come to enjoy this kind of travel through changing landscapes. Luckily, our children love to travel just as much as their parents do. In the slower moments, Rebecca directed the family sing-along, mostly consisting of "Row, row your boat," over and over and over.
Now, as I write this, I can see a reflection in the window: Tom is reading to Rebecca, while Jeremy and Nicholas are deep in their books. Reading is another good way to travel.
