One summer we house swapped with a friend and went from NYC to Provence, France. I sent my kids to summer camp against their will and they loved it.
Courtesy of the author
When my children were growing up, we lived between New York City and Italy. Switching schools and languages wasn't always easy, but they managed to bounce between two worlds.
One summer, a friend who lived in a small village in Provence, France, was looking for a place to stay in New York City. We decided to do a house swap.
I thought it would be a great opportunity for my 13-year-old son, Alec, and 11-year-old daughter, Madeleine, to learn French. I found a sleepaway camp at an international school not far from our temporary home, where the kids would study French each morning and do typical camp activities each afternoon. I chose the Monday-Friday option, so we'd spend weekends all together. With the kids in camp during the week, my husband and I would have adult-only time to sip rosé at wineries and bike to village markets. It sounded like the perfect balance.
As soon as I told the kids about the French camp, my son started complaining, calling the French language stupid and saying that speaking English and Italian was enough for him. He got his sister involved in the moaning, too. I stayed strong, telling them what a privilege, not to mention expense, attending a camp like this was.
Finally, after weeks of crying and complaining, I could no longer bear the thought of spending so much money on kids who were so upset and ungrateful. I told them, "I'm canceling camp. You guys will be with me all day in a tiny house in a tiny town in Provence".
Off to Provence, we went. The house was perched on a hill with an incredible view of the Luberon Valley. I would have been content to read on the shady terrace all day, but Alec and Madeleine's idea of summer fun couldn't have been more opposite. They were instantly bored and miserable. They knew no one, couldn't understand a word of French TV, and claimed there was nothing to do.
As we walked to the boulangerie on our first full day, I saw a flyer for a day camp run by the town, costing only $10 per day. At least from a financial point of view, the stakes were low. I signed the kids up. This time, I didn't care how loudly they complained. And complain they did, but even they admitted that the daily program sounded fun, with a treetop climbing expedition one day and a beach excursion to Marseille another. They voiced concern about not being able to communicate with the other kids, but they grudgingly agreed that it sounded better than being bored.
When I picked them up after the first day, I could see from their body language that they were pretty happy. Not wanting to give me too much satisfaction, they reluctantly admitted that camp had been OK. Most of the French kids spoke at least some English. The counselors smoked cigarettes, and the oldest teen campers were allowed to smoke, too. My kids thought this was very cool.
I knew they were making friends because when we strolled around town in the evening or splashed at the town pool on weekends, my kids seemed to know everyone under the age of 15. A few weeks into camp, Alec asked if he could invite his camp friends over for a dance party. In a scene straight out of Footloose, he taught them his favorite NYC moves.
After four weeks, our house swap ended. The kids had learned a few dozen French phrases and had a window into French culture that such an immersive experience offers.
I recently asked my now young adult children about our time in France. They said the experience helped them overcome fears and feel comfortable in diverse settings. Thanks to social media, they've even stayed in touch with several of their summer camp friends.
Though they weren't too pleased about attending camp at the time, their positive memories make me glad that we all persevered.
