Are you kidding?
“When I grow up I am going to be a model in Europe,” is something I never said. EVER!
But life has a funny way of playing tricks on you. This is especially true when you do the “As long as I live I will never”-thing. But when I *Moved My Cheese to Europe, I needed to find work quickly. I was traveling alone with no back-up plan, and needed to survive. And thanks to my height and constitution, neither of which were a credit to me, I found work modeling-runway and print.
Now if you’re thinking ‘big bucks’ you are way off. The tax base for expats working in Europe is 55%, leaving you little room to splurge. Fashion models hit Japan for the ‘big bucks,’ while models come to Europe for ‘tear sheets’ for their portfolio to catapult their careers, which was never my intention. I came here to travel, to explore, to meet new people and affording the adventure was an essential part of the journey. The freelance nature of modeling gave me the time I needed to hit the road to new places again.
Living in Paris, like living in any large city, offers you a large variety of delicacies most of which I could not afford. Once and awhile when someone paid for my meal, my tastebuds were cheering, because, yes, French food is as good as they say. But the majority of the time, with my salary grade, I ate canned tuna and baguettes. Over and over again.
When we came back to France as a family, I was faced with options I could finally afford. Croissants, baked perfections, escargot, Brie! And bi-jingo, I was going to share the experience with my family. You could usually track the Hirn Fam somewhere along the Champs de Elysee by their audio track at the table: “Mmmmmmm,” “Woah!” “Yum.”
Did I treasure my memories of being a single female on her own in Paris all those months? Of course. But would I trade it all for no family, no money and 7 cans of canned tuna fish? ARE YOU KIDDING?
Have a great weekend!
Dawn
*Who Moved My Cheese, Spencer Johnson
The French call one who wanders from place to place with out any apparent home a vagabond. I like the sound of that better than the English version: hobo, dawdler, loiterer or bum. Although we had closed up our home in Alabama, and put our jobs on hold for six months, I don’t believe we could call ourselves card-carrying Vagabonds. Though we didn’t always know where we were going, we always knew where we would eventually end up.
Some of my favorite French moments . . . . 
What’s ‘fromage’?
Teachers! They are the ones that walk beside us, behind us, and in front of us leading the way, so that one day they will step into our shoes and be the teachers.
The boys seemed to sense the reverence of these war memorials in Poland and Germany, and were certainly affected deeply by the remnants of luggage, shoes and clothing left behind. But I wonder if anything touched them as deeply as the talk their father gave them about the concentration camp introductions? (check out Youtube.com and our facebook today for the video)
Make history come alive for your child. It takes time. It takes creativity. It takes knowledge. It takes love. Be a teacher.
We are grateful for our safety when we visited England not long after another terror episode. Be vigilant wherever you go. But don’t let bullies dictate your movements.
Our cameraman takes a shot most memorable to our family at the ‘Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe’
Looking back over my photographs of Germany, I detected a pattern with my family: everyone seemed a bit more relaxed in the photos. Friendship flowed among them (more easily than Freundschaftsbezeugung flowed off my tongue!) My boys adapted beautifully to each new experience and country we visited; I’m just saying, the pace seemed more relaxed here.
Could it be because we loved the German people? We say “Ja” but with the German pronounciation “Yah”.
We are the Happy Hirn-Germs!
“My other car is a . . cruise ship” the bumper sticker on the car in front of me read. Remembering our last cruise made me laugh out loud:
In Dubai, this is the norm rather than the exception. For me, it’s the opposite!
Years ago, Ron and I rented a Westfalia in Germany (remember Shaggy and Scooby-Doo’s Scooby-mobile? Add a pop-up top and you’ve got it.) We weren’t concerned about luxury camping. We had found camping across Europe to be one of the cheapest ways to go, a great way to meet people and easy to find a space for the night. There are no Walmarts in Germany, but almost everyone holds the Walmart Policy: “Park here for the night!”
Dawn Raymond Hirn 