story and photos by Susan Beiderwieden –
Right now, I’m the girl on the train, hurtling along at 240 km an hour heading for the Chunnel. No, not the title character from Paula Hawkins’ 2015 novel by the same name. And, truth be told I’m long past girlhood, feeling like a well-seasoned mature woman who spent the last hours getting through the busy metro stations lugging my suitcase over cobblestones.
Some say getting there is half the fun and we are heading toward Paris, but also leaving London and our comfortable home away from home for the last three weeks. As we approach the Chunnel my heart rate increases, thinking about that claustrophobic feeling I’ve experienced in other underground situations. A programmed announcement flashes across the monitor to reassure passengers that air will be circulated during the 20-minute crossing and the train will slow to the regulated speed of 160 km per hour. Daylight disappears along with my fears as I sink back in the comfortable seat and into a reverie of our 10th house exchange.
The first thing people ask when I tell them about our vacation and house swap is: “how does that work?” Before I can answer, a puzzled look appears and they blurt out: “how can you trust somebody in your home; do you lock up all your valuables?” At that point, I laugh, thinking “what valuables?” Then, I tell them that the idea for a house exchange started in 1953 when two teachers in Switzerland and the Netherlands wanted an alternative to the high cost of rentals or hotels during sabbaticals or summer travel.
It turned out to be such a great experience that the idea caught on. It’s a way to enjoy a more economical, more authentic, more environmentally-friendly way to travel and also a means of experiencing cultural differences. There are countless agencies offering a variety of search platforms and options for the type of exchanges available.
My husband and I have been Intervac (International Vacation) members since 2010. It is the original and oldest house exchange network, providing secure access to profiles of over 30,000 members in 50 countries. There are also individual representatives in each country for direct communication. Our annual paid membership offers me peace of mind.
A house swap is a negotiated conversation between partners who over time become friends.
During an early stage in our process before David and I knew each other well, when a potentially embarrassing typo turned his name into Davie, we laughed. Making friends is one of the many joys of swapping, while another is figuring out daily life in a different culture or environment.
England seemed like a good idea, as we speak the same language, more or less. Our first house exchange was in Cambridge, England in 1994, bringing us full circle in a sense as this is our last long-haul flight to Europe. My original plan for this holiday was to find a base in the north counties so I could walk from York into the Lake District. That didn’t work out, yet we managed to walk an impressive number of kilometres by visiting Sissinghurst, Chartwell, Kew Gardens, Greenwich, museums, old villages, grand cathedrals and, of course, pubs.
As the train slows to pull into the Paris station I am pulled from my reverie. We weave our way through the crowd and I catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. This next leg of our adventure is just beginning while our partners are landing at Gatwick Airport. I wonder what they’ll feel and see when stepping across the threshold into their house after seven weeks in Western Canada? Will they notice the dust bunnies that escaped the hurried final cleanup, or find my note on the sideboard about the broken wine glasses, and see the damp towels in the laundry basket? I’m comfortable knowing there is food in the fridge, flowers on the table, and fresh sheets on the beds.
As I write this, it’s early October and we are in Belgium. We left Victoria in early September and are ready to return to our life. I miss my bed, house, kids and grandkids. Sometimes when I’m weary of crowds, meals out and sleeping in a different bed every few nights, I wonder why I leave home. But as the sun streams through the windows of this 340-year-old home in Bruges, immersed in history and the memories of the last five weeks, I know why I travel. But you have to leave home …
“So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you come from with new eyes and extra colours. And the people there see you differently, too.”
~ Terry Pratchett
