On The Fly

Up the Rhône by Patrick Ball We booked a fine cruise up the Rhône — what a treat! With iPhones, lanyards, and schedules so neat. They promised us peace and a mind that would mend, But each calm beginning had chores at the end! "Now breakfast at seven! At eight, take the view!" At nine, there's a lecture on ' What Tourists Do!' At noon, there's a tasting (you must love the cheese), Then hurry to nap time — as corporate decrees! I followed that plan till my patience ran dry. The Rhône softly chuckled, "Oh my, oh my, my! You've missed half my sparkles, my ripples, my tone— You're busy pretending you've peacefully grown!" So I fired my planner and banished my clock. I tossed my agenda right off the dock! I let the wind tickle my schedule away, and drifted through hours that danced where they may. I chatted with swans, had no notion of when, I'd nibble, or nap, or go roaming again. No Wi-Fi! No meetings! No planning! No fuss! Just me and ...

✨ In this episode. The Unscheduled Life: When "Not Working " Becomes Your Actual Job L'horloge du café est détraquée, le serveur s'en fiche et moi, j'essaie. Somewhere between the third sip of espresso and the second croissant, it occurs to me: doing nothing is the hardest work of all. The question on the table this morning, as I sip this slightly-too-strong French espresso, is deceptively simple: How does one define "vacation"? The conventional answer—an enduring triumph of corporate minimalism—is: "Not Working." But that tidy phrase immediately opens a philosophical can of worms. When is life working , and when is it not ? If the highest measure of vacation is simply the absence of labor, then most of our existence amounts to a relentless, unpaid internship for a job we never applied for. We've been conditioned to believe that life works when it's maximally efficient, tightly scheduled, and aimed at the shimmering horizon of "...

⚓  In this episode,  The Cure for the Common Clock Good morning, fellow travelers. Thank you for joining me, and welcome to Viviers, France—a place where time politely excuses itself and slips out the back door. If you’re like me, you’ve checked your watch (which you forgot to charge, thanks to the sheer absence of urgency on board) and realized that five entire days have quietly dissolved into the Rhône. And what a beautiful vanishing act it is. Forget those frantic Parisian paces—this is a different kind of life. Here, time isn’t measured in deadlines or métro schedules, but in the perfect temperature of your morning coffee and the slow, stately drift of the riverbank. On a Viking longship, time doesn’t fly; it drifts. There are no clocks, no announcements, no bells. It’s a five-star sensory-deprivation tank—except your stateroom is a masterpiece of space engineering and, miraculously, features the mythical 110-Volt outlet. (Fellow Americans, rejoice: you can charge your pho...

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part II) When plans derail, sometimes the story gets better. "Mais attendez… peut-être…" the agent murmured, fingers flying across her keyboard. Lori and I leaned in, holding our breath. She frowned, typed again, then sighed. "With this disruption, all trains have been rerouted—and they're already full." We exchanged glances. Around us, the Gare de Lyon pulsed with energy: travelers clutching tickets, voices echoing, the scent of exasperation drifting through the chaos. It felt like the entire station had been swept into the same storm of confusion. Just then, another, older agent appeared beside us. He spoke in clipped, military French. "Where are you coming from? Did you miss your connection because of the incident—the acte de vandalisme ?" We both began to explain, recounting the wrong station, the Metro dash, the missed train—but before we could start, our first agent leaned close, her eyes wide wit...

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part 1) When everything that can go wrong—does—sometimes grace still finds you. Our Monday morning trip began on the quiet island of Noirmoutier , where salt marshes and sea breezes whisper of simpler days. From there, our early morning drive was uneventful; we arrived at the Nantes station with plenty of time to spare. From Nantes to Paris Montparnasse, everything went smoothly—so we thought, until it didn't. That's when things started to unravel. If you've never traveled the Paris Metro , imagine a vast underground maze pulsing beneath the city—corridors twisting into one another, trains roaring in and out of the dark, staircases that rise and fall like riddles. It's efficient, yes—but only if you know where you're going. We had over an hour and a half to make our next train to Avignon —plenty of time. Or so we believed. We needed to reach the Gare de Lyon station, where our TGV (high-speed train) was headed south...

In this episode, Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment. Sometimes love waits half a century for its moment — and when it finally arrives, time doesn’t stand still; it disappears. The moment I stepped off the train in Nantes, it felt like time froze. There she was — my cousin Michèle — waiting on the platform, arms waving desperately. When we finally embraced, the fifty years that had passed between us disappeared in an instant. The melody in her voice was the same, but softer than I remembered. We both shed tears of joy that only come from love long overdue. “I’m so happy you are here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.   Thank goodness for the translation app on my phone, because the conversation began immediately — fast, fluid, and unstoppable. The Frenzy of Catching Up As we drove for about an hour to the tiny town of L’Épine on the Island of Noirmoutier, the words kept tumbling out. Michèle and her husband, Alain, are the most gracious hosts — but my new challe...

In this episode, When Beauty Stops By . . . “Beauty does not linger; it only visits.” When was the last time you let that thought settle in? Most of us don’t. We’re too busy chasing beauty—buying it, booking it, or photographing it. But maybe beauty isn’t something you pursue. Perhaps it’s what shows up when you finally stop sprinting. It lives in the periphery: an uninvited smile, a few notes of music on the wind, the velvet green of grass, a breeze through autumn’s gold. Beauty doesn’t send a calendar invite. It just arrives—quietly, undeserved, right on time. The problem is our default setting: Hurry. We scroll, reply, refresh, repeat. We treat silence like a software glitch. But beauty only visits when you stage a small act of rebellion—when you step off the treadmill and allow yourself to be still. This trip to France isn’t about museums or monuments. It’s about reconnecting with the genuine beauty of family—the kind that doesn’t need you to be your best, only your real self. The...