A ROOM WITH A VIEW TO DIE FOR

            Our travels to the Swiss Alps have led us here, to a cosy upstairs apartment in a house in Wengwald. This photo was taken out of the bedroom window - the edge of the wooden windowframe is just visible in the upper right corner.  This is the view this apartment looks out onto.  Wengwald is not so much a village as it is a collection of people’s homes that are clustered on a shelf of land jutting out above the Lauterbrunnen Valley and facing the massive Jungfrau Mountain.  Wengwald isn’t even a routine train stop.  When we’re on the train and want it to stop at Wengwald, we have to press a stop request button on the wall of the train.  That will cause the train to stop at the lean-to by the side of the road that is the Wengwald “train station.” 

            If we’re in Wengwald and want to go somewhere, we go to the Wengwald lean-to and attached to it are two small panels.  One reads “Wengen” and the other “Lauterbrunnen.”  Below each village’s name are a vertical series of 3 buttons.  You push the center one to ask the next train to stop.  Once you push it, the top button lights up. If you change your mind and want to cancel a train, you push the bottom red button that turns off your request. Somehow, our request is magically transmitted to oncoming trains, which will slow to a stop by the lean-to and allow us to clamber onboard while curious passengers watch, trying to figure out where the hell we’ve come from.

            Sometimes, we press the button on the wall of the lean-to asking for the next Wengen-bound or Lauterbrunnen-bound train to stop but it goes right by us.  The conductor motions to us through the windshield, holding up his hand and displaying a certain number of fingers:  1, 2 or 3.  It’s to indicate that there are one or more trains coming right behind him, and rather than have him stop at Wengwald and hold those trains up, the last one behind him will stop and gather us. So we stand and watch the train go by, and a minute later, then next train, and then another, and then the last one stops.  This is only when it’s very busy.  Otherwise, the train comes just once every half-hour and if you miss it, you wait.

            I chose to stay in Wengwald rather than the much fancier and well-known Wengen because I found a listing for this 2-bedroom apartment, on the top floor of a 3-floor rustic chalet.  The apartment is fully equipped so we can cook, and there’s ample space for the 3 of us. But what made me choose this place was the view from its windows.   The low ceilings of the apartment are knotty pine, and inset in the walls are windows that you can throw open on wooden sashes and marvel at the view:  you are nose-to-nose with the mighty, 14,000 foot high Jungfrau Mountain.  Wengwald occupies a spit of land that juts out above the Lauterbrunnen Valley and faces the glacier-encrusted slopes of the massive mountain.  From the bedroom and living room windows we stare out directly onto glacial peaks.  We overlook the verdant length of the Lauterbrunnen Valley, with waterfalls sliding down the craggy rock walls.  And stare directly onto the Alps. 

            As far as I was concerned, this apartment could have been one-room constructed of slime.  The views are what drew me, and the fact that the apartment is well-equipped and comfortable is gravy.

            When we get off the train at the lean-to, we walk along a gravel path to the collection of wooden homes that is Wengwald.  A farmer puts his tractor into low gear and laboriously climbs the hillside, almost vertical, dragging a load of freshly cut and raked hay.  He nods to us.  The path winds among the houses, which have lovely flower and vegetable gardens, with hollyhocks standing tall, and geraniums in flower boxes below the windows. The houses are made of dark wood.  Everyone knows everyone else in this clutch of 20 homes, and they nod and smile at us as we crunch along the path.  Kids play, and as we walk, we look down upon the valley and onto the face of the snow-encrusted Alps.

            We get to our apartment and fling open the unscreened windows.  Nothing is between us and this million-dollar view.  The only sounds are cowbells ringing as cows and donkeys graze below the house.  A constant dull roar sounds from the waterfalls sluicing their way down the rock faces of the mountains, including the famous Staubach Falls, which is illuminated with floodlights at night.  The cowbells jingle, the waterfalls are a subdued hum in the background, and the sun glints off the glaciers and refracts into a perfect blue sky.  Below the snow-laced granite mountain tops are rocky hillsides covered in deep green fir forests.  I can see brightly colored red and orange para-sailers floating down from the sheer rock walls where they leap out above the valley, to veer with the breeze and sink slowly down to the valley floor.

            Although this is not a house exchange, our trip to Belgium to exchange homes in Brussels, followed by a trip to Germany to exchange homes in Freiburg, has allowed us to add a week in Switzerland where we can afford to pay for this apartment in the Bernese Alps.  Which is set squarely in the middle of heaven.

 

MAGIC MOUNTAINS: THE SWISS BERNESE ALPS

            The Lauterbrunnen Valley in the Swiss Bernese Alps is what spawned the cheesy Swiss calendars we’ve all seen in auto repair shops and in doctor’s waiting rooms.  It is the Alps of pancake house placemats, and collectible porcelain figures that grandmothers are fond of.  But this mountain-lined valley is the reality behind the cliché.  It’s Helen – the face that launched a thousand ships and sparked the Trojan Wars.  It’s Cleopatra as played by Elizabeth Taylor – hopelessly, unmatchably beautiful.  It’s beauty defined in granite and lush grasses and towering glaciers.

            The Lauterbrunnen Valley lies above Interlaken, which is a touristy-cute town between two lakes.  To get to the Lauterbrunnen Valley, you must take a little yellow or orange train to Lauterbrunnen, the town that lies along the valley floor.  From Lauterbrunnen you can take a cable car up a steep mountain face to a tiny train station, and catch an even smaller, one-carriage train into Murren, a car-free village cupped in a cleft in the mountains.  Or from Lauterbrunnen, you can take a little train that grinds its way straight up the opposite mountain’s face to Wengen, another car-free village that’s bigger than tiny Murren but still a one-street affair. 

Either choice brings you chin to chin with the big mountains.  Either choice requires that you climb out of the Lauterbrunnen Valley into the heart of the Alps, which grandfathered the valley a long millennia ago.  The valley winds along at the foot of the mountains, carved by glaciers that bullied their way through stone.  Water trumped rock.  The weight of snow, the probing fingers of ice, the eroding drip, drip, drip of meltwater, the flowing sheets of waterfalls, made a deep cleft in granite.  The valley was born.

Now it is an emerald green expanse of fields and trees, farmed in tidy squares and marked with the red tile-roofed houses of Lauterbrunnen.  Waterfalls fed by glaciers cascade down the sides of the mountains.  They have been counted at 72, but there are arteries of waterfalls and spidery veins of them, too, conveying the life-blood of water from the glacier-smothered mountain tops.  At night, the town of Lauterbrunnen shines a huge electric light on the biggest waterfall, casting a beam upwards from the valley floor onto this shimmering sheet of water.  We hiked up the side of the mountain and stood behind the waterfall in a cleft carved out by some enterprising engineers nearly a hundred years ago.  I stood on the water-slicked gray rock, a shimmer of waterfall flying by my face, both inside the mountain and clinging to it side, simultaneously.

It’s the mountains, though, that draw my eye, beyond the cascades of water and green valley and cute little villages.  The big three tower above at all times:  the Eiger, its faced sheered off by glaciers.  On one side, it’s a pointy mountain.  On the other side, it is a flat surface, one half of its triangular apex surgically removed by the crushing weight of glaciers.   Beside it is Monch, with jagged edges.  And beside it the mighty Jungfrau.  The mountain top is a half-circle with ragged edges scratching at the sky.  Its concave side, also collapsed by glaciers, swoops up into a series of points and peaks, as if the force of the glacier smashing down the side of the mountain caused a new rock formation to burst out.  After the Jungfrau there are more peaks and serrated tips, massive knobs and cones of stone:  a mountain range of grandfathers lining the valley.

Glaciers lie in the folds of the mountains.  Some look exactly like what they are:  frozen rivers of snow, caught in a tumble down the mountain in a time-lapse of sub-freezing temperatures, which have trapped the gurgling liquid movement of river into a frozen expanse of ice.  Rims of snow line the jagged edges of the very tops of the mountains.  The snow hangs off the mountain, a lip of whiteness stories high.  The snow is frozen motion.  Movement arrested in mid-air.

What makes these mountains so extraordinary is that they are touchably close.  The air is so clear it nearly shimmers.  It is the difference between tapwater and spring water: both are water, but the quality of the two is very different.  Here the air is clear to the point of near liquidity.  Distances are collapsed.  You feel like you can reach out, from the trail or the hotel window alike, reach out and touch the mountains, they feel so close, so unseparated from the viewing eye.

In the face of this grandeur, I cannot look away.

THE KING IS RETIRED -- LONG LIVE THE KING!

 

 

                Yesterday, on July 21, King Albert of Belgium stepped down after a 20 year reign to allow his son, Phillip, to take over.  It appears that Albert got tired of politics.  Who can blame him?  Politics takes it out of the best of us, but it’s unusual to hear of a monarch getting burned out on what’s generally considered to be a pretty cushy job.  But Belgium is a bit different, as is true in so many ways.  It went without a government for about a year-and-a-half, riven by division between its Flemish-speaking north and French-speaking south.  Flemish is basically a dialect of Dutch, and the northern speakers of Dutch-Flemish ( Flutch?) are more prosperous than their French-speaking southern cousins.  Evidently the Flutch are pretty ticked-off over carrying the Frogs, whom they feel wield undue power in national decision-making.  So the Flutch and Frogs hit a governmental stalemate:  neither side had enough power to form a government, so the country went without for nearly 18 months. 

            Imagine that.  A country with a government so polarized and divided that it can’t effectively govern.  It sounds so . . . .  what’s the word I want? . . . . ah yes, Congressional.  But the U.S. doesn’t possess Belgium’s secret weapon, the force that was needed to knock heads together and compel action:  a king.  Apparently, King Albert had been cruising along for years, doing what monarchs do:  appearing at formal state functions, waving genially to crowds, looking interested as boring people explained things.  Then the government actually came to a standstill and the impasse dragged on and on.  So long, in fact, that King Albert actually had to put aside the ceremonial pomp and roll up his (perfectly tailored) sleeves and get the opposing sides to come up with a compromise. 

            The effort proved successful since there is now a prime minister and the government is chugging along, albeit with a good deal of acrimony.  But the experience soured King Albert and he decided to hand the crown over to his son, Phillip.  And perhaps retire to a lovely home in the country and take up a hobby, which, since he’s Belgian, might involve beer-brewing or perhaps mussel-farming. 

            The crown hand-off occurred yesterday, on July 21, which is already a national holiday in Belgium.  King Albert probably reasoned that everybody would be off work for the holiday, stores would be closed, fireworks were planned, and the populace was prepared for the annual festivities so why not tack an abdication onto the day?  It would be sort of like adding the Inauguration onto the 4^th of July venue to save everybody the time and expense of planning yet another party. 

            Quite unwittingly, we ended up with front-row views of the new king as he did his first official duty after being crowned:  laying a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Brussels.  We had decided to head down to the Royal Palace to take in the festivities. The Palace is a short walk from the historic old square, and activities were planned from it to the square and beyond.  Since it was a national holiday, the trolley services were limited, so we walked from our house exchange house toward the Palace.  When we got about 6-7 blocks from the Palace, we saw people lined up against barriers, waiting expectantly.  One of the many extremely nice Brussels citizens (Brussilians?  Brusszens?) told me that the king would arrive to lay a wreath at the tomb – a duty performed by the monarch every year on this day, and the new king’s first job assignment.  So we stopped in our tracks, claimed an empty spot against the barricades, and waited.    

            A lone policewoman shoo’d away cars that didn’t realize the street was closed.  Then a van of secret service men showed up, and they were the universal secret service guys:  cropped hair, eyes constantly scanning the crowd, wires running from the ear to their hidden walkie talkie.  A couple of them sauntered past us and after a cursory look around, wandered out onto the street and stood chatting.  Journalists with cameras strolled over to the Tomb, which is marked by a giant obelisk crowned with a figure known to all (except us.)   No one asked to see their press credentials.  A man colorfully dressed in red, black and gold patterned shorts – Belgium’s national colors – and a matching scarf over his shoulder, stood among a couple of camaflouge wearing military guys.  The military men were 20 feet from the Tomb, and the brightly dressed guy lounged with them, chatting animatedly.  A 20-something young man, bearing a camera and an earnest expression, approached a police officer who solicitously guided him to a better spot to view and photograph the planned event. 

Then a platoon of police men and women came marching up the street, two by two, stamping down their left foot hard to punctuate their cadence:  ONE two, ONE two, LEFT right, LEFT right, they marched.  They interspersed themselves along the crowd barricade and stood at attention, looking natty in their pressed navy blue trousers, white short-sleeved shirts and cocky blue hats.  They were mostly young, and all of them were remarkably fit.  Flat-stomached and lithe, they bore no resemblance to the typical specimen of DC’s finest.   

            The marching band arrived and marched around the obelisk and stood at attention before us.  The crowds were picking up now, but they were still only two or three people deep along the barricade.  It wasn’t exactly a standing-room-only turnout for the new king’s first official duty.  And there was no security.  No one examined our backpacks; there were no metal screening devices; no buses parked in intersections to block potential car bombers. There was no attempt to block, examine or limit the public from witnessing this event.  A couple of people on bikes rode down the street and the police looked on, disinterested.  People lounged in windows of houses and hotels along the street, the sash’s thrown open so they could lean out and see the show.   

            Shiny black cars started arriving, and stopped just a short distance from us.  The old king got out of one to a smattering of applause.  The prime minister, young and energetic looking with his suit coat slung over his shoulder, emerged from another car.  A few minutes later, the band struck up a song and a car pulled up and the new king got out, looking dashing in a dark suit with a big purple sash slung over one shoulder.  He paused and waved genially, then went to the Tomb, made some remarks that were no doubt kingly in tone, laid a wreath on the Tomb, walked back to the car, waved again, and climbed in.  The car drove right by us, the window down, the king waving and smiling.  Many people clapped, some people chanted something that sounded pissed-off, everyone shaded their eyes from the brilliant hot sun, and the king drove by, looking like he was having a pretty good day for his first day on the job. 

            Then everyone picked up their bags and backpacks, loaded the kids back into the strollers, stowed their jaunty black-red-yellow Belgian flags, and wandered off to the next event.  We had just witnessed the new king of the country come and go, within arm’s reach of the public.  It was casual safety.  I suddenly realized that I’d forgotten what that was like.   

            The comparison between this leader’s public appearance in his nation’s capitol city, and Obama’s appearances in America’s capitol city, is stunning.  We attended the presidential inauguration in January, and had to buy tickets in advance, after waiting for hours in line, to just get bleacher seats along the parade route.  On the day of the inauguration, we had to walk blocks and blocks before being able to get to the parade route because city buses were parked at all the intersections to block access to Pennsylvania Avenue.  We went through metal detectors to get to the bleachers, and had to surrender a small backpack we’d been unwise enough to bring. No backpacks, bottles, or anything remotely serviceable as a device of antagonism, were allowed.   Once we claimed our assigned bleacher seat, we witnessed armed military police and DC police on every corner, along every street, and in every square.  Sharpshooters patrolled the tops of buildings.  Bomb-sniffing dogs trotted down the streets; mail boxes and garbage cans were removed so that bombs couldn’t be placed in them.  Helicopters hovered overhead.  We were there to witness the leader of the world’s greatest democracy, and to do so, we had to surround ourselves to an arsenal of weapons wielded in an atmosphere of suspicious, watchful distrust. 

            There are obvious reasons why security is high around Obama and not King Phillip.  For one thing, the typical Belgian is not armed to the teeth and capable of bringing down the monarch.  For another thing, Phillip is a low-profile kind of leader, unknown outside of Europe.  Obama is known world-wide.   And of course, Belgium doesn’t have America’s track record of attempted and successful assassinations.

            But Belgium is no stranger to terrifying, gun-wielding haters intent on subduing it.  Belgium knows something about attacks on its people and cities.  It has been occupied by Nazis and German WWI troops, it’s been bombed and blasted to bits, it has seen tens of thousands of its young men die in battle on the country’s own turf.  But for all its been through, for all the years of wars and violence and death, you can still stroll along the main street of Belgium’s capitol and wave at the king as he goes by. 

FANCIFUL BRUSSELS

            In Belgium, you can go from 12^th century castles located in the middle of an old downtown, to silent WWI trenches winding their way through birdsong-laced fields, to urban poverty on a breathtaking scale – all within an hour of each other.  It is history and modern day,  old affluence and current impoverishment, on a compact scale.

 

Our house exchange house in Brussels and its neighborhood are good illustrations.  The house is located near the Noord Station, the North train station.  We arrived at the Noord Station early Sunday morning after an overnight flight from DC via Montreal.  We collected our big backpack suitcases at the airport, got a train into the Noord Station, and walked out of the train station into a bright Sunday morning street in the middle of a red light district.  We walked by a young woman sleepily donning her best Sunday g-string in a streetfront room, and she smiled as we walked by.  All around the run-down street are Muslim neighborhoods that are a mix of down-at-their-heels Victorian houses that are 4 and 5 stories high, and art deco mansions.   

It would have been quite a different experience if we had walked down that street on Saturday night, not Sunday morning, weighted down with our big backpacks and traveling exhaustion.  As it was, the Sunday-quiet street had only a few pedestrians trudging through the left-over paper and garbage from the night before.  Incongruous amidst the scene of urban licentiousness were the shops that lined the main street.  All Turkish.  Shops selling samovars, corner markets offering trays of Turkish-labeled fruits, and stores with clothes catering to a middle-Eastern clientele. My favorite was a shop with a stunning window display of burkas.  Mannequins were draped in burkas, modeling styles hot off the old Testament runways.  

It wasn’t as if the mannequins had much to work with in the way of cleverly styled ladies wear.  A burka is basically a bulky tent of material draped over a woman’s body and head.  Its only accessory is a face covering that leaves only the eyes uncovered.  There’s not a lot for a burka designer to work with.  It’s not like there are kicky summer burkas, or French-cut burkas, or mini-burkas, burka capris, or burka skorts.  The hemlines don’t rise and fall with fashion’s dictates; the waists are not pinched or belted; the material doesn’t range in color and design much past the blue-black-brown color spectrum and tent-like drapes.  So in the window were a row of Western-skinny, pinched-faced pale mannequins draped from head to toe in figure-shrouding material.  Next to one of the burka shops was a store called “Anatolia’s nuts” selling every type of nut.  I liked the juxtaposition.   

Once we branched off the main street and up the side streets, the commercial businesses gave way to big Victorian houses, scruffy in some parts, better kept in others, or falling apart in some instances. The houses are insanely tall:  4 or 5 stories, with big front doors where the doorknob is eye level, making you feel like Alice after she’s drunk the liquid to make herself very small. 

Our house exchange house is 5 stories with a full basement, so I guess technically 6 stories.  The ceilings are 15 feet high, and some of the old features of the house – stained glass window, carvings along the ceiling -- are gorgeous.  But to get to the room where Max is sleeping is on the 5^th floor:  quite a long haul!  The rooms are good sized with the high ceilings but they are crammed with the family’s belongings, making it challenging to use the bedrooms, bathroom and kitchen area.  But it’s a free place to stay in Brussels, and elements of the house are lovely, and the house is only a 5 minute walk from a tram that whisks us into downtown Brussels, so it all balances out. 

Downtown Brussels is an interesting welter of then and now, wealth and poverty, playfulness and seriousness.  The old medieval square, the center of the old downtown, is gorgeous, with towering, ornate buildings from the late 1600s through the early 1900s.  Around the square are narrow winding medieval streets, now lined with restaurants and cafes.  A wonderful art deco shopping arcade branches off one old street, the arcade lined with high-end shops that nestle in the wrought iron embellishments and beauty of the art deco design.  Art deco is a major decorative motif of Brussels.  A towering art deco building, once a major department store, that is near the Royal Palace has been turned into the Museum of Musical Instruments.  What an idea:  collecting and showcasing ways to make music through the ages. 

Brussels has wonderful quirky sides, my favorite being its homage to cartoons.  It is considered the cartoon capitol of Europe, and in the 1990s, the city government began commissioning murals of famous cartoon characters on the sides of buildings throughout the city.  These are not Minnie and Mickey Mouse murals.  These are home-grown heroes, some of which are famous outside of Europe – Tin Tin and Asterix, for example – and others I’ve never seen. 

We bought a little walking guide to the cartoon murals, and Max led the way around the city. We went through genteel neighborhoods and dodgy areas, past murals on the sides of lovely old houses and murals on the walls of school playgrounds.  It is the art of the people, positioned for the people.  Brussels is at once the headquarters of the European Parliament, and the headquarters of comic book art.  A contradiction that makes for very interesting viewing!

 

THE NUTS AND BOLTS OF HOUSE EXCHANGING

 

 

My husband, our son, and I have been doing house exchanging for 10 years, beginning in July 2003.  In the past decade, we've done 23 exchanges in the United States, Europe, Canada and Central America.  We have swapped our modest Capitol Hill row house for houses, second homes and apartments in fascinating cities, beautiful beach locations, and gorgeous mountains.  House exchanging has allowed us to travel to popular European destinations like Rome, London, Amsterdam and Copenhagen, and hidden gems tucked away in lesser-known parts of Europe:  the Adriatic coast of Slovenia, the stunning walled city of Alghero, Sardinia, and gorgeous Rennes, France.  We've swapped our home to stay in cabins outside of Yellowstone National Park in Montana, and Yosemite National Park in California, and have enjoyed exchanges along the Oregon coast, the Florida Keys, and the "Space Coast" of Florida, Cocoa Beach.  We've also enjoyed exchanges in vibrant U.S. cities like San Diego, Boston, and Charleston, South Carolina.  House exchanging also took us to Canada, to a tiny town on the coast of British Columbia and the European-flavored metropolis of Montreal.  Exchanges in the Caribbean in the U.S. Virgin Islands and in an ocean-front home in Costa Rica were fabulous beach holidays.  House exchanging is now our preferred method of travel. 

In 2011, we experienced the ultimate in house exchanging when we took our son out of school, got leaves of absences from our jobs, and traveled around Europe for four months doing house exchanges along the way.  For a third of a year, we traveled all around England, western Europe, and parts of Scandinavia.  While we traveled abroad, our exchange partners came through our house.  I began this blog as we were traveling to record our adventures, observations and experiences in other people's homes in foreign lands.  You can read my chronicles of our experiences as a family traveling together through Europe, experiencing beautiful and not-so-beautiful house exchanges in neighborhoods and places off the beaten track.

 

In the past few years, we've continued to do house exchanges.  I'm working on a book about our 2011 trip, and have begun giving workshops on how to do house exchanging.  My first workshop was just a few days ago, on June 30, at the historic Hill Center in the heart of Capitol Hill in Washington, DC.  The workshop revealed the intense interest in house exchanging: nearly one hundred people packed the large meeting room, which was standing-room-only with a waiting list of people unable to get in.

 

I will be running a second workshop on house exchanging at the Hill Center on Sunday, September 22, from 3:00-5:00.  This workshop will review some of the basic house exchange information that I provided on June 30, but will also contain a new component focused on  house exchange websites and how to navigate all of the tools that they offer.

My June 30 workshop covered the nuts-and-bolts of house exchanging, and some of the information I presented at the workshop is included below.  I love house exchanging for four simple reasons:

 

1.      You save money!  By exchanging homes, you avoid hotel costs or the costs of renting apartments.  You also have access to a fully equipped kitchen, which allows you to cook at home, thereby avoiding endless restaurant meals.  Preparing your own meals also requires you to get out and shop at local food markets, which exposes you to locally sourced food and regional delicacies.  Shopping and cooking locally is fun and healthier - and a lot cheaper! 

 

2.      You get a fully furnished home decorated with personal touches.  No cookie-cutter hotel rooms or chains -- house exchanging allows you to stay in someone's comfortable home where you can stretch out and enjoy a living room, dining room, kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms -- and maybe a yard and deck as well.

 

3.      You get off the beaten track and beyond the typical downtowns or "must see" tourist sites.  We've exchanged our home for cabins in the mountains, beachfront properties, quirky neighborhood apartments, and little-known destinations.  House exchanging allows you to get out of hotel zones and into real neighborhoods.

 

4.      You exchange locations more than homes.  The best part of house exchanging is not usually the home:  it's the location you can get to because of the home.  You can afford a week in London because you're not paying hotels and restaurants, and it's London you're there to see, not someone's apartment.  House exchanging is as much "location exchanging" as it is swapping homes.  It allows you to travel to places you might not otherwise be able to afford, and see places you wouldn't be able to see.

 

Here are the top ten questions of house exchanging, and their answers!

 

1.  How is house exchanging done?  House exchanging is a web-based activity.  There are several house exchange websites.  Some are free; most charge an annual fee.  Once you pay the fee, you can post photos and descriptions of your home and neighborhood.  You then have access to all other listings on the website and you can contact anyone you like.  Here's a sample of some, but not all, of the house exchange sites you can find on the web:

 

· HomeForExchange.com   www.homeforexchange.com

· HomeLink                         www.homelink.org

· Global Home Exchange    www.4homex.com

· HomeExchange50Plus      www.homeexchange50plus.com

 

2.  Do you need a mansion to do an exchange?  All kinds of homes get exchanged:  primary residences, second homes, houses, apartments, and condos.

3.  Who is the typical exchanger?  Everyone!  Retirees, young singles, families, couples, groups of friends and solo travelers -- everyone exchanges!

 

4.  How does Washington, DC rank as an exchange destination?  DC is very high on the house exchange pecking order.  It is popular among Americans, who like to travel to the nation's capitol or bring their children or grandchildren to it.  It's also popular among Europeans and others, who want to see the capitol of the United States. 

 

5.  Is house exchanging safe?  House exchanging is a trust-based exercise, so there's no way to make it totally foolproof.  But here are some steps you can take to make it as safe as possible:

· check the photos of any exchange you're interested in.  There should be photos of key areas of the home:  kitchen, dining/living rooms, bedrooms.  If there aren't photos, ask to see some.

· get the actual address of the home and google it or go on google earth to check out the location.

· use travel boards to verify the safety of the location.  Boards like TripAdvisor or Fodor's offer good local feedback on locations.

 

6.  What should you do with valuables to protect them?  If you have valuables in your home that you don't want to risk losing, or being damaged, take the following steps:

 

· remove artwork or paintings.  Leave them with friends or in a locked location in your home.

· remove jewelry, fine china and other expensive items.

· leave notes for your exchange partners reminding them to keep doors and windows locked when they are not at home.

· ask a neighbor to drop by and meet the exchange partners and take a quick look around.

 

7.  What to do about Fido or Frisky?  If you have pets, you can ask your exchange partners to take care of them.  Many people are willing to care for a cat, but dogs require more work and are more difficult. Some people have pet allergies and can't be around indoor animals, or they simply don't want to bother with pets while they are vacationing.  In that case, board your pet at a kennel or with friends. 

 

8.  Simultaneous vs non-simultaneous exchanges.  The two most popular kinds of exchanges are simultaneous, when both parties go to each other's homes at the same time, and non-simultaneous, when one party is in a home at one time and the other party waits to use the exchange home at a future date. 

 

9.  Do cars get exchanged?  There is no requirement that you exchange your car.  Some people offer their cars; others do not.  If you plan on using someone else's car or allowing your own car to be used, check with your car insurance company to see what your insurance policy covers. 

 

10.  What if you get dumped or the place is a dump?  There is no way to prevent an exchange being cancelled at the last minute, but it rarely happens.  Some exchange sites offer "contracts" that you and your exchange partner sign but they are not legally binding or enforceable.  However, the contracts are a clear statement of the details of the exchange and the intent to exchange, and so they have some psychological benefit.  And sometimes, "dumps happen."  Every once in a while you may get an exchange that doesn't meet your standards -- but that also happens with hotel rooms and rental apartments. 

 

The final step before an exchange is to make your own home ready for use by your exchange partners.  Here's a checklist I've developed of preparations to make your home ready for occupancy!

 

* make arrangements for your house key - either mail it in advance or leave it in a mutually-agreed upon location.

 

* clean!

 

* make storage space for your exchangers by cleaning out a few bureau drawers and closet space.

 

* leave clean bed linens on the beds and clean towels in the bathroom(s).

 

* leave clear instructions on how to use your home:

· how to use electronics, like the TV, Wii, Netflix, WiFi, Xbox, etc.

· air conditioning and heat information.

· where the fuse box is located.

· where to find extra clean linens and towels, toilet paper, paper towels, etc.

· when the garbage and recycling is picked-up, and what you can recycle.

· detailed pet instructions, including feeding and watering; location of the vet; pet carrier.

* leave information on your neighborhood and city:

· where the nearest corner food market is located, and larger grocery store, and liquor store.

· where the nearest restaurants are located that YOU recommend.

· how to get to the nearest metro or bus stop.

· flyers, brochures and maps.

· recommendations of things they might enjoy seeing or doing.

· a contact person in your neighborhood in case of emergency.

· our contact information while you're traveling (cell phone number, etc.)

 * if you have valuables you don't feel comfortable leaving in your home, remove or safely store them.

 

* consider leaving a welcome basket of goodies for their use.

 

* DEFINITELY leave a friendly welcome note!

 

I'll be posting more information on house exchanging, so stay tuned to this website!  And mark Sunday, September 22, from 3:00-5:00 on your calendar for my next house exchange workshop -- Part 2!