‘I need to wee’. It is a phrase heard by parents of a toddler that creates immediate panic. These little people are like urine grenades and when the phrase ‘I need to wee’ is uttered it means the pin on the grenade has been pulled – you know it’s going to blow, you’re not sure when, but you know it isn’t long. So to hear those words as the wheels of a Ryanair flight just touch the tarmac in Seville is not an ideal location to have a now live grenade rolling around in seat 15B beside you.
We were trying to distract Millie as the plane taxied to the gate – which took some doing as this turned out to be the worlds longest taxi. I think with discount airlines they make the planes land in an approximate suburb and get them to roll the rest of the way in. And then the most painful part of the experience – I have always been fascinated in how it can take some people an extraordinary amount of time to execute very basic tasks. In this case it was to collect baggage from overhead luggage compartments and walk off a plane. Well with a ticking urine bomb beside me this fascination morphed into incredulous hostility – by the time the 14 rows ahead of us had dribbled off the plane I was amazed I wasn’t already standing in a lukewarm puddle. With Millie now begging for a toilet I grabbed her, ran for the doors, threw her in the pram and with our siren call of ‘Nino banol, Nino banol’ we bolted for the terminal, clipping the heels of the drifters in the way (what I really wanted to do was stop, pick Millie up and direct her like a water cannon back into the crowd to teach them a lesson in hustle). But we made it to the terminal toilet just in time for Millie to empty a tank that appeared to be bigger than she was. How a 20kg child can hold 30L of wee I’ll never know. But high 5’s to Millie for making it through.
After our successful toilet trip we got the cab into Seville. And what a beautiful city it is. Fresh from our parenting toilet high, and buoyed by some sun in our backs we did what any decent parent would do – hit a bar for lunch. Given that the kids had now started to settle in Krys and I got a little too excited, and 1 drink with lunch quickly become 3 before we realised we had two children to attend to and needed to put the brakes on. It was seriously like two drag racers hitting peak speed but being ordered to pop their chutes half way down the straight as Krys and I tried to climb down from our overly excited sangria high. In hindsight we should have played paper, scissors, rock, and the winner be allowed to keep pushing till their engine blew.
And that has been the rhythm of Seville. Our holiday is finally truly underway. In the morning (well Spanish morning which is from 10am at the earliest) we see some sights, then settle in for a long lunch as the kids have a nap. We’ve seen the Cathedral (well briefly – the girls were pretending they were puppies and chasing each other around then Olivia tried to climb onto a silver statue), taken a horse and carriage ride around the city (now the girls argue about who owns every horse they see. They’ve settled on the white ones being Millie’s and the brown ones belong to Liv), wandered around Plaza De Espana (including a rowboat around the lake where the girls demanded they paddle until they hit a wall) and spent a morning in the Alcazar Palace (where despite standing in front of one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture in the world all the girls cared about were the fish in the pond).
Then after a nap it’s out again in the evening for dinner and drinks. The kids have pretty much settled into the Spanish timezone allowing mummy and daddy plenty of vino time. But although the kids are staying up until 930pm, it still isn’t enough to be truly Spanish. So the local bar that we drop into every night on the way home for a finishing vino and sangria always sees two excited parents with two unconscious children – one in the pram and one strapped to my chest. They probably think we actually don’t have children, but instead are carting around two life size tamagotchis as a school project and aren’t taking the exercise overly seriously. I mean what ‘parent’ would take their tamagotchi to a bar and drink till 11pm with it strapped to their chest? That would be worth a mark of F. Thankfully they are real children and not a project?
Seville itself is amazing. Such an incredibly beautiful city and we are here during Holy Week in the run up to Easter. The Spaniards take their Easter festivities pretty seriously – no token biblical nod wrapped in hot cross buns and a chocolate egg hunt for them. There are processions through the city at all times of the day and night. Finding out about the Holy Week activities was a relief, as on our first day here a group of kids dressed in what looked like Klu Klux Clan outfits (complete with white pointy hats) were just casually cruising the streets at midday. I thought it was pretty brazen but before I could even reference #blacklivesmatter they joined up with a marching band and went into a church. Then we saw many others in the same outfits but different colours. Talk about motivation for parents to get their kids to progress past level 1 godliness and the white, pointy hatted outfits. Until you do as a parent you are condemned to walk the streets holding hands with what looks like a midget redneck.
I’m not sure if it is Seville in general, or just Holy Week but everyone is immaculately dressed. Women in beautiful dresses and coats, and men in full suits. Krys even ramped things up today with some funky jeans and a blazer for our city walk. Unfortunately my only option is to pair my 1 pair of shorts and thongs with a blue Jeanswest t-shirt rather than a grey one – so I’ll always remain a little underdone in the Seville fashion stakes. Today I probably looked like the family Sherpa.
And the kids are loving it – charging around the streets saying ‘buenos dias – commo estas’ to whoever will listen. We even got Millie to order our coffee this morning – it’s not like if she messed up the order it would taste any worse. A Spanish coffee gives you not only a caffeine kick, but also that awakening shock of tasting like someone just crapped in your mouth. Muchos shittos. Things have settled so well I have almost opened the book I brought with me to read, and almost thought about doing some exercise. Given my belt appears to be shrinking already I may be forced into exercise soon, or be left with just a pair of tracksuit pants to wear by week 3.
Well the kids have just woken up from their afternoon siesta (as has mummy) so now it’s time again to head out into the afternoon sun, and find that balance between wine and parental responsibility. 2 more days here then off to Ronda. Really don’t want to leave.
Adios.
Trent, Krystal, Emelia, Olivia, some decent sleep and a significant lift in vino consumption.
smallthoughts 