Tuscany for a Family of Five

Under the Tuscan sunset: a magical evening (all photos author's own)

Our fortunate family of five recently had the opportunity to explore Tuscany for a week in August. We are very grateful to be able to access a set of subsidized chalets across Europe for our holidays (over the last two years here, we've discovered Austria and Croatia as well), and were excited to experience Italy, especially in "farmstay lodgings" on an estate winery, the Castello del Trebbio.

(note: if you're reading this on a mobile phone, turn it sideways - the formatting's gone wonky)

A good start

Within a few days of booking, we received an email from Alberto, the manager of the estate, with a comprehensive welcome package attached. He gave us recommendations for activities, dining and touring. He asked us to confirm the number of occupants (five) and ages (our kids are 6, 9 and 10), and offered to set up some activities and reservations for us. We responded fairly promptly, and then all we had to do was eagerly await our trip!

Getting there

What a view.

Chris wanted to drive (hey! it's only 19 hours in a car with three kids!), but when we crunched the numbers (food, gas and hotel), it was cheaper to fly and rent a car. Thank God for math. We flew into Florence via Zurich (with a 5-hour stopover)(see? cheaper). While waiting for the next flight, I spent a lot of time on a website called visitflorence.com, which had walking tour suggestions, driving-in-Florence information, parking queries...really everything we needed was there. I referred to it several times over the week, and highly recommend it.

We arrived in suffocating heat - it was 36 degrees when we landed, and 37 degrees the next day - which made sightseeing unbearable (without gelato, that is - something that was quickly remedied, and of course, became an almost-daily experience). After a few hot, sweaty hours of exploring old Florence, we took the tram back to the airport, picked up a bright blue Jeep Renegade (practical for a family of five, unless you're in the skinny streets of Florence!), and drove out of the city, up steep, hairpin-turning hills, to the Castello del Trebbio.

Green water? No problem.

The Castello del Trebbio

Set in the Chianti Rufina region, the beautiful 12th century castle has been witness to historical battles, family dramas and conspiracies. It is still an active winery and is inhabited, though the owner allows tours at set times. Several stone outbuildings have been converted into five apartments and two stand-alone villas.

Our apartment (Panicale B) slept the five of us nicely, with a large loft containing a queen bed and ensuite, a second, main-floor bedroom with two twin beds and an ensuite, and a pullout couch. And air conditioning, thank God! The kitchen was modern enough to feed us breakfast and lunch every day (grocery stores were a twisty 15-minute drive away), wi-fi was included, and there was a large TV with Netflix. As well, we found puzzles and games in various cabinets to occupy us in quiet times.

The view was breathtaking from every window and door: hills, valleys, vines and olive groves. We ate our meals outside on a covered porch with spectacular views, not least the entertaining little geckos that frolicked in the sun. Out the back door, the pool and deck again boasted stunning views. The pool was a good size, holding about eight people and their floaties. The water was bright green for the first three days of our stay, but by the fourth day, it was blue again. It didn't slow our kids down at all!

Exploring Castello del Trebbio

Hufflings stand in front of their respective vintages

We took a long walk around the property, up and down the steep hills, through olive groves and along paths to the grapevines. We couldn't walk through the vines (the estate had electrified fences to stop wild boars from eating all the grapes), but it was still very cool. We even found wild boar tracks!

Alberto had made a reservation for us at the Castello's restaurant (La Sosta del Gusto) at the first seating, 7:30 pm. (This is very early to eat in Tuscany, we discovered repeatedly.) We sat on a large patio with fairy lights strung overhead as the sun set over the mountains around us. It was magical. The children were served first (from a basic children's menu of burgers, chicken nuggets and pasta), so became bored well before we finished our prima, then secondi, then dolce. They rallied when we told them to explore some more, and especially when we said they could (gasp!) go get their tablets while we finished our quite-probably-could-have-been-romantic meal.

Alberto also booked us on a castle tour, in which our charming-and-multilingual guide Constanza showed us around the beautiful building including the Conspiracy Room where the assassination of Lorenzo di Medici was planned, then took us down through the cellars and dungeons where their winemaking operations are in progress.

More activities

After the tour, one group stayed in the courtyard for wine tasting, while the rest of us went into the Castello's kitchen for a hands-on pasta-making class with a very large, gruff chef named Jerry. The kids were delighted by him. We all donned the provided aprons and learned how to make our own pasta (from scratch) and two simple sauces. Once everything was prepared to Jerry's satisfaction, Constanza led us into the Castello's ancient dining room for good conversation and a delicious dinner with wine pairings (the kids got sips, too!). We did their bottles justice, and took the recipes home with us.

Constanza was kind enough to call a local stable to set our children up with a horseback riding lesson. Sylvia from Tenuta dei Cavalieri gave each of our beginners exercises and drills that had them literally turning in circles while their horse walked around the ring. They're already pestering us to go back next year so they can go to their camp.

Other spot-on recommendations from Alberto:

Day trips:

Grotto of Santa Brigida - we couldn't find it on a map, but a local man kindly led us to the ruins of a church bombed in 1944. It's a quiet, magical place surrounded by stone and statues.
Collodi and Pisa - blog post here.
Florence - again, I recommend relying on visitflorence.com, but there's so much to see! We also did a Florence city trail from Questo.

Restaurants: 

Toscani da Sempre - the best meal we ate in Tuscany (and that's saying a lot!)
Pizzeria da Nappino - relaxed, family-friendly pizzeria (and wine, of course)
Ristorante al Trebbio - the perfect meal for our last night in Tuscany

Conclusion

We're tempted to make the trip again! Although we know our time in Europe is limited and want to explore as much as possible of this part of the planet before we move back to Canada, it was truly a perfect holiday. We brought home wine and olive oil (and lots of mosquito bites - pack bug spray!) and so many good memories. Our hosts (and, indeed, everyone we met) were so helpful and gracious, that we are considering another trip to Castello del Trebbio next summer.     ~Ciao!

La dolce vita! Saluti!

Pisa, Italy (and the beauty of a Tuscan highway)

The Piazza del Duomo and Leaning Tower of Pisa (Photo credits: Author)

The Road to Pisa, Italy

First, let me be clear: it is terrifying to drive in the Greater Florence Area. Let me be even more specific: by "drive" I mean, "be driven", and by "GFA", I'm talking about the area from Pisa to Collodi to Florence and up the hills into Sieci and Pontassieve. I'm referring specifically to the super-skinny, hairpin-turny, crazily steep-and-surrounded-on-both-sides-by-very-old-and-tall-stone-walls streets that Google Maps sent us down (and up).

Fis has a theory that Google Maps sends us down such tiny roads (even in London) because it's learned that those are the kind of roads we prefer, and each time we accept such a route, this learning is reinforced.

I have two theories. One is that -- and hear me out -- that's what kind of streets there are in very old cities. The other one is that Google can hear what Fis says about it, and is punishing him and by extension, me.

To sum up, when driving (being driven) through the gorgeous hills around Florence, do not rent a large vehicle that is big enough for a family of five and their luggage and thus not at all made to hug a curve. Do not be in a rush. Do not drive angry.

Oh well, too late now.

But we survived, and this post is not about that. It's about a highway.

A Tuscan highway

Our last day in Italy was a beautiful day for the 90-minute drive to Pisa, all blue-skied and sunny, and the A11 highway between Florence and Pisa is possibly the most interesting one I have ever seen. It's a toll road (€5.90 saved us 40 minutes -- worth it), and seemed to be kept in impeccable repair. Once we were out of the cities and towns and well underway, I relaxed my Unblinking Navigator Stressball persona, and gazed out the window at the ever-changing variety of plants and forests drifting by. After a few kilometres, I noticed that the plants and trees, flowering and coniferous, were in orderly rows and groupings. This continued for kilometre after kilometre, and repeated most of the way to Pisa. Once in a while, a large sign indicated the name of these commercial nurseries and tree farms (interspersed with cornfields).

It was beautiful to see. What an ideal way to use the land beside a highway: property there would be less attractive to developers (who wants to live right behind the highway?), but I'd bet the land on the far side of the nursery is prized. The expanse of trees and bushes (and the distance) would mute the noise of the traffic, beautifully, and I'm pretty sure science would say that plants help to clean the air from the emissions as well. Their visibility from the highway would be advertisement enough - it's a win/win for everyone involved.

This was not the strangest thing we saw at Parco di Pinocchio. Not by far.

A quirky theme park

We stopped in Collodi for a few hours to take in the Pinocchio Park, a quirkily enchanting combination of a sculpture garden and adventure park, with a hilarious puppet show that I bet would have been even funnier if I understood more than "pescecane!" (shark!) and "oh nooooo!". The reviews had run hot and cold, but we're glad we went. It was, as most of the reviewers noted, no Disneyland, but it was full of magic and art. Then, with time a-ticking, we got back on the road to Pisa with an ambitious goal: to get to the famous leaning tower, see it, and be back in the car driving homeward within 45 minutes.

We drove 130 km/hr (the speed limit) all the way there, and I became The Navigator again to get us to the closest free carpark (as we had spent all our money on tolls). The shuttle was waiting, and drove us the five minutes for €4. We stepped out into the heat and the crowds and vendors, winding our way through a seeming maze of old city walls and stalls selling cheap reproductions of leather purses and miniature towers. We stepped through an arch, and ... there it was.

"Push harder, kids! It's still leaning!"

The Leaning Tower of Pisa

Some iconic landmarks are disappointing in real life.

When I saw the Statue of Liberty, it was smaller than I expected. After all the hype in movies, it just felt, well, small. I wasn't too keen on seeing this tower, either, as it meant a long drive on the last day of our holiday, and how great could it really be? Was the "lean" even noticeable? I was surprised that Chris was so insistent on us going so far to see it, but... wow. 

The baptistery and the tower (and boy, does it lean) set against a backdrop of dazzling photoshop-blue sky took my breath away. I didn't expect to be so moved (as I was at Stonehenge, another awe-inspiring UNESCO World Heritage Site). It was something I've only seen in books and movies ever since I was little, and there it was. It was beautiful.

Maybe it made me appreciate again the distance we are from home, seeing something that I never really thought I'd see in real life. We gazed at it for a few minutes, took the required pushing-the-tower-back-up photos, then stopped for gelato (again!) before walking only nine minutes back to the car (instead of waiting for the next five-minute shuttle in 14 minutes). (And we saved €4, which was enough for a pretty good half-litre of wine with dinner.)

The drive back was pleasant (till we got off the highway and back onto properly terrifying Tuscan roads) and although I still had the beautiful, historical image fresh in my mind, I appreciated the highway design again.

Bella Italia, indeed.

(more travel notes to come, I promise)

More Fun with Perspective!

Huffling Holiday in Tattershall Lakes, Lincolnshire

Alternate title:  We went to Tattershall Lakes and all you got was this lousy blog post.

(This was not posted after the eggcitement of Easter, so I'm posting now.  Enjoy!)

A view from the Lucy tower at Lincoln Castle

Party of five

There are unique challenges to travelling with a family of five especially when one of them is Chris.

The world is not built for that fifth person.  Restaurants, hotel rooms with two double beds, rollercoasters... all of these easily hold a family of four or less.  But when you add one more person in, whether they be small, pale and ginger-haired, or tall and somewhat cranky, things just get harder and/or far more expensive.

Where to?

Over the 12-days-too-long Easter break, we took another caravan holiday, this time with Chris along.* 

We started with choosing the where. Lincoln had been highly recommended to us, and even though I was hoping for someplace warm, we were concerned enough with the fallout from April's Brexit deadline (kaff - at the time of booking - kaff) to decide that we should see some more of our host country.

So far, we've cut a very small slice out of England, from the Isle of Wight to Portsmouth to Oxford to Salisbury to Kent (camping!) and Dover (ferry to France). So going North was in the cards.  Of course, I want to go to York.  Haworth, moors, Secret Garden and Brontes: all of that must happen over the next two years. But, friends said that Lincoln was like York, but smaller, quieter and less expensive, and closer.  These were all good things.

The dream

I wanted a family-friendly place, ideally where kids could run free outside and I could sit with a cup of tea (and/or mug of morning wine), preferably with the dog. We found a few Airbnb caravan rentals in Lincolnshire, and from there, discovered the Tattershall Lakes Country Park, which is what British people call a family caravan resort.** We chose a large, dog-friendly caravan (sleeps eight!) in a resort that includes a pool, a splash park, kids' activities, entertainment, a pub/bar and short drives to historic castles and cathedrals, and a large green space, which the Brits call a wold for some reason.

Lincolnshire or bust

The drive there wasn't too bad.  It was quick-ish, about three hours including a stop for lunch.  The kids had snacks and books (and tablets), and I even got to catch up on some reading while Chris drove the long stretch going towards, simply, The North.

We got there, checked in (they had the package and keys ready for us, which surprised Chris to no end, oh he of little faith), and pulled up to our caravan. It was not in an ideal location for aesthetics or noise, as it was the first one back from the road (they were lined up in rows), but it was close to the pool, activities, and playgrounds, so that was fine.

The Eurocamp caravan we went to in October was cheap, reasonably nice for the kids, dog and I, and it was fine.  Just fine.  During the trip, I had twinges of "Chris would hate this" but I put those aside, because I was pretty sick, and he wasn't there anyway.

You know how you can think your house is neat and organized, but then you invite someone over and you suddenly see every room from their perspective and realize that you are living with so much clutter, and perhaps what you see as "great" or even "perfectly fine" looks, well, not as good?

The caravan was a good size, reasonably clean, and reasonably priced.  That is all.

A free air show!

We knew that RAF Coningsby was close by, and that we'd probably get to see some cool planes.  Well.  So. Many. Planes.  Taking off and landing right beside us, it seemed.  Some older ones (possibly spitfires?) and some fancy new ones (typhoons, Chris said).  They did loop de loops!  They did barrel rolls!  They did that thing where they zoom straight up then shoot straight down and pull out at the last second!  They did a lot of low-altitude flying.  It was amazing, and loud.

A Typhoon at MUCH higher altitude.
Photo credit: SAC Cathy Sharples

To bed, perchance to sleep

At bedtime, we tucked the kids in, and went to sit down with a glass of wine.  It was starting to get really dark, and ... ROAR.  The sound of a plane doing low-altitude flying made it impossible to talk or hear anything.  ROAR again.  That was probably a barrel roll in the dark. (Do they do barrel rolls in the dark?)  Fis looked at me as if to say, well, you can imagine what he looked like.  I picked up my phone and quickly googled "do planes fly at night at Tattershall Lakes".

Ah.

Yes, yes they do.  There was a very cranky TripAdvisor review to that effect, and the resort's response was that you can check the RAF schedule online, because it was public, etc.  So I did.  Hey, did you know that only four times a year, RAF Coningsby holds a week of night training, from one hour after sunset to one hour before sunrise?  Imagine Fis' face now.

Lesson one:  air shows are fun during the day.

Here, we discover a very important distinction

The kids, somehow, slept pretty well despite the planes.  Unfortunately, however, our caravan next-door neighbours did not, and stayed up until 3 am, partying.

Lesson two:  There is a difference between British families who go to France to have a holiday in a caravan park and British families who stay in Britain in a trailer park.

The next morning, the kids got up at...I don't know, I stayed in bed...made themselves cereal, and took the dog for a walk around the trailer park. So, by the time I got up, they were happily seated in front of the TV, having discovered the magic of being unsupervised. Baby Daddy is not appropriate viewing for a 6 year old.  Also, it's now their favourite show.  Back to Chris' face.

Out and about in Tattershall and Coningsby

We took a short walk over to Tattershall Castle, no more than ten minutes away, and four of us enjoyed the walk.  Vaughn complained that it was "too far". Then, inside the huge, mind-blowing, somehow built-by-hand-800-years-ago, yet still-magnificent building, he decided that it was terrible because it was "dusty" and "probably dangerous". It is possible that he was not flung from the tower because he refused to get anywhere near the edge, because he also decreed the safety barriers "not safe enough."

Yet, backlit, they look angelic.

Afterwards, we walked for another 20 minutes into the town (because we missed turnoff into the grocery store) (and boy was he cranky), had sandwiches from a nice little bakery chain then swung by what the kids declare to be the Best Candy Store Ever and gave them Type III Diabetes.

Lesson three: You already knew this, but nothing can't be fixed with candy.

Lincoln Cathedral and Castle

Lincoln was a forty-minute drive away, so we bundled up Ziggy and went to this beautiful medieval city that has charm, character, steep hills and wonderful, reasonable, not-London prices for lunch at a lovely pub,  Ziggy came with us up Steep Hill, and the kids and Chris were interviewed on BBC about how steep they thought it was. They even made it onto the local evening news, which we caught later, back at the caravan.

Lesson four: Don't leave your trailer looking anything less than camera-ready.

You can see the camera crew at the top.  (Spoiler alert: Steep Hill is only the fourth steepest street in GB.)

The Cathedral and Castle were magnificent.  I can't even describe how spectacular and amazing some of these old buildings are.  The concept of someone having placed every stone, carved every figurine and gargoyle, all by hand hundreds of years ago... it just really puts everything into perspective, such as "I have no talent and have wasted my life".  Also, it bears questioning about the truth behind separation of church and state, as they are literally a three-minute walk apart.

A prisoner and the prison matron get ready for a hard Victorian day.

Anyhoo, the kids had a great time exploring both, but slightly preferred the castle, as there was an Alice in Wonderland-themed trail to follow which ended with chocolate. See lesson three.

The rest of the stay

The family resort was clean and full of families and their dogs.  They offer lots of activities for the kids, but unlike our Eurocamp experience (which had all activities included), there was an additional charge (between £8 and 12) for each, so we let the kids each choose only the one that they wanted most.  Vaughn chose laser tag, Ailsa chose the high ropes, and Tamsin chose zorbing, which we mistook for the water zorbing, so she sort of got two activities for the price of one.  We had to prebook, and they filled up quickly, but they were all happy with their choices.  They spent a lot of the rest of the time playing at two of the park playgrounds with other kids - just what I wanted.

And then she jumped for the trapeze.

The onsite restaurant and pub had London prices (not cool), but offered free entertainment for the kids and grownups alike every evening, from dance parties before dinner to on-stage game-show-type activities, to bingo.  We even saw a Little Mix tribute band (who have three new star-struck fans).

The pool was ok (not great, but ok), but required us to book a (free) time slot ahead of time, and the steam room and sauna were not as clean as they could be.  The brand new splash zone (also free, no booking was required) was absolutely incredible and beautiful and clean the first time -- the kids ran and screamed and splashed for well over an hour -- but there was something wrong with the temperature control when we went back another day, and they were cold and miserable for the fifteen minutes they could stand it.

So fun!  But so f-f-freezing!

As well, for a very dog-friendly place, there was nowhere to exercise Ziggy off-lead, which wasn't great and left him a bit anxious.  A fenced-in area for the dogs to play would certainly be an asset to the park.

Overall, it was clean and well worth what we paid, which was £382 for five days, but maybe not, when we added in the extra costs for activities or the exorbitant prices for food and drink.

Lesson five: you get what you pay for.

The long road home

Holidays are always a great idea until the last day, when you have to come home and everyone's upset about it. We managed to pack up fairly quickly (the booking agent said to "do nothing -- just lock the door and walk away", but we did the dishes and swept anyway) and took a detour to an exotic animal sanctuary and another nice pub on the way home.

Goats totally account as exotic when you're talking ill-advised housepets.

Would we go back?  Probably not (I think we've now "done" Lincoln), but I don't regret going.

Would I recommend it to other families?  Yes. It's a very reasonable price, and if have your expectations managed (it is a caravan park) and you are ready to pay for the extras, there is so much to do. But check the night flying schedule ahead of time.





* to be filed under "It sounded like a good idea at the time". Like all travels with Fis.
** I call it a trailer park.

Destination Normandy: Happy Hacky Half Term

Alternate title:  Six Seven Days in Frants (where insects go on vacation!)

Spoiler Alert:  In most alternate universes, I don't survive the week in Normandy

In the wonderful, inexplicable system that is international-schooling-based-on-the-French-curriculum (and thus full of je ne sais quoi), the children have two weeks off every five weeks or so.  My French friends inform me that, in proper French schools, they also get off at 1:30 every Wednesday, for no good reason other than to ensure that mothers can't work outside of the home, or something, so I suppose we can consider ourselves lucky.

So, with October half-term looming, Fis announced that he was going to Canada for a week, abandoning me with my own children.  Again.

"Fine," I retaliated.*  "I will take the Hufflings to Fraunce.  It will be lovely, it will be educational, and it will be restful."

He grumbled a bit about my "leaving the country with the children" but I countered with "you're leaving the country first, so try to stop us" and we called it a draw.

I had heard wonderful things about Eurocamps from another friend.  They have children's activities!  I could relax and drink wine and the children would make friends and do their own thing, safely!  I could bring the dog!  They were reasonably-priced!  And not just reasonably-priced for London, but actually reasonably-priced - for 6 nights, it cost us £330, including the ferry to Calais.  (Using the October half-term discount of 50%, plus the £25 off for being a "Single Parent").   So, we booked.

AND THEN I checked the dog's passport, which the Unnecessary and Expensive Heathrow Vet had apparently filled out incorrectly last year.  This, of course, was two days before we were supposed to leave.  Panic, panic, wait, it's ok.  For only £67, it was corrected, and we were good to go!

Chris left for the airport early Sunday morning.  About four seconds after the front door shut behind him, I felt chills and aches.  I had the flu, and a day and a half to recover with three kids underfoot and packing to do.  Because I am a genius, I booked a babysitter for three hours on the Monday morning.  It was a hard decision:  I could either use this precious time to go for a run, do necessary errands, or take a 3-hour nap to try to get healthy.  Lucky for me, I didn't have to decide; the babysitter didn't show up (she overslept by four hours), and I got to do everything with three kids in tow and a good'n'high fever.**  The last stop of the day was to buy euros, which we left until just after the "euro desk" at the bank closed.  *cuss word*

We left at 9 am on Tuesday morning, only 30 minutes past when I wanted to.  If we maintained the speed limit, and didn't stop, we could still make the ferry with four minutes to spare!  We drove towards Dover, making up enough time on the highway to be able to afford a quick break to fill up the station wagon with good British petrol... which was lucky, because the receipt had the address of the service station on it...which I needed when I had to call a garage to fix our flat crazily exploded tire less than three minutes later.

Now that is a flat tire. 
Note that the Hufflings were not given any direction for this photo.  They just looked like that.

I went total Helpless Female when I saw it.  We were stranded on the side of a highway, we didn't have roadside assistance (I called Chris and woke him up to ask - it was only 6 am in Ottawa), and I knew I couldn't drive the rest of the way on our donut... even if I knew how to put it on, which, being a Helpless Female, I didn't.  But! £105 later, the tire was replaced, and it turns out that I had tricked my brain into thinking we were on an earlier ferry... we technically could still have made it, but I decided to avoid even more stress (still running a high fever) and the wonderful Eurocamp call centre rebooked it to an hour later, leaving us time to buy our euros in Dover.

The ferry was great.  We had a beautiful view of the white cliffs as we pulled away from the pier, a full cafeteria (more tea for me), and a play area for the kids with Scooby Doo videos playing in alternating English and French.  I curled up with a tea and a book.  We rolled off in Calais, and immediately found ourselves back at the ferry port.  And again.  The GPS was being a real jerk.  We pulled over, I applied weird little stickers to our headlights, as per weird French law, and we... ended up back at the port again.

Finally, though, we were off towards Normandy.  The roads were fast (130 km/h), the tolls were high (it felt like I had to pay 8.30 Euros every 10 minutes, but then again, high fever), and a little over three hours later (11 hours of travel), we finally pulled up to the Eurocamp.  It was dark.  My skin hurt.  The reception desk had closed 20 minutes earlier.  Over the long, long day, I had slowly developed a hacking cough that doubled me over.  A security guard showed us where to go, gave us our key, and we checked into our little caravan, which had two bedrooms, one with a double bed, and the other with bunk beds and a third bed.  Perfect!  Once I sent a text to the handyman to ask for heat, it was good.

It was late, but we were starving, of course, and the restaurant was supposed to be open, but wasn't, because of quiz night, which the staff seemed to feel was a reasonable and complete explanation.  After I started crying (see also, Helpless Female), however, a nice man made us a pizza, the kids drank lemonade***, and I impressed everyone by naming Madonna's Holiday with just one note.  I tucked the kids in, then fell into bed myself, still shivering and coughing and feverish, and Dr. Ziggy jumped up to watch over me in the night.

This little dog is going to get a big wakeup call when he gets home and is no longer welcome on the bed.

The next few days were a blur - I'd get up, feed the kids and walk them and the dog over to the Kids' Club cabin, where they met new friends and painted, sculpted, played cards, played football, and did archery and climbing and something called "photo rallye".  I sat on the steps with Ziggy and a mug of tea and shivered and coughed deep, wasting coughs.  The parents I met were amazed that I had "come on holiday without my husband", which seemed odd, but I was so sick, so maybe they were referring to that.  For two of the nights, I wasn't sure that I'd wake up the next morning, and left notes for the kids beside my phone, telling them how to call Daddy, and that I loved them.  Looking back, it seems a bit melodramatic, but I have literally never been that sick before, and definitely never that sick, fully responsible for the kids in a foreign country with nobody I know and no way to get home but to drive all that way again.  I felt terrible, and even more terrible that I had driven so far when I probably shouldn't have been even operating a mechanical pencil.


In our (feverish) haste to leave London, I had left a bag of peanut butter, salt, pepper and olive oil in our kitchen back at the flat, so I left the kids to one activity and drove into town to pick up some more groceries - easy stuff like soup, fish sticks and oven fries, but rounded it out with nutella, veggies (frozen ratatouille!  amazing!) and barbecue-able meats like sausages, chicken legs and hamburgers, should I feel well enough to try to cook outside.  The wine was ridiculously cheap, but I was feeling too sick to even buy any (imagine).

Les saucisses, la ratatouille...mais ou est le vin???
I have to say, my skin looks great.  It's either from being super-hydrated from all that water and tea, or the chic sheen of clammy sweat.  

I was too miserable to barbecue for the first three days, then it was too windy to light on the fourth.
By the Saturday, though, I was feeling slightly better, at least well enough to feel guilty that we had come all this way and hadn't yet left the campsite for a museum or a visit to the beaches.

I chose Juno Beach (of course), an hour's drive away on the coldest, windiest day of our holiday.  The kids were cold, but I tried to explain to them why it was so important that we came.  We saw two monuments and Canada House, and felt the weight and sorrow of so many young men lost as we walked down the beautiful, deserted beach.

We warmed up and fortified ourselves with crepes and hot chocolate then headed to the Juno Beach Centre, a Canadian museum designed and staffed by Canadians.  It was incredible, and very much worth the visit.  We went into German bunkers, played with interactive exhibits, and the kids filled out a trail map of their visit. 

Hufflings learning about how the French who were forced to help build the bunkers sabotaged it. 
Fun fact:  "sabotage" is from the French word sabotage, meaning "to sabotage".

Again after dark, we got back to our caravan, ate hamburgers (barbecue-in-the-rain success!) and got done up for the Halloween party that night.

Zombie family:  guess which one of us isn't wearing any makeup?

The Sunday was a bit better.  There were Kids' Club activities at 10 am that the kids went to without me, and in the afternoon, when they did archery, I joined a Zumba class, pausing to cough now and then on the down beat.  I texted Chris and told him that I would be ok to drive home the next day.

We were up and out only 60 minutes late the next morning, again pushing the timing close on the drive back to the ferry port (the GPS knew the way), but pealed in with about five minutes to spare.  We passed the French checkpoint... then British... home was just over the water... then the agent at the ferry checkpoint told us that Ziggy's passport wasn't valid.

We couldn't travel back to Britain for the next 24 hours at least.

Over the wails and howls of anger and sorrow in the back seat, the poor man was able to give me the name of a vet close by (35 euros), who in turn gave me the name of a cheap, dog-friendly hotel close by (68 euros).  We discovered that it was next to a McDonald's, which cheered the peanut gallery up considerably.

So, on the 7th day of our six-day vacation, I was still feverish and coughing, but we had McDonald's for breakfast, swung by a wine warehouse for a case (or so) of Super Cheap Good Wine, and drove back to the ferry port with an hour to spare.  This time, they let us on, no problem.  I had a nap while the kids played watched le Scooby Doo, and we drove back to London with no further mishap.

All in all, although it could have been (vastly) improved by Chris being with us and me not being near death, the holiday was a success, and still (somewhat) reasonably-priced.****  If I had had to take care of the kids and dog in our tiny third-floor London flat by myself, it would have been terrible, and probably filled with screen time, which the kids might have loved, but I'd hate.  As it was, they were outside, running and playing, practicing their French, and meeting new friends.

This is the result of the "photo rallye", which apparently involved self-face-painting, ice cream, and ... honestly they couldn't explain it at all, but said they had fun.

I came back skinny and weak, still coughing, but with super-defined abs (thanks, Hackercise!(tm)), and this morning, after the kids got on the school bus and Ziggy got his walk, I fell back into bed and slept for two hours.

We will totally do this again.




* after, of course, pushing him out of the way, racing to the computer to check for flights to Ottawa, and realizing that they were not only very expensive, but, as my parents were cruising AGAIN, we wouldn't have anywhere to stay.

** and nary a cowbell in sight.

*** "lemonade" in Europe is not lemonade.  It's Sprite.  They freely admit this, but still call it lemonade.  

**** for those following along at home, the final price of "unexpected issues" with the dog and the car (and not including food, wine warehouse and petrol) was approximately £650, only about £320 more than the planned price of the holiday.  Still a win.

Huffling Adventures in Scandinavia!

Let us immediately lower our expectations.  By "Scandinavia", I mean "just Denmark".  By "Denmark", I mean "just Billund". 

And by "Billund", I mean, literally, "just Legoland".

Hufflings on safari spot the elusive Elephant-Made-Entirely-of-Lego

Astute readers (the subset who know about both Legoland and geography) might point out that there is, in fact, a Legoland in Windsor.  I knew this, but didn't really know where Windsor was, and assumed a four-hour drive or something. 

I just looked it up, and Google maps just showed me that it's 50 minutes away by car. 

And now I feel shame.

Because we woke up at 4am on Saturday, took a car hire to Stansted Airport, which is an hour and 12 minutes away by car.  That's right, we paid someone to drive us 22 minutes further away than the local, less-than-an-hour-away Legoland at an ungodly hour of the morning to go to an airport where we would board a plane that sat on the tarmac for 45 minutes, to fly for an hour and a half to an entirely different country, take a taxi to the hotel, and to start walking around Danish Legoland by about 11 am.* 

We did that.

Six Canadians get into a barrel...

Having never been to the Windsor Legoland, I can only assume that they are similar parks, but the one we went to was a great deal more Danish.  The weather was fairly miserable, cold and misty-then-rainy, but we were with another family, good friends whose kids are close in age and energy level (sorry, Denmark!) to ours.  For two great days, we went on rides, marvelled at giant, intricate Lego builds, and had a wonderful time.

The Legoland hotel was incredible - bins of Lego everywhere (so the kids were always building (guns) and happy), and our room had a Lego kingdom theme - very cool.  The restaurants and buffets were tasty but extremely expensive (for perspective, this assessment is from someone who flew to Denmark instead of driving 50 minutes, so imagine), but we consoled ourselves by surreptitiously putting snacks-for-later into the baggies I carried in my purse.  Classy.

Dinner with friends in their super cool Ninjago cabin.

Words I learned in Danish:  tak (meaning thank you), and toiletter (meaning toilet).  They don't seem to have a "please" -- which makes me very uncomfortable -- and I kept forgetting how to say sorry/excuse me (undskyld) while I was there.  (But now that it's too late, my mnemonic is that unskilled me can't remember how to say undskyld.)  (Clever, but too late.)  I also learned that the Lego you buy at Legoland is even more expensive than if you were to buy it at the airport Lego store, which seems very wrong and against the natural order of things, somehow.

Speaking of wrong... Honestly, Legoland, you are better than this.  For shame.

We were home again by 2:30 on Monday afternoon.  All in all, it was quite the experience, and reminded us again that everything here is just so ... close ... that "foreign" countries (not that foreign, really - I hear that there's a similar place less than an hour from here... kaff) are within our reach, and that we're very lucky to be able to hop on a plane for a weekend in Denmark, even if this trip (and necessary souvenirs) mean that less of our children will be going to university now!

Next adventure:  Ziggy goes to Normandy!  Stay tuned.

* In my defence, I didn't know any of this geography until just now, so I can only blame Fis, because even I would say that it was a ridiculous thing to do, had I known, and he is quite proud of both his knowledge of geography and of his inherent cheapskatery.  True, as a responsible adult, I probably should have looked into this sooner to see what, exactly, we had agreed to do, because looking back, it was a shockingly irresponsible use of our savings.  

But, did we enjoy it?

You bet.

Canadian Leg of Croatian Vacation

I am the first to admit that I'm not great with geography, but even I know that Croatia is not right beside Canada.

But!  That didn't stop us from taking an incredible opportunity (and advantage of Grandpa's generosity) to visit Huff House West (in Edmonton) and a Whole Bunch of Other Assorted Huffs (in Red Deer). 

We left Split at about 2:30 pm on a Saturday, and flew to Heathrow, then Pearson (quick stop at Tim Hortons for tea and timbits!), then Edmonton International Airport, arriving at 1:30 am on Sunday (which included -- and this is just an estimate here -- 85 hours of travel time and a scorching case of jet lag for all), to be welcomed by Uncle Rob (whose airport pickup skills are second-to-none), two Giant Dogs and one Little Fluffy Dog.  We somewhat-quickly got everyone sorted into beds (I found a piece of chocolate cake on the way), and fell asleep for, frankly, not long enough.

In the morning, we had a joyful reunion with Grandma, whom we hadn't seen for far too long, then hopped into the rental minivan for the (respectively) short drive to Red Deer.

Well.

I know/knew/totally understood that in Canada we have a lot of space:  open fields, big skies, large stretches of highways with nothing around... but seeing it again after spending a year in London made me realize again how lucky we are to have such a beautiful country.  The fresh air!  The green things!  The Tim Hortons!

The purpose for our visit was to celebrate Chris' uncle's 60th wedding anniversary, and boy, did we. The bride and groom were gorgeous, the kids had a group of second- and third- cousins to romp around with, and we enjoyed amazing hospitality and a level of event planning that I can only hope to aspire to.  Grandpa was there with us, and we all checked into a hotel for a few nights to stretch out the Red Deer experience. 

We went tubing down the Red Deer River, ate at A&W (Amburgers and Woot Beer!), and were treated to a guided tour of All the Places That Chris Lived in Middle- and High School, for which we were rewarded with a drive through the DQ drive-thru.

Grandpa then proceeded to buy us all cowboy boots (we protested, then thanked him effusively), and we returned to Edmonton for another two days of Canadiana, which in this context means Steak and Uncle Rob's Legendary Wine Cellar.  We hugged (and were hugged by) Grandpa, Uncle Rob, Uncle Ryan, and Grandma, gave the Ridiculously Big Dogs a final pat, and the Tiny Puffball a final cuddle, and that was it.

All told, it was a wonderful -- yet far too short -- visit "home".  I say "home" because the kids and I have never lived in Edmonton or Red Deer (just Medicine Hat), and does the entire, giant, green, fresh-aired country really count as "home"? 

Well, people say hello.  They smile at you, and say "excuse me" and "sorry".  They hold the door for you and stop their cars to wave you across the street.  The lineup at the airport, for our short flight between Edmonton and Calgary, was full of friendly strangers.  People looked us in the eyes.  They smiled.  So, yes, it is home.  As much as I hate mushy patriotism, I can't help but wax poetic (again) about what a wonderful place our home is. 

Our Croatian Vacation (What a Sensation!)

Swimming in Darko's Cove

In the interest of taking as much advantage of our next three years' proximity to many, many other countries (instead of just the one), we have been gadding about quite a bit.  This will slow down soon, because I'm pretty sure we have now visited every country in Europe (really, how many could there be?), and also we "may" have to sell one or more of our children to start financing these trips.

In February, for (yet another) school break, we had driven to Pettneu, Austria (via France and Switzerland - which totally counts as 3 countries, right?), then Chris and I flew to Nice (France again, but with more actual Frenching... no, that's not right...) in April.  So, when the opportunity came up to rent a nice little condo in Trogir, I was the first to say, "Never heard of it.  Where is it?"

Trogir is here:

It doesn't matter where it is.  Because it's so beautiful.  Or would have been if it wasn't so freaking hot, but since it was only a short 7-minute stagger down the mountain to the clear turquoise sea, we managed.  The walk back up the hill was much longer and harder, of course, but we had air conditioning and Croatian wine* to look forward to!

The local soft drink:  Pipi.  Hilarity ensued at every meal.

Trogir is not a well-kept secret, as evidenced by the swarms of tourists and the many, many giant yachts moored all around.  I firmly believe that said yachts have had a troubling effect on the local economy, in that a meal for the five of us regularly cost us the same as a meal out in London, something that we try to avoid having.  But!  Despite that, we did ok by keeping a stock of groceries and cereal in the flat, and trying to always have water bottles and snacks in a backpack.

What did we do?

The local beach:  worth a 7-minute downhill stroll.

Everything and nothing.  It's very touristy, but with the beach at the bottom of the hill (and a fancier one over the hill), we spent a lot of time lolling about by the sea.  It took me only 5 minutes before I demanded that we shell out the equivalent of $10 for a beach umbrella rental, because, well, ginger, but the kids played like splashy ducks in their sun suits and hats (the only kids on the beach covered up for sun safety)(also the whitest), and we reapplied sunscreen often, and nobody got a burn, not even me!!!  Just for that, the vacation was a success.  When it got too hot, or when one of them needed rescuing,** we joined them in the pleasantly cold, clear aqua water till we cooled down enough to feel human again, and it was just really nice.

Super fun aqua bouncy castle thingy

Beach days aside, there was a huge market a short walk away, with food and gelato everywhere.  (Daily ice cream is important when it's that hot.)  I found some super-cute vacation dresses for the girls, but my efforts to haggle the price down were thwarted by Vaughn suddenly pitching forward and throwing up a LOT, right in front of her stall.  For the not-low-enough price of 90 kuna, we apologized profusely, took the dresses, helped the poor vendor mop up, and dashed back to the condo so Vaughn could rest in the lovely, lovely air-conditioning.  (And, full disclosure, I was feeling barfy myself...Tamsin had vomited copiously the night before we left, and we each got it in turn.)

Street urchins have lunch in Split.

Our host, who lived above our apartment, took us out in his boat the next day (we had both recovered), and we spent a day on his little boat, going around islands and swimming in coves and lagoons whenever he stopped.  The water was so bright blue and clear, and it looked about 3 feet deep, but he told us that it was 6 metres or more.  The kids fell in love with snorkelling and saw lots of fish (that's when I got out of the water), and the salt water buoyancy really improved their confidence to swim away from the boat.

We took a day trip to Split, as well, and marvelled at the oldness of the old city.  We wandered around Diocletian's Palace and saw ancient Roman monuments that were humbling and beautiful and mind-blowing and super cool, despite it being punishingly hot.  In short, I don't have the right words to describe its amazingness, and also, heatstroke.

Whole fam damily selfie (ussie?) in Split with Very Old Tower.

As we drove back to the airport, our host told us that we were leaving just in time:  a heat wave was on its way.  "Isn't this a heat wave?" I asked.  "No," he laughed.  "This is just summer.  Next week is going to be really hot."  Luckily, we were headed for home, with a short trip to Edmonton and Red Deer first...





* Note:  Croatian wine isn't a thing.  Do not drink it. 'Tis far better to drink Pipi.  Or peepee, really.

** This happened far too often.  At least twice a day, I got to sprint to the water and swim out to where one of my little idiots was drifting away on the current, then got to swim them back against the current.  I counted it as cardio (and impressed the kids) so I didn't mind too much.