It had been a while since my last visit to the City of Light, but it always feels like coming home.
When people learn that I travel with my son fairly often, they always ask, “How does he do on airplanes? How does he handle airports and train stations?” And I can safely answer that he’s good as gold. The fact that so many people ask always catches me off guard – he transitions so well that it takes a minute for me to remember that for many people, traveling with children is stressful, difficult and nightmare-inducing.
This summer, I went on a day-trip to Tossa de Mar. My best friend, Patricia, lives in Barcelona and she and her husband make the hour-or-so-long trek to Tossa in the summer months when they are both on holidays. These small beach towns are a favorite with native Spaniards to escape the tourist crush on the beaches closer to Barcelona. She had been talking about the beauty of the beach, the quaintness of the village, the slow, relaxed atmosphere of the whole place. She’d also mentioned the local seafood and wine a time or two, and all of these details had stacked in my mind to create some pretty lofty expectations.
This summer, I took my son to Spain. It was my first time returning since before he was born, and his first time meeting his godmother who lives in Barcelona. Traveling alone is not for the faint of heart; but a trip abroad with a small child as your companion is only for the truly insane.
I’ve never known heat like a Texas summer. Humid, blistering, melt-like-Velveeta-in-the-microwave heat. It’s a heat that makes everyone irritable. Tempers flare, words come out harsher than intended, calm somehow deserts everyone. Babies cry, toddlers tantrum and teenagers’ eyes nearly roll out of their heads. It’s a friction-causing heat.
Recently, my son turned four years old. As with most parents, I would guess, it was strange to sit back and consider where the time had gone. Sometimes, it feels like he was born only last week – and then I see the walking, talking, running, storytelling, joke-cracking silly little snuggler before me and I am forced to reckon with the passage of time.
The first time I visited Spain, I went with my mother. She had been before, one stop among many on a European cruise. She had only gotten a glimpse of Barcelona, though, just the slightest taste of what the city had to offer, so when she mentioned the idea of venturing back, this time with me accompanying her I of course, accepted immediately – especially as it was on her dime.
One of the best things about living in Houston, TX is being within driving distance of New Orleans. And one of the worst things is being within driving distance from New Orleans. It’s just close enough to drive to, but far enough that the drive is tedious and taxing.
I’ve lived in Texas for about ten years – first in Austin and then, in and around Houston. And during the decade, I’ve only been to Dallas three times. Texas is a big place, after all, and traveling the distance between cities is daunting, especially considering it can take three hours to just get from one end of Houston to the other.
When most people think of a holiday trip with children, they envision Mickey Mouse and Magic Kingdoms, splash pads, pizza by the slice and the wails of tired babies and cranky parents. But this doesn’t have to be the case. Travel with small children can be so much more … normal. (No ride passes or overpriced stuffed animal souvenirs required.) With a little prior planning, some careful packing and the willingness to engage with kids in a different way, trips with children can be something altogether different.
I’ve said it before: my favorite time to visit Paris is in the winter. Perhaps it’s because there is something gloomy about it, and Paris is the kind of place that seems like it should be a little bleak. That it, is a place that is beautiful enough to endure a little dusky desolateness, and perhaps is even a little more beautiful because of it.
