The last week of January we went to the Canary Islands, an Spanish archipelago located off the west coast of Morocco. You can read about my personal experiences on my blog,
Itching for Eestimaa. But how did the girls do?
First of all, Marta was very excited to go there, because she thought she was going to Africa. Geographically, I would group the Canary Islands with North Africa, but because of their language and culture, they are completely European. This didn't matter to Marta; what mattered is there were palm trees.
Marta made friends everywhere she went. On the flight, she made friends with a little blond girl named Nora and a boy named Robert. Robert was the same age as Marta, and Epp remembered that when we registered Marta when she was born, there was one name ahead of hers -- "Robert Andre." We wondered if this was the same little boy from the Viimsi Parish birth registry.
Nora was older than Marta and came looking for her during our flight, which took six and a half hours -- pretty long. They also ran up and down the aisles on our return flight.
As a person, Marta is very melodramatic and given to whining. I do not hold this against her; it is just who she is. Depending on her mood, she may begin to sob if you brush her hair or request her to walk somewhere. This was the case in Puerto de Mogan. She just refused to walk and had to be carried like a baby. Luckily, a few things made her mood change. 1) We got her a cool African hair braid; 2) we got her some churros and chocolate. As you can see she really enjoyed it.
Our hotel was laid out in an enclosed series of bungalows. Most of the guests seemed to be Estonians, Finns, or Brits. Breakfast was included, and on the first morning we were alone in the restaurant I saw an older blond man wearing a cowboy shirt with a little brown-haired girl in a retro polka dot shirt. The way he palatized his words made it clear that they were Finnish. The way they were dressed made him look like a grown-up Mike Teavee with a miniature Veruca Salt. Art imitating life?
We encouraged Marta to befriend her. The two were at first shy, but then they became friends later in the pool. The girl's name was Jennifer, and her mother was from Russia. But Jennifer attends a international school, so she speaks English -- this is the language Marta and her spoke to each other.
Once friendship was achieved, Marta seemed like the alpha partner. She was always going to Jennifer's place, screaming her name out in the courtyard so that every living being could hear her. But Jennifer really liked Marta too. One time Marta ran back to use the toilet and while I was wiping her, I looked up and saw Jennifer making funny faces through the window. She was 6, Marta is 5. Because Marta loved Jennifer so much, I played her this song on YouTube. Marta really likes it.
But what about Anna? She was in an interesting position because there were no kids her exact age. There were older girls, like Marta and Jennifer and Madli, who stayed a few bungalows down from us, and little babies, like Kirke, Madli's sister. Kirke is the second Kirke we know, by the way. It's a popular name in Estonia these days. It's the eesti version of Circe, the Greek witch.
Because Anna was too small for big girl games, she tried to keep up and swing on the swings, but couldn't. So most of the time I was with her I was restraining her from trying dangerous things. She had a great time though. It was very sunny and she loved being around all the kids. Anna is accident prone though. She fell one time on th astro turf at the little playground and scraped her nose. So for most of our trip, she looked a bit like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
Anna also learned how to say one Spanish word during the trip: "Hola." She did this without anybody asking her or trying to teach it to her. She would just go around yelling out, "Hola! Hola!" I was very proud of her.
What family trip would be complete without illness. In this case, it started with Marta who threw up two nights before we left. Then it passed to Epp, who yacked all over my pants on the bus to the hotel. Then it passed to Anna, who got a really bad case of diahrea and vomited on me as well (such is the life of a husband and father.) Finally, it was my turn. I was in bad shape on Sunday in Gran Canaria.
Above is a photo of me eating
gofio, the local breakfast treat. It's roasted ground cornmeal mixed with evaporated milk and water. It tastes quite good going down and wasn't that bad coming up either. I have been able to resume my consumption of gofio
post-vomito, so it must be good.
For Anna, though, we had to buy special milkshakes to sooth her violent tummy. She did not complain at all though. I think I was a bit rude to the Danish family at the playground because I was still reeling from the bad
gofio. So, if you are reading this Danish family, it wasn't you, it was me and my
gofio.
And what would a trip to a European vacation hotspot be without a visit to a nude beach. The beach in Maspalomas is comprised of acres and acres of sandy dunes. At the Zona Nudista, you can basically find your own private dune and nobody will bother you. It was a lot of fun for us, and it made for good, 'back to nature' types of photographs, before the sand got in our camera. That's one more thing I have to get fixed back in Tartu.
The end.
