22 January 2020 -26 January 2020
In keeping with our overscheduled January, we decided to go our separate ways. Liz was off to Madrid for an action packed long weekend with the girls, and Anthony had decided to brave a solo ski weekend with the slightly younger girl pack.
She said…
Madrid was the perfect location for 7 ladies coming from the UK (Helen, Fi and Krista), Serbia (Ana), Switzerland (Lars), France (Liz) and Portugal (Dee). Not to mention the food, shopping, culture, architecture and male flamenco dancers (more on that later).
We had an amazing apartment on the Gran Via which was central enough that we could walk everywhere. Liz arrived before everyone else just to make sure the local tapas was up to scratch and the fridge stocked with wine, chorizo and cheese. Thanks to Helen we managed to drag home a trolley load of breakfasts and apero stuffs to last us the 3 days.
Day 1 was a pre-organised purple umbrella tour of the city. Our guide, Nacho, had some very strong opinions on the rights and wrongs perpetrated by previous Spanish leaders and an amazing knowledge of art history. Despite the rain we marched on. We followed him for 3 hours until the cold got to us and we settled in a cafe with beer and olives. I think we all walked away feeling a little embarrassed about our lack of knowledge on all things Spanish but felt grateful to be a little more educated thanks to Nacho.
Lunch was a pre-researched Paella mecca. To be honest probably the best I have ever had. Highly recommend it http://www.socarratt.com/. Also including a picture of the wine – because also very good!
By the afternoon half of the group were ready for a nap and the other half shopping. We all went into free-time with the plan to catch up at 6pm for wine-o’clock.
Dinner was booked for La Carmencita. Fiona had clearly prepared in advance for this one.
The decor, service and food were all superb. From Helen’s kids fish and chips through to traditional Spanish fish stews. We all walked away full, happy and ready to hit the streets (or at least have a nightcap in advance of sensibly passing out before midnight). Of course the only place in town to do that would be Cock Bar – the home of free-pouring gin and glasses the size of a baby’s head. So much giggling….
Day 2 we split into teams – some went to the Palace to cue up with bus loads of other tourists donning medical masks (just not enough hand santiser in handbags to deal with that one). Whether those masks were to protect the wearer or non-wearers from potential coronovirus was not clear. Liz, Helen and Anna on the hand took off for the Reina Sofia museum to see Guernica. We got to walk through parts of Madrid we had not seen yet with local fruit and veg and butchers.
The museum itself was amazing – I can never get enough of Picasso or Dali. But there was also an amazing female artist called Maria Blanchard. Massively tragic figure. She was born with a number of physical deformities, got teased at school, became best buds with Juan Gris, never made any money, lived in despair and poverty, fell into depression when Gris died and then she died. But her art is amazing if you ever get a chance to see it I highly recommend it.
Helen, Anna and I then hit up a tapas joint that was on the to-do list – El Sur. I think it’s fair to say none of us were disappointed with the outcome and we got to finally have some amazing garlicy finger licking prawns and sangria.
Post feeding, we felt the need to walk, which inevitably led to Ale-Hop. Like a wonderland of stuff you never knew you needed. I walked away with a handful of heat packs to replace my ever increasing exploding hot water bottles and Helen started the run on back massages. Everything you need for the hour before we were to hit the streets again for food.
It was our last night in town so we had to make it count. First things first, FOOD. Mercado San Miguel offered a melange of bit sized snacks which can be eaten as you walk around with a glass of wine. With one particular favourite vendor we stood our ground and gorged ourselves on fresh anchovies, artichokes, chorizo and croquettas.
Onwards and upwards. Anna’s pink scarf increasingly became our beacon as we weaved through the streets in search of flamenco. We all took turns walking arm in arm with Lara both because we all wanted to spend more time with her but also because she wore the non-grippy flat shoes and we kept loosing her in gutters.
Cafe de Chinitas was recommended to us as a good local flamenco option. Although the decor was more reminiscent of a suburban chinese restaurant, we held high hopes for the show and wines which came with the price of entry. It did not disappoint. We were treated to some amazing music and dancing – which was both entertaining and exhausting to watch. It also became clear that there was something happening in the air that night between one of the male dancers and Krista. Some more giggling later and inappropriate talk of guitar playing led us out into the street before we got thrown out. Also just in time for a back alley meeting with one of the performers…..
It had been at least 2 hours since we ate so it was clearly time to find our next feed. Of course you can’t leave Spain without hot chocolate and churros and the place most recommended is Chocolateria San Gines. A successful evening finished off with a few drinks back home.
Last day and with a bit of fatigue kicking in we took off for a spa day at the Urso hotel. Massages, facials and general lying around the pool. Coffee and water were had and lots of goodbyes and let’s do this again!
The weekend was a much needed break from the norm and a wonderful opportunity to connect with old friends. It was a fun mix of tea drinking and relaxation and giggles and wine (including threats by the neighbours to call the police). We shopped, ate, walked, ate, talked, drank and ate. We caught up on what we had missed and already started planning the next trip. Very grounding.
He said…
Whilst Liz was living it up Madrid, Anthony was preparing to embark upon a high risk, high stakes experiment. The question to answer – could we execute on a solo parent, triple child ski weekend on a budget, and actually come out the other side without killing (or at least abandoning) a child?
The alarm went off at 5am. Anthony, shamessly leaving 3 sleeping kids alone in the apartment, fetched and packed the car. By 6am we hit the road for the 2.5 hours drive to Risoul. The roads were dry and the forecast, at least for Saturday, was fine. Kids slept until 7, and we chatted happily for the last 90 mins or so of the drive. Ancient Egypt and what to expect from the upcoming school dance were the topics of the day, leaving Ellie and Jessie enthralled and Sena pleading for music to be played.
(Side note here – we have only fairly recently discovered the joys of ‘front seat conversations’ – whereby Ellie sits in the front seat (a novelty) and wants to chat about anything and everything. These are good times).
By 8.30am we pulled up to the resort, as on time as the best Swiss watch. We parked in the snow, changed pyjamas for ski gear and started the walk up from the car park to the resort. The complaining rapidly started, and only the promise of pre-ski lesson hot chocolates got us to the top of the hill.
The plan for the morning was 3 * ski lessons for the kids and Anthony would explore the resort by himself. The following day everyone had a lesson booked. Jessie and Sena were both unimpressed by the idea of ski school, neither of them sold by the Ecole de Ski Francais experience they had had in Saint Martin. Ellie, used to the drill by now, was fairly relaxed.
Line up for ski lessons. Line up for lift passes. Tick tock. Tick tock. Hot chocolate time is flying by. Beads of sweat start to drip down Anthony’s forehead as his carefully curated timetable goes to hell. Quickly run into a cafe, skull a hot chocolate to keep the promise and then up to the 2 different departure areas for the various levels. Throw Ellie into ski school, take Jessie to the toilet, deposit a very unconvinced Jessie and Sena into their lessons… and suddenly we’re off!
(Side note: this was our latest – and potentially last – attempt to get Sena skiing this year. She had not enjoyed her (private) lessons in Saint Martin, the feedback from her instructors was that she was ‘capable’ but basically didn’t want to do it. The feedback from Sena was that it hurt her legs and that she only wanted to ski with daddy (when naturally it didn’t hurt her legs). The plan this weekend was to see whether she would tolerate complete beginner group ski lessons (being the institutionalised little girl that she is) or whether this would just lead to more complaints).
Kids deposited, Anthony did the only honorable thing, and took off as far from the groups as possible. After an hour or so, he returned to the baby slopes to see Sena basically standing around doing nothing. An ominous sign.
On pick-ups 2 hours later it was confirmed. A big ‘thumbs down’ from Sena on ski school, but a keenness to ski with daddy in the afternoon. Jessie, also feeling slighted by the imposition of ski school in the morning, echoed that sentiment.
The dark mood continued into lunch, with negativity literally oozing out of every pore. This was very unlike the Club Med posters of radiant, smiling kids happily skiing in the sunshine.
(Another side note here – we’ve done enough skiing with the kids to know that it is hard work. They are incredibly ‘spiky’ holidays where the good times are amazing and wonderful and the bad times… well they just suck. Particularly with younger kids. And when you’re solo parenting. They are also incredibly expensive holidays. This weekend was about trying to work out whether it was worth it … with 1, 2 or 3 children)
The negativity was starting to bother me, so I decided to have ‘a chat’ with the kids. Explain to them what we were doing and why, and the fact that coming to the snow could be both stressful and very expensive, and if they didn’t want to be there, that was fine and it would be our last trip. Complaints all around. OK, so sort out your attitudes. Yes daddy. Suddenly the complaining stopped and compliments for our bakery lunch started to flow.
Things were looking up.
In the afternoon we hit the slopes for some family skiing. The expectation being that we would do an hour or so on the baby slopes with Sena, she would then go into ‘gaurderie/day care) and I would ski the rest of the afternoon with the bigger kids.
What actually happened was that Sena decided today was a good day to ski. After an hour or so on the baby slopes demonstrating she had in fact listened to all those hours of me asking her to snow plough, turn and stop, she announced herself ready to make her way up the chairlift to the longer green runs. So up we went.
Making our way down the pretty tree runs in the afternoon sunshine with the 3 of them made us all remember why we were there, and why the (significant amount of) hassle was worth it.
By 4pm it was time to come off for another hot chocolate and crepe before heading back down the hill, picking up the car and driving to our budget accommodation some 20 minutes away. This was the first time the kids had experienced staying off the snow, and it proved to be a great success. As we tucked into a quick pasta and movie before bed. Spirits were high.
The following morning saw the world blanketed in 15 cms of fresh snow – even at 800m below the resort altitude. The kids were blissfully unaware as Anthony wrestled with the snow chains in the predawn darkness. Breakfast was had and we made our way back up the hill. The mood had retreated somewhat from the previous afternoon’s highs as the spectre of ski school started to bear down again on Jessie and Sena.
This morning the rush was more controlled, our timing was good and a leisurely hot chocolate consumed before ski school o’clock. Ellie deposited. Jessie convinced, albeit with significant reservations, that it was inevitable. Sena dug her hills in. Spectacularly. It was the stereotypical 3 year old supermarket tantrum but with 5 year old force and volume. There was simply no way that she was going back to ski school. We rapidly (if somewhat noisily) retreated and cancelled the lessons, deciding instead to go skiing together for the morning.
Despite the somewhat inauspicious beginnings, we had a lovely morning. Sena again demonstrating her new found skiing prowess, having no problems following my snaking trail through the free snow of the green runs. By the time it was over she was shattered but happy.
We met the girls and enjoyed team crepes for lunch, before Jessie and Sena voted to have the afternoon off in the gaurderie and Ellie and Daddy hit the more challenging blues and reds around the resort.
We came off the mountain at 3pm, packed and rolled out by 3.30pm as planned, hoping to miss the worst of the traffic returning south to Aix and Marseille. As we settled into the drive, the real time feedback was a highly successful weekend (its amazing how kids have the capacity to just remember the good bits!).
Our last job before heading home was to pick up Bonnie from his holiday accommodation on a hobby farm about 20 mins from Aix. Unfortunately, to avoid the not-as-good-as-hoped-for traffic, Waze decided to send us on a very hilly and windy route through the hills north of Aix that is the route for Ironman 70.3 in May and one of Anthony’s cycling routes. Unfortunately the windy roads and no doubt the exhaustion of the weekend were too much for Jessie who was sick in the back of our previously new-car-smelling new car.
We eventually pulled in at 8.30pm on a Sunday night with 3 shattered, unfed and slightly vomit smelling kids, a trashed car and a dog that smelt like a goat. Liz, looking relaxed and smelling of day spa, arrived at exactly the same time, for some reason looking unimpressed with the situation.
I’m really not sure what her issue was.
Joseph Family Adventure 