Youth is the Swiss Army knife of travel
Avoiding pure familial nuclear meltdown
Ladies, I feel a shift in authority.
This past week, we travelled abroad to Spain to visit one of our kids. Another kid joined us midway through the trip. When I say “kid” I really mean “young adult” because that, technically, is what they are. And technically we are “middle aged” (112 here I come!) verging on senior citizen.
When I think of a “young adult” I think of hope, time and nice skin. A perky brain (and boobs) goes with youth, too. It also implies an ability to adapt easily to change and learn new skills.
“Middle aged” basically implies the opposite. Certainly in the perky department, it does.
When you’re traveling with “young adults” it’s like you brought a Swiss Army knife of life with you. And, bonus! One that won’t get confiscated by airport security.
Can’t figure out how to get the Goddamn metro ticket out of the machine? Don’t worry, your young adult knows. Super fast, too!
Can’t find something and you know it was right there. Your young adult can see it. It’s in your hand.
Can’t hear what the hell someone said? Your young adult has ears like a dog. Trust them to know what was said even in a foreign language.
Anything new to see in the part of the world you’re visiting? They already know about it AND bought tickets…with your credit card that’s on their phone.
That’s not to say we wouldn’t eventually figure it all out, my husband and I. We would! Just a lot slower and with some cursing. Maybe a little spat. Which brings me to the last attraction we planned to see on our trip to Spain and its undoing.
A Train to Montserrat.
We planned to leave by 9 AM. It was going to be a lovely day outside of Barcelona with our girls. There would be a train ride and a cable car and a wonderful tapas meal at an ancient site in Spain. The birds would sing and we’d all spin around on top of a mountain …wait, that’s Sound of Music. Different country.
The undoing began a few days before the planned outing to Montserrat. One kid left to go see friends. In Greece. Still, we had another kid left to come with us. Great! The sun was shining when we woke up at 9AM. Already late and we hadn’t even started. Shifting baggage from Abroad Kid to our hotel with Visiting Kid, we began our journey to Montserrat about five hours late. It was twelve by the time we hailed a cab.
We told the driver which station to head to and he dropped us across the road and pointed toward a building. I do love a train station. So romantic!
After we got out of the cab the three of us stood there looking for the station. I am searching for a gorgeous building. You’ve seen the Impressionist paintings of train stations, grand glass and steel palaces full of steam and sunlight and passengers dressed in their finest. Paris, 1901.
Needless to say, we were looking above ground for the station. We saw big buildings and walked to each but no trains. This took quite a while. Meanwhile, our daughter is starting to realize a family trip to Montserrat might not be such a great idea after all. In her defense, we’d been at it over an hour and not left Barcelona or found the train station.
We find the station, or really a sign. It points below ground. The train is a commuter rail, basically. Well, so much for romance.
No matter. At the escalator down to the platform, our daughter lets us know she has an exam at five. It’s one. We do the travel math: one hour there, one back, an hour and a half to wander around. It can work! But, in my heart I know that’s a bad idea. Kid will be stressed, parents will be annoyed. Kid will be annoyed, parents will be stressed. No one had eaten yet. Kid gets cut loose. Parents descend to the train.
The train ride was fine. A bit crowded. A fascinating array of families from every nation and walk of life. No dining car, but it was only an hour trip. No problem.
To get to Montserrat there are two steps to arrival: a train from Barcelona to the station and then we had the choice to ride another train up to the mountain top that is Montserrat or a cable car. The travel guides said the cable car is faster and fun! Cable car it was.
I’d like to meet that travel writer who neglected to mention the part about crowds and the cable car. The writer could mention that it might take two hours to get up to the top and we would be crammed into a tin can on a wire. That’s in mid-April. I’d like to make that writer take the trip mid-summer.
Irritating to say the least, but all we could think of was: thank God the kids aren’t here. Unfed on a trip to a place they really weren’t interested in for hours and hours would have been a setting for pure familial nuclear meltdown. The Chernobyl of family outings.
We reach the top of the cable car trip. It’s quite a view. The weather is lovely. We wonder how anyone built a monastery way up here. We are happy, holding hands. We walk up a steep hill to the Basilica, we decide to go eat. We walk back down. No cozy tapas bar to be had. We eat a gross sandwich.
We walk back up the hill. We go to the line and are told to purchase a ticket with a QR code. We try. It’s sold out. But, maybe we can get a ticket at the ticket booth…down the hill. We go down the hill. Again.
We go to a place that looks like they sell tickets. They don’t. We go to the information booth to ask where they sell tickets. They do. But, they are sold out. But, not for the most basic ticket for the Basilica, and you can see the silver thrown a little bit. We buy it and walk back up the hill. We go into the Basilica. It’s really pretty. You can even see the silver throne like they said. A little bit.
Then we walk around and again agree that we are truly blessed that our kids were not with us on this particular journey. Blessed. They would have been epically annoyed and you know who bears the brunt of their kids being annoyed? We parents. We who used to have all the authority and now have less. With that in mind we held hands and walked down the hill, again, to the cable car and drifted towards the train to Barcelona and a happy family dinner at a romantic tapas bar.
Meet me in the comments!
Notice any changes in your place of authority with your “young adults”? In what way?
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I laughed all the way through. Been there, done that (not the Basilica, but traveling with young adult kids). I also remember being the young adult kid traveling with parents and feel a bit guilty about what a brat I could be. At a certain point, if you’re lucky, you are the middle aged child traveling with your aging parent and you appreciate the love of travel they gifted you and can thank them and apologize for your young adult impatience. for now, know your kids are blessed that you’ve exposed them to so much that they feel confident breaking off from you in foreign places to go off alone!
Love how much you travel with your girls. Such a treat!