Tuesday’s IN-BOX

“Well…as Chris said we are here in spain for just a couple more weeks heading back to England around the 20th March before heading back to Australia. A real bum poo as we are in an idealic spot….BUT….we would LOVE to see you and if you wanted to jump on the next plane over here for a brief splash of spanish sun and a taste of greater europe you’d be more than welcome …”

That was the paragraph that changed everything. (dum dum daaaaa)

This too-tempting invitation from good friends Chris and Claire sent us scrambling for the phone and the laptop. One phonecall to Timshel’s work to ascertain the urgency of his current project, another phonecall to Chris and Claire to say “Really?” followed by internet research on fares, tickets, timetables, arrival times, airports and maps maps maps. A constant rally of “Should we? Shouldn’t we go?” was played as we dialled, clicked, flicked and scanned.

If we wanted to go we would have to leave Friday morning. We could catch a train to London, stay the night in London and then leave first thing the next day to catch a bus to Standsted airport. The flight to Spain takes two hours. Chris and Claire could pick us up from the airport and drive us to their home in Comillas, a small fishing village. We would stay a week and then leave three days before Chris and Claire were due to leave the country.
“Should we? Shouldn’t we?”

We agreed to cost our little excursion.
It seems that the kind of fun spontaneity that sees you ‘popping off to a Spanish villa” costs muchos Euros. No bargain travel deals for us. As well as expensive train, plane and bus fares, the logistics of getting to a relatively remote part of Spain would necessitate an overnight stay in London.
“Should we go? Shouldn’t we?”

We decided to contact some friends in London to see if we could stay the night with them. (The thought of catching up with some familiar faces was very exciting too!) Our friends were excited about the possibility of us coming to stay but also warned “It is a bit of a party-house”. Our mates from Melbourne, Sarah and Tony Venz, live with 10 other Australians. Looking at the bare facts (let alone the reputation of party hungry young Australians in London) we agreed that it would not be ideal accommodation for a couple with a young child. Then we researched overnight accommodation in London. The most basic (read stinky loud hostel) rate was £80 for the three of us. Converted to Australian dollars, this is around $180. $180 for a room that smells like a lad named Barry who has hates baths and loves curry.
“Should we? Shouldn’t we?”
It seemed that neither of our accommodation options were ideal. It would be lovely to see Tony and Sarah but what if we were kept awake all night by a bloke named Bazza? After some discussion (purely theoretical at this stage) we agree that staying with our friends may be the better option. Our reasoning is that yes, there is a risk of Bazza, Shazza and Gazza being loud but at least we don’t have to pay the privilege of their good company. I have had some awful hostel experiences in the past and don’t want to have to PAY for Bazza, Shazza and Gazza in a Barry-smelling room.

Wednesday

I argue that this is an amazing opportunity to see a non-touristy part of northern Spain, with good friends as our hosts. “It will be fun to share in a part of the life that Chris and Claire have been living!”
Timshel is looking at our bank balance, then at a piece of paper with the estimate of the trip costs, and muttering under his breath.

9 am, Thursday

¡Olé!
I am packing and humming a little happy song. Timshel is scowling and shaking his head every now and then. I bite my lip and leave the room but on my return find him bent over a map of Spain with an excited little grin. We are apathetic and excited and … going! We are taking the laptop so Timshel can sit on a sun-drenched balcony, drinking Sangria and (languidly) continue working his programming job. Reuben and I will pick olives and go into town for tapas.

9 pm, Thursday

We are packing light (yeah ha ha ha) as most of the space in our pack is taken up with a car seat for Reuben. We are keen to take up Chris and Claire’s offer of an airport pick-up but will need a car seat for the 40 minute journey. I would rather carry a booster seat to Spain then resort to taking the bus, which has no seatbelts anyway, or risk travelling without a car seat. I have been emailing Spanish car hire companies to see if any of them would let us a hire a car seat without hiring a car. No luck.

Friday departure

After our latest attempt at international travel, we are keen to avoid the panic of running late. So we race out of the house with our toast in a paper bag and coats under our arms in an effort to catch a bus that will deliver us to the station with an hour to spare. As I sit watching drizzle fall on the platform of Durham station eating cold toast in a pre-coffee haze, I contemplate the irony of this.
Timshel is lent over the laptop preparing a platform-hack: the first class carriage of the train to London has free internet access and we have been informed by (un)reliable sources that if you stand just outside of the first class carriage when it pulls into the station you can log in. Hey presto, free internet for all the plebs! Our (un)reliable source is a mate who studies Canon law with Paul. Paul assures us this is not a sinful act as his Canon lawyer friend has put a good deal of work into making it justifiable. So, here I sit with a husband engaging in illegal activity, a sleeping baby and hanging pot plants that sway when the trains rush through. We are London-bound and beyond that, SPAIN! Eeeeeee.

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 9th, 2006 at 9:22 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.