Our Holiday: The results are in

Before we left these shores for sunnier climes a week or so ago, I was stressing about the packing and wondering just how our holiday was going to pan out. Now we’re home and I’ve just about reached the end of the unpacking-washing-ironing-sorting process that’s even more tedious than the packing one (which at least has the incentive of a holiday at the end of it).  I’ve finally had a chance to sit down and think about the answers to my burning holiday questions.

Will we fit everything in our suitcase? In a word, no. Surprise surprise, a 20kg luggage limit is not enough for a family of four for a week. We squashed and squeezed as much as we could into our biggest case, packing the overflow into a smaller suitcase. The overflow from the smaller case went into my biggest handbag, and the overflow from that went into the boy’s Trunki. The overflow from that was stashed under the baby’s buggy. The people behind us in the queue at security got a rough deal, watching in despair as we loaded our umpteen items of luggage, buggy and car seat onto the conveyor belt for scanning. If ever there’s a moment when for deciding that it’s staycations from now on, that was it.

How much will we have to shell out at the airport check-in? I can only assume that the check-in staff were half asleep or that they felt too sorry for us to make a fuss. Whatever the reason, they didn’t mention that our one checked-in bag was over the limit, nor did they seem to notice that we had so much hand luggage that we looked as though we were embarking on a family trek up Everest (via Alicante). So no extra charges at the airport at all – hooray!

Will we make it to the airport in time? I was so convinced that we’d never make it to the airport in time for our 5am check-in that I briefly considered staying up all night the night before we left. In the end I set my alarm (and Mr B’s alarm. And the radio alarm. And my iPad alarm) for 2.45am, crossed my fingers and went to sleep. When – what seemed like five minutes later – it went off, I fought the temptation to snooze. It wasn’t easy getting out of bed, but a holiday is the best reason for being up at that time of night/morning. I’d made Mr B, who’s notorious in our family for his tardiness, get organised the night before. The usual faffing about what to wear and so on was kept to a minimum so we could concentrate on getting the car packed and the children up and dressed. They were good, as it happened; too tired to object. The journey to the airport was easy as there weren’t many other cars around, and we made it in good time. Unfortunately so did all our fellow travellers, so we then spent an hour in the queue for check-in. Does anyone check in online? And if not, why not? We weren’t allowed to as we were travelling with a baby, but otherwise I’d have been first in the virtual queue.

Will I read a book? Ha! No. I read the first few pages of a novel that I’d optimistically crammed into one of our over-stuffed bags, but that was it. Time I could have spent reading was better spent sleeping, having long dinners and playing with the children in the sunshine.

How will the flight go? It was fine, if you consider trying to contain 11kg of unhappy baby on your lap for three hours to be fine. The boy was full of enthusiasm for the flight for the first fifteen minutes, at which point he declared that he was bored and started with the ‘are we there yet?’. We relied heavily on snacks to get us through, and by the time we disembarked I looked as though I’d been coated in breadcrumbs. This is why I can’t imagine us travelling long haul for at least a decade.

Will we avoid an emergency dash to the pharmacist? It was looking as though we’d escape our obligatory foreign chemist trip, right up to the point that Mr B picked the baby up ‘the wrong way’ and did something awkward to his back. Cue a trip to the pharmacy for anti-inflammatories. Ah well, it wouldn’t have felt like a proper family holiday without it.

How good is Mr B’s Spanish? It’s fair to say my suspicions were well-founded; Mr B has not, unfortunately, been hiding a talent for speaking fluent Spanish and had, perhaps, been staring out of the window during his lessons. We muddled our way through but had to rely on a lot of pointing and a fair bit of English to get what we wanted. So that’s why we go on holiday to France so often.

Will the boy eat anything? For a boy who likes potatoes, Spain was a pretty good choice. He’d have had tortilla for breakfast, lunch and dinner if we’d let him (and some days I think we did).

How many heart-stopping hire-car related incidents will there be?  I’d somehow failed to pick up on the fact that our accommodation was halfway up a mountain, and that that would entail us driving an unfamiliar car up the wrong side of some winding mountain roads. No-one mentions that in the reviews, even though those daily white-knuckle rides are some of my most vivid memories of the holiday.  I felt as though we’d go plummeting off the hill on several occasions, but in fact the only incident was us knocking someone’s wing mirror at a fairly gentle pace. We got off lightly, but next time I’ll pay a bit more attention to the location before I book.

What will we forget? We didn’t forget anything, but that’s no surprise given that we took virtually all of our possessions with us.

Will we actually relax? In spite of the endless packing, early starts, stressful journeys and crappy weather at the start of the week, this was one of our best holidays yet. The baby was full of joy at the change of scene and the boy had a fantastic time making new friends, feeding animals and playing, playing, playing. They even shared a room for the first time and, despite my reservations, slept brilliantly and seemed to really enjoy being together. I enjoyed having Mr B around for an entire week, with only the odd interruption from the Blackberry (even in the Spanish mountains there’s no escape), and he declared it a roaring success. It wasn’t a relaxing holiday in a 12-hours-on-a-sun-lounger way, but spending so much time together without worrying about working/cooking/washing and the usual daily drudgery was brilliant. Here’s to the next one.