It's a rainy, Summer, Wednesday evening and I find myself in a skanky hotel.
No, I'm not 16, or 19, or 21, or 23... though I found myself in more than one skanky hotel back then. Nor am I in Sydney, Florence or Tel Aviv.
I'm in the Blue Mountains with my two kiddles sleeping fitfully, in hard beds with hard pillows. We're very close to a railway line, but the rumbling railway isn't the only thing reminding me of Grandma's house. This hotel smells like a Grandma's house, only I think Grandma hasn't lived here for a looooong time. Perhaps the sheets have been changed, but nothing feels very fresh.
I thought such an old hotel would be a cool experience for my children... an adventure! But the white light beside my bed is way too bright, and just wait til you hear the story of dinner:
It began hopefully enough. Dinner, we were told, would be served from 6.30pm. By then the 5 young children in our company were very hungry. The dining room (with it's olde worlde charme) looked challenging for the parental management team (another Mama and me) but we tried our best to keeep all 5 little bums on seats, sitting nicely, quietly waiting, with no toilet words coming from their little mouths. We ordered 4 kids fish & chips, one kids' bolognaise, 2 Scotch fillets and vegetables.
"Sorry, possibly no spag bol, and um, maybe vegetables, but um we might not have any of those either."
When we entered the dining room, we were the only guests. After 5 minutes, a couple had arrived. One hour later: kids were fidgety and whining, the 2 other guests had their meals but there were no meals in sight for our table. After 1 hour and 10 minutes we were given a salad to share amongst the children. What a lovely thought... leaves, a scrap of tomato, 2 scraps of cucumber, raw onion and balsamic vinegar for the kiddies. Thanks.
Another 20 minutes passed and finally some scrappy fish and chips were served and devoured. Need I point out that we had entered the dining room at 6.30, it was now 8pm and the children are aged 9, 7 and 4 years. By the time the Scotch fillets arrived, I could have cried. My steak was large, slumped, tough, blackened and cold. It was most unpleasant to chew. The chef (if indeed there was one) had found some vegetables and had proceeded to load our plates with limp snow peas, raw cauliflower chunks and huge, half-peeled chunks of carrot. Really, what could have transpired in that kitchen? Was the chef only on work experience? Did he hate his job? Perhaps the chef was on leave (the house-keeper certainly was) and the hotel manager had done a poor impersonation?
So I drifted off to sleep asking myself: Why? Why? Why do you do it? Why do you think a mama road trip will be fun and adventurous? Sister, you live on an ISLAND! Learn to fish, enjoy the noise of the kids jumping around the island, zoom around in your boat! Sleep peacefully in your own comfy bed under your most delicious mozzie net!
Ahhh, but then we wouldn't have seen our friends who now live in the mountains. We wouldn't have enjoyed a bush walk down to the bottom of Minnehaha falls, where we imagined the strong women who have journeyed to birth there. We wouldn't have felt the cool water at the bottom and heard the rumbling thunder that beckoned us back up over the rocks and through the bush while the storm brewed around us.
Quote of the day from Choochie, wet and crying the whole way up from the Minnehaha Falls:
"I did NOT want to come to this place!"
PS. I know there's a lot to catch up on... Christmas festivals, the Island dog race, our first Island Christmas and New Year. It's all coming... As soon as I catch my breath. This place is socially exhausting!!
The Island Dog Race is an annual event which takes place on Christmas Eve. For our first time at this event, the afternoon was gloriously sunny and warm and the water was glistening. The Point was crowded with hundreds of spectators - all in very frivolous festive form.
