There was a lot to plan out since a trip to the homeland for me isn't as simple as picking a beach and there staying for the duration. I have relatives in various places and a visit to each must be made since we only see each other every couple of years. Plus this time little F. would be coming along to meet everyone for the first time.
Logistics had to be figured out so that no one felt left out and yet the three of us still managed to have a good holiday and not one of those 'if-its-Belgium-it-must-be-Tuesday' types.
I figured out that we could stay 5 days in each locale. Five days in Estarreja, the town with the nearest decent hotel to our relatives in Murtosa and Salreu; five days in São Gião, a small idyllic mountain village where my father hails from and where my Avó still lives; and then five days in Tábua, a large town where my Tia lives with her family.
But of course in between these mini-stays, there would be travel from one place to another, as well as day-trips and the seeing of friends. Phew! Getting tired just remembering it.
All of this would be fatiguing enough if it was just moi and Papa-in-Training, but we also had Baby F. with us. We'd never traveled farther than a little north of NYC with her, so we were understandably apprehensive about how she'd do with both the long-distance train and car travel as well as the biggie: transatlantic flights.
Gah!
Maybe we should put it off for a couple more years. Then she'd be a bit older and better able to deal with plane travel. But the tickets were bought and paid for and my family was super excited to see us and meet the baby.
Both Papa-in-Training and moi are air travel veterans. During our courtship a few years back, we spent more than our share of time shuttling back and forth between Newark and Heathrow Airports. We'll be recycling and upcycling and wearing out our clothes to threads and not owning a car forever in order to make up for the damn gigantic carbon footprint we acquired during that period. This is all to say that we are well familiar with babies on board. I'd long ago learned to tune out their cries by well, using ear plugs or headphones and realizing that there was nothing to be done and you might as well make the best of it.
But we also remember how crazy other passengers could get when there is a crying baby on a flight. I myself witnessed the pure uncensored fury exhibited by one grand example of humanity who seemed to be advocating that we throw the child out of the plane, so that he could get his 6 hours of beauty sleep.
So to say that we were a bit worried about how F. would react is perhaps an understatement.
I'd spoken to her pediatrician who'd recommended that she always have something to suck on, either a pacifier or a bottle during take-off and landing. She also recommended we give her some Benadryl but we decided to ignore that advice as my own reaction to having taken it once wasn't good. I wasn't about to medicate my baby just so she wouldn't make noise - we weren't about to try and escape North Korea for fuck's sake, just get from one continental shelf to another.
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| Baby F.'s First Plane Ticket! (technically this is her return ticket, but i couldn't find the other one. oops.) |
We dutifully made sure that F. always had something to gnaw on and, behold, for there was quiet joy!
She barely made a peep during the whole trip. She cried a couple of times out of tiredness, etc, but she only cried for about a minute or so each time, which if anyone had a problem with, well, they can just go take a hike.
Having myself experienced non-stop crying jags on planes, I could barely believe our luck! The flight attendants fawned over her, other passengers cooed to her, and the flight was a success.
…Well, I didn't get any sleep, but that's normal for me on planes ;o)
But then we arrived in Lisbon…and still had to travel up north…
(To be continued)
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