When someone hears about a five-week trip to Europe, the response is usually one of shock. Sort of like the moment someone announces they will be having a leg amputated the next day. Or that they're joining a cult. Or that they're voting for Donald Trump.
Once they've gotten past the initial shock of five weeks, they inevitably go here next:
“Who’s watching the kids?”
“We are.”
“How can you do that from there?”
“Uh, what?”
The kids are coming. Like this time and this time. They'll say great things, they’ll experience the big world we live in, they’ll hear people speak in different languages, they’ll appreciate the time with family, they'll be exposed to history, and the entire thing will be memorable and special. All that and Jess will likely walk into something large and immovable. Awwwww!
One can't really plan much when traveling with three kids (now 10, 7, and 4), but we do have a bit of a plan:
On Wednesday, fly from Denver to Reykjavik, direct and through the night. We’ll eat bad airplane food, watch cheesy movies on a small screen, sleep with hundreds of strangers on pillows we blow up with our mouths, and mutter to ourselves about how much we paid for this fine experience.
After spending a few days in Reykjavik, we’ll fly to Munich. Here, Jess will enjoy a sampling of the amazing German Bier she missed out on last time. There will be sausages too. And castles.
It will still be March, which means it will still be cold. Our sweaters and we will then fly to Naples in search of sun, sea, and spaghetti.
From there, it’s four weeks working our way north through Italy, fueled by wine, pasta, and gelato. We’ll laugh, we’ll cry, and we’ll no longer wonder why Fellini movies are so weird and crazy.
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| Five clowns traveling through Italy. Is this us or is this a Fellini movie? |
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