“Hi Mauwitius, how are you?” you exclaimed as you saw the island lights as we were about to land.
And as we got off the plane, you said: “Thanks for the lift, airplane”.
And that concluded a great flight during which you didn’t sleep a wink, but instead played, chatted, kicked the seat in front of you a bit, and pressed your nose so hard on the window watching the sky, plane and landing I thanked science for protective glass on aeroplanes. Flights with kids can go many ways, but you were great and showed a lot of restraint and manners (AND we were seated behind a honeymooning couple).
You fell asleep on the way to the hotel, and shortly after we arrived, in new luxury surrounds of Club Med with welcome champagne and smiles, you lost your shit. You wanted to go to mommy’s house (in Joburg), and your crying went on for about half an hour. No consoling, promises of ice cream or hugs would help.
And I felt for you little dude. I know how scared I sometimes get as an adult in new surrounds, and how I often just want my own familiar space, comforts and discomforts.
Somehow I coerced you into going to the restaurant for supper and if there was anyone who felt like a child, it was me. There was buffet station after buffet station, and I honestly didn’t know where to start. I often say that the hardest thing about being in a resort is deciding what to eat, and I wasn’t wrong.
And slowly you found a comfortable space, and realised that with a big pool, strawberry ice cream and sprinkles, and milk and drinks that come out of a machine, maybe “Mauwitius” wouldn’t be that bad.
Thank you for being a great travel partner,
PS: This is where we are. How could we want to leave?
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