If you read yesterday’s post, you know that my dearest wish was “for a better night and clear skies tomorrow.” One half of my hopes came true: we awoke to a gloriously sunny day today. Our night, one the other hand, consisted of a lot of up and down – I won’t go into details but just say that it was a double-ender for our eldest, and it wasn’t pretty. I’m fairly sure our family holds the local record for new sheet requests in a single stay. I’m hoping for a plaque in our room.
Such are the joys of travel with children. After breakfast yesterday, as a cold rain rivuletted down the windows, I remarked that it was just the sort of day that, if you didn’t have children, you’d crawl back into bed and spend the day cuddled up, snoozing, making languid love, and snoozing again. Without kids, last night would have been the kind of night, as the cool alpine air washed silently through the ink-dark room, you slept long and deeply and awakened completely refreshed. Instead we pulled ourselves out of bed groggy, grumpy, and smelling vaguely of vomit and diarrhea.
Even so, we managed to have a marvelous day on the trail, doing an easy loop path and having a picnic lunch at a mountain hut. Today’s photo is, of course, of mountains, this time framed by a log hut at our picnic spot. I pointed out to the boys how the structure was exactly like their Lincoln Logs, just on a larger scale. It was a magnificent place for a picnic, with drinks on offer kept icy-cold in a mountain stream. Made us forget all about the night before, except for a lingering sour stench, reminiscent of nothing so much as Florence Nightingale’s sick-spattered shoes after a double shift in a field hospital during a particularly virulent outbreak of Crimean cholera. Thank God for the view.