It's hard to describe traveling with my mom without immediately lapsing into the dreaded preface "Well this one time..." 99% of my travels with mom stories involve us being lost. In our defense, there are some things you do not have to worry about when you're perpetually lost: missing out on those exciting residential streets or hand-gesture communication with the natives, getting an American version of the city, maintaining any sort of normal meal schedule, gaining weight from the bread/cheese diet, plans. We make up for organization and timeliness in gelato and coffee, in instances of her charging ahead and me trying to figure out how I'm going to explain her untimely, foreign demise to my siblings.
I've learned a lot traveling with my mom. Brunelleschi isn't a brand of chocolate. I learned the meaning of the word "hanger" (as in hunger + anger) with her, broke every traffic law in Paris with her, and slept in some scary hostels with her.
And now she's on my island! We started things off right by me rolling down a hill in an neolithic stone circle that turned out to be covered in slugs. It was a horrifying realization that I'd just made myself a human bulldozer and single handedly mashed onto my body a dozen or so black slime bugs with the internal consistency of snot. Based on the difficultly of freeing my clothes from the squashed, sticky slug pieces, I have to say that slug goo is probably the undiscovered adhesive of the century.
Sometimes traveling with my mom looks like me trying to catch a baby sheep, and her looking like a neolithic rock model.
Later in the Bath/Wiltshire area we ran across some big rocks. Those looked heavy, and we had THE SUN the whole day, which was glorious.
We happened upon the 15something-something Magna Carta in the Salisbury Cathedral! My mother's little heart was all a'flutter at seeing it in person. I found it difficult to read.
And we found HARRY POTTER'S HOUSE, and the abbey where THREE of the movies were filmed!!!! And my mother didn't care to get in the picture with me.
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