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| Not a squirt in sight...... |
My friend said to me the other day - "Why do people want to have children if they then spend all their time trying to get the fuck away from them?". She had a point. I struggled to think of a valid reason for having children. Of course we love them and shit, but why do people actually have them? My daily routine sometimes feels like; "Get them to school as fast as you can, and when they come home start focusing on getting them to bed as soon as humanly possible". Breathe. Drink. Repeat. We worry about them constantly as well - it's so exhausting. I'm convinced I'm fucking up the whole parenting thing all the time. I mean, we're definitely all going to fuck our kids up in one way or another. That's what parents do, they've been doing it for generations - so why do we think we're going to do it so much better? Well, we're not. It's our destiny to make a right mess of it and to be hated for eternity. And loved equally for even longer. We also worry about their futures, and the state of the planet we're leaving for them. Things just look so incredibly grim in the outside world of late. I feel like something's building up. Things are changing. The US November elections are going to be telling, lets put it that way. But when not tossing and turning over world environmental and human disasters, I'm constantly trying to get babysitters during the week just to have 3 hours to ourselves now and again. But a parents only weekend escape/// Well it's like the best thing ever. Ever. Even just for the joy of eating in a restaurant without telling some midget to stop tipping their glasses and then having to mop up the spilt drinks with napkins because they ignored me, and all the while they shriek how wet they they are. Kids are, without doubt, total mini freaks. All kinds of cute, but how long do they want to play that card for???
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| This was the early days, before they tried to eat her face off |
It's totally the same in the animal kingdom. Kids are annoying and parents have to suck it up. We watched a pigeon make a nest in our barbecue, and then lay and hatch two babies. It was like a nature show around my place - the fascination reached new levels. That's how urbanised my children are. Starved of a natural environment (the foliage surrounding them at home consists of 5 withered cacti and an orchid I keep forgetting to water), they couldn't get enough. The baby pigeons grew a bit and then the mother was gone. Totally gone. She was like "I've done my duty to those fluffy little knobs, it's all over". She did come back at one stage and the two teenage pigeons almost killed her while trying to get food out of her mouth. We were all screaming; "They're attacking her, they're attacking her". Bloody little feathery ingrates. She hasn't been back since. Those little fuckers are on their own - just get out my barbie and stop shitting on the outdoor furniture.
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| The on the plane happy face |
We had a "parents" trip on the approach with our besties - the particular weekend over the Jewish festival of Shavuot (not sure what this holiday is about either, I get confused after Passover - you wear white, have flowers in your hair and eat cheese, is the best I can do on short notice), had been set aside for quite a few weeks - dates confirmed, destination not so much. We would go out to dinner with our mates and brainstorm possible places to go (however these 'business meetings' were really just excuses to get away from the kids, and we never decided on anything - just blabbed and got pissy). That's the thing here, you can buy tickets to Europe, and other middle eastern countries (no, not Iraq, like Dubai, possibly Jordan......) for relative peanuts.....and flights are short. It's a really fun game - thinking of places to go that is. Now, that is something I'm going to miss while I'm sitting in Wagga Wagga during my long weekends.... thinking about Paris.
The most popular destination seemed to be Russia. This is partly because of the exoticness of the place, and partly because my husband's business partner has Russian oligarch connections and we would have been shown a really good time upon touching down in St Petersburg. I'm not sure what kind of a good time though - I imagined dancing on Russian grandfathers shoulders at a billionaires wedding while knocking back gold flecked vodka shots; patting somebody's pet tiger; being shown a private and extensive gun connection; trying on a floor length purple mink in a room made entirely of mirrors; tasering a poor person; and finally, arriving at a rooftop nightclub in a helicopter filled with strippers.....The issue is that Australians need a visa for Russia. Israeli's don't - they can waltz straight in, and seeing as my husband and mates were all in possession of Israeli passports those bastards were in like Flynn. I, on the other hand has some issues going on. I won't even bother explaining the process, lets just say you needed everything - flights accommodation booked and paid fore, an detailed itinerary of your movements while in the country, an invitation from Russia, plus you had to do things like list every school you ever went to and provide details of what your grandparents were up to in the 60s (I can only wish my grandparents were Cold War spies). It wasn't going to happen......or was it. Just a quick call to the billionaire mate and it was visas for Africa.......well, at least for me. The only issue was the cost - there's a reason why these cunts are rich let me tell you. Six fifty US for 4 days of holiday??? It was a no - it had to be. Even though I loved the thought of a black market visa acquired through alternate channels, I also had a few concerns with fucking with the Russians. I really didn't feel like taking the risk and living out the next decade in a Kremlin jail, despite how pretty that St Petersburg architecture is.
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| He may be the lefties darling these days but he is a hard core cunt, and don't you forget it |
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| Pretty |
We compromised. Bulgaria. To be honest, I'd never considered it as an option - I barely knew where it was, and nobody had ever said to me "You GOT to go to Bulgaria dude". But this is kind of fun, no? The random trip to nowhere in particular. I like that kind of thing. Just roll up with no plan, and see where it takes you.... And where it took us was as fun as. The first night was spent in the capital - Sofia - with a late night trip to a hidden bar lit only by hundreds of candles. The next morning it was up to get a rental car, and road tripping we did go. Waterfalls, rivers, monasteries in the middle of the forest, the mountains....You decide as you go. The monastery was astonishing - over 1000 years old and smack bang in the middle of the mountains. As we walked inside, a special group of monk tourists (possibly Russian orthodox - it can be difficult to tell) were having a little singalong - their deep voices echoed under the high fresco painted ceilings in the dim, cool interior. The acoustics inside were soul stirring. The only fly in the poo was exactly that. The toilets. I've been in some dodgy toilets in my life but this was new levels. I don't think they'd been cleaned in 1000 years either. It's surprising how long you can hold on for when you have to. My friend tried to warn me. I was still ill prepared for the reality.
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| Think about the paintings, don't think about the poo, the poo, don't mention the poo |
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| See? Repulsive.... |
Bulgaria is bloody big though, and because of the mountains you have to go round and round - short distances take ages. Apparently in winter, the skiing is unbelievable. That's where we stayed the second night - in a ski mountain town at an extremely fancy pants hotel for a mere 100 euros a night. There was a slight kerfuffle at the start - I'm usually against ski towns out of season - they are creepy, and I've discussed The Shining several times in this regard. The female members of our little gang were not too pleased with the apparent outcome, and we were not holding back with our outward displays of displeasure; "This place sucks! We hate it! We want to go to Melnik - they have really nice wines! What are we doing in this shithole?". This went on for quite some time, I'm sure it was very irritating for my husband who booked and already paid for the hotel. We even refused to get out of the car when we stopped "NOOOOO we're not getting out! Don't open the boot! It sucks here, let's go already". My husband was having none of it. My friend said she felt my husband mentally smacked her like a two year old.....But I think he went easy on us, as I write that, I realise how annoying we must have been. But far from being as crap as we imagined, this place was unbelievable and actually packed with Bulgarians on weekend breaks. There was obviously much less chance of being driven insane by ghosts and putting axes through each other's skulls. Every guest in the hotel wore their white towelling dressing gowns all over the place - to the pool, to the bar, cruising round the corridors. As we were sitting up at the bar with half a bottle of chilled rose in each wine glass and a giant plate of cheese (which we ate so much we both got the shits), we had to admit we were temporarily wrong. Only to each other of course - there was no going the other way - my husband was just itching for that slight hint of vulnerability - like admitting we were mistaken....there would have been carnage, shit would have got ugly.
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| It's no Melnik.... |
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| It pains me. Pains me. |
So it really was actually cool in Bansko, and all kinds of beautiful. That night we ate in 'traditional' Bulgarian restaurant (basically, think animal body parts), in a place decorated with bear skins and a large fountain in the middle of the restaurant - they were obviously channelling the minimalist vibe. We were picked up and dropped off by the owner who had his band serenade us as we were leaving. Following that, Ivan was instrumental in burning our oesophagus's out, by handing round a special 'Bulgarian brandy' which tasted like cleaning fluid and was apparently 70% alcohol. Afterwards we had some drinks with some locals who told us we had to come back in winter for the snooze, and then it was back home to the fluffy dressing gowns.
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| Spotify some Bulgarian folk music, its touching. Really. |
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| It may not be a purple mink - but bear will do. |
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| Thanks for the lighter fluid Ivan |
Spontaneity is the most fun - and thus in that vein we made a random decision to drive 5 hours in the Rhodopian mountains to the Bulgarian/Greek border and attend Meadows in The Mountains - a festival started by a couple of British brothers a few years ago. Here's a spiel;
....and it is through this very tradition that curator brothers, Benjamin and Damain Sasse have the most great and humble pleasure in inviting festival goers to cast aside their daily woes, shrug off the binding chains of the 9-5 and indulge in a debauched weekend of mind-expanding experience, community and free spirit to skip through the fields and forests with untamed abandon and to lay with the fireflies and nighttime skies in the long grass of the Meadows in the Mountains Festival!...."
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| You bunch of (wealthy) hippies |
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| Spin that fan scarf love |
Sure. Why Not? Originally we were going to some hot springs town and then to the city of Plovdiv. But as I reminded everyone - we can do that shit when we're old. We were without the kids for the love of God. The way things are going, we only have a couple more years of attending festivals before people spot us and think "Awwwww someone brought their Mummy along". And this would be more than possible, as the entire festival was made up of 20 year old pommies with trust funds - or trustafarians as they are commonly known as.. I could have easily been their mothers as well. Not all of them, there were 1000 people there - like one or two. I wore sunglasses and a hat even at night, it was for the best. The drive there was stunning. Absolute mountain beauty and extremely memorable - even if we didn't spot any bears. The only catch, was that all the tickets had been sold out. Lara and I didn't mention this little inconvenience to the boys before we started out (and they were the ones doing all the driving - possibly for nothing but rejection at the end). But where there's a will there's a way. And seriously, who was going to tell four Australians who rolled up on their doorstep in the middle of the Bulgarian mountains that they couldn't come to the party? All the same, we constructed a lie that we were party scouters, looking to bring groups of fresh faced Aussies over the next year. Lara was the DJ, me the installations artist, Dan the promoter and Chalks the financier (although he despised his role and said everyone hates the money man). Lara also had one of those moon cripple boots on her foot, which is not conducive to dancing on top of a mountain, but is useful for getting freebies, lifts and unlimited access to the shortcut lane in the airport. Unfortunately one of the organisers was on to us. He was dialling off his tree, and was like; "You guys are just milking it aren't you?" You can't hide from LSD gods..... He explained that he had broken his pelvis once and the brace he had to wear got him so many shortcuts that he kept in on for ages - he knew we were using the cripple to our personal advantage and financial gain. Nevertheless, we still got day tickets, festival mugs and a lift up to the top of the mountain with a Bulgarian farmer called Dimiter, while all the other suckers walked.
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| Chalks and Emi feeling the love up a tree platform |
We were in - inner than a belly button on an obese person. And it was AWESOME. I mean it when I say it was like going back in time to the old school techno parties/bush doors of old, but with a folky edge. You know what I mean? - before everything became mainstream and commercialised. All the musicians were unsigned artists, everything was constructed in wood - the bars, the seats, the stages.......the food was locally made, and they had things like a giant wooden Trojan horse, some kind of wicker man to burn, and a giant hammock - which looked really awkward to get out of, a pirate boat, and apparently a 'death slide' but I must have been looking in the wrong place for that. All the people were so friendly, and the view was like heaven. It was so so beautiful up there. I was 20 again, only without a bindi, or a tie-on backless tank-top with pieces of reflective material sewn all over it, and matching pants. I was also without the social anxiety you have at the fresh age of the late teens/early 20s.
It really was a great festival. If you get your shit together early and sort out tickets in advance, you can even get accommodation. The villagers at the bottom of the hill all move out of their old school country cottages for the weekend, and open their doors to the 'kids'. There is also 'glamping', and of course the old 'bring your own piece of shit tent and stick it up in some field' option. I always love looking at festival fashions as well. My favourite looks were the neanderthal dude - he was wearing an animal skin across his arse and had a stick and really stayed in character from what I could tell. Either just for the hell of it, or he'd got a bit loose with the amount of acid he was indulging in and literally could only grunt and wave a stick. Also the guy in the wedding dress was having the time of his life, and another dude with an outfit made entirely of bubble wrap. I'd imagine it'd be a touch sweaty though. All the chicks wore flowers in their hair, bikini tops and shorts with their bums hanging out. And those bums were good. Very good. I can't remember ever having a one that good, they'd have to be doing some serious squats wouldn't they? It was impressive regardless.
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| Beeeewtiful |
We didn't stay for the long haul though - after all we were the Mums and Dads Staying up all night and doing it again three times over is just beyond me. Besides, I haven't had botox for a couple of years and my morning look is fairly scary. I need a bed at night these days, I just do. With crispy white sheets. Call me Princess, but admit it - you all do as well. Unfortunately the sheets that night weren't so white or so crispy. They had that synthetic feel of straight out of the packet without being washed. The little Plovdiv hotel were drove to post festival was brand spankin' new, and they made the worst breakfast and totally messed up the bill. But give them their dues they did wait until after midnight for us to arrive. Plovdiv was also very cool. It's supposed to be as old as 6000 years and there were a lot of Roman ruins scattered around and underneath the new city. But there's no time to linger when the babysitters back home in Israel are feeling the hardcore pinch. Deal with it arseholes, now you know how we all feel everyday of our miserable lives.
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| Under city Roman ruins - check!! |
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| Yes, yes and more yes |
Our last night in Sofia was spent living it up in a golden room of deliciousness - sometimes you have to treat yourselves. We went a little hard on the drinks though, but surprisingly the waiters tolerated our photo session at various points around the restaurant pre-departure. On our return, despite our husbands going on for days about wanting to visit strippers at the Gentlemen's club in the basement od pour fancy hotel (there was also a casino a floor down as well), the two big pussies went to beddie byes. It meant it was left up to the wives to carry the torch. We spied on a wedding in the banquet room (which was more fun than it sounds I swear), and then popped down to the strip club below. Even though we were there not drinking anything and taking photos they were really nice to us. Saw a couple of girls in their undies to round off the adult excursion, and then after a small snooze it was off to our 6am Wizz Air flight back to Tel Aviv. One aborted landing later (I hate it when the plane pulls out of a landing, it scares the shit out of me) and we were touchdown. Back to reality. The kids were happy to see....... the presents. After all, it is essential to follow up on bribery; while we, the poor suffering parents were back to planning our next trip away. I don't think we'll be able to get away with another cherished parents holiday for a while, so it's back to fighting in the car, disrupting other guests in hotels and restaurants, begging for sugar laden treats, and screaming because we've dragged them on a walk of over 200 metres. The good life.
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| So thirsty, So so thirsty |
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| Mmmmmm |
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| the barman really wanted to go home.... |
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| My vote for best trip photo |
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| Well, she does look slightly manish here.... |
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| Where's the chicks? |
But then our little sweeties have a birthday, and they're so excited and cute about it all. You realise that you really don't care about anything except them, and you wonder how the hell your life had any meaning before they came along. When they sleep, their little faces still look like they did the day they were born. And as I keep reminding myself, soon the pictures and the love notes and the cuddles and the climbing into our bed at night are going to stop, and they'll be the ones wanting to escape us - as we all did to our parents. Travelling without them is a lot of fun, but I'm always just waiting to see them by the end of the trip. I feel like it's thanks to our parents that we understand that these years are precious.....and short, and despite having fun complaining, I think we all are really are making the most of being parents, shortcomings and all.
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| 1,2,3....Awwwwwwww |
