And this is why. I remember, you see. I remember being 14 years old and being completely hideous when my parents took us on a month long trip to Athens, Crete, Paris, London, Boston, Washington and New Orleans before we settled in Boulder Colorado for a 6 month stay.
Here I am with my mum and brother and sister at the Parthenon in Athens. It’s on the top of a bloody great hill you know, and we’d just walked up there. I was not pleased.
We did a lot of walking in Athens, I spent a lot of time being displeased. My poor mother.
And here I am in the gardens of the Meudon Observatory in Paris reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe and daring anyone to try to get me to be enthusiastic about the view or going for any more walks. (To be fair, I had the worst period pain that day.)
We went the the Louvre, maybe the next day? My strongest memory of being there was reaching a point at which I announced that if I saw one more painting of fat naked babies I was going to scream.
I did enjoy the food though, especially in Greece. Developed a taste for olives and fetta cheese in greek salad that was a little ahead of the culinary curve back here in Australia.
Maybe if we take the kids to Europe we should make it a culinary tour and we’ll sneak the visits to historical sites in between lots of seriously amazing meals. That’s a reasonable plan isn’t it?