This was the last time Blanka flew without a seat of her own, and I don't know who'll be happier the next time, me or the person in front of me whose hair she kept grabbing.
Luckily, the inflight entertainment was very good. Nothing like a sock-on-ear-elephant to cheer things up.
The local cuisine was no big thrill, but Wilhelm was very excited. He actually got to eat fries every day for a whole week. He just couldn't believe his luck. The masterpiece above is a sandwich of his own making ("FRIES and BACON on TOAST! I call it a Wilhelm sandwich".) He's showing some serious Brit tendencies, I blame his godmother.
But with this much attitude at 5, he'll probably be alright for the long run. Even on his Las Palmas diet.
It was very pretty. And ocean-y. And lovely.
And for a bunch of sun deprived Swedes, making shadow dinofingers was highly entertaining.
It's a fact that my husband is at his happiest while having bad coffee in a Spanish bar (it dates back to his Sturm und Drang days in Madrid). And I love that look he gets, talking football with the patrón, munching on some non-descript ham and stale bread, smoking, scratching his two day-stubble. Travels are good.
It was in fact a very good week.
But I missed Leo terribly!
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