Toddlin’ tourists
Here’s a word of advice on traveling to Europe with a toddler.
Don’t!
(AP)
GETTING THERE: For our trip in early April, round-trip airfare on Aer Lingus for four adults and one child under 2 totaled $2,445. Baby didn't get a seat, so her fare was only $117. Airfares are higher now -- a similar trip cost $3,046 in June. Be sure to ask about the "bassinet row;" aerlingus.com.
STAYING THERE: All of the B&Bs we stayed at welcomed babies and didn't charge extra for them, but two stood out as especially family-friendly: the Elderberry in Westport, County Mayo (elderberrywestport.com), which charged a nightly rate of $93 a couple for big, beautiful rooms and an outstanding breakfast; and the Abbey Bed & Breakfast in Derry, Northern Ireland, which cost $99 for a two-person room and a good breakfast (www.abbeyaccommodation.com). The Abbey provided a crib and a high chair and even did our smelly baby laundry for free.
TODDLER TIPS: Bring a pack of disposable diapers and be ready to buy more. Also take a can of powdered formula (for when you can't get milk), a pack of wipes, a pad or blanket for diaper changes, two changes of clothes for every day, a few books and a favorite toy.
Toddlers can be tough on planes — squirmy, weepy and prone to running up and down the aisles. Once overseas, they’re jetlagged and it can take days to get them on a sleep schedule. You’ll change diapers on the floors of tiny bathrooms, and unless you find a baby-sitter, you can’t go to the theater, eat at fancy restaurants or stay out late.
But if you’re brave and Grandma can’t take the little one for a week, bringing baby doesn’t have to be a disaster — as long as you adjust your expectations. Once you’ve decided that chasing pigeons in a Dublin park is just as good as a tour through the National Gallery, it can be fun.
My 19-month-old daughter is named for Grace O’Malley, the 16th century pirate queen of County Mayo, on Ireland’s wild, beautiful west coast. My husband Jim O’Malley’s family is from Mayo, and he was anxious to show it to us. We wanted to wait until Grace was older, so she could remember the experience. But family circumstances compelled us to go this spring. So off we went, with baby and two teenage daughters in tow.
I worried about this trip. The warrior strain runs deep in Grace — she’s strong and fast and sneers at the law of gravity. I was afraid I’d spend 10 days snatching her off the edges of cliffs.
Our first pleasant surprise was Aer Lingus, which is prepared for little kids. We were given the “bassinet row,” which meant the tray in front of our seats folded down to hold a cardboard box with a cushion inside. After crying over the pain in her ears for half an hour, Grace fell asleep and went into the box. An hour before landing, she woke up and blinked sleepily before vomiting all over herself, me, and Jim’s backpack. The flight attendants quickly and cheerfully brought us soapy rags and we got the mess cleaned up.
In Dublin, we headed straight for an unlikely toddler destination: Guinness Brewery.
When my husband visited years ago, the tour was of the actual Guinness factory, complete with workers and big vats of hops. The tour has since moved out of the factory and turned into a seven-story ad for Guinness (think videos of fields of barley) and was disappointing ... for everyone but Grace. She loved the ramps to run on and a waterfall (touting the brew’s pure water) that she could stick her hand into.
For the rest of the trip, we kept asking ourselves, “What would be fun for Grace?” Instead of a cab to St. Stephen’s Green, we took a horse-drawn carriage so Grace could point at the horses and say “arf arf!” (She thinks all four-legged animals are dogs.) We kept to casual restaurants or pubs so we wouldn’t have to worry if she was noisy. We sought out parks and made sure she had ample time to run around (i.e. wear herself out).
The key was for the adults to be flexible and helpful to one another. When Grace kicked up a fuss at Kilmainham Jail, I bailed on the tour and took her to the tearoom. My husband returned the favor later by letting me climb Crough Patrick (St. Patrick’s mountain) on my own while he amused Grace at Campbell’s pub down below. Our big girls were unfailingly helpful, baby-sitting Grace in the B&B one night to let my husband and me enjoy traditional music at Matt Malloy’s pub in Westport (County Mayo).
The people of Ireland also made our lives easier; without exception, we found them friendly to children. Everywhere we went, Grace was a hit. We heard, “Look at her — she’s GAR-geous,” all over the island. Pubs permit children before 9 p.m. and many provided high chairs. All of them washed out Grace’s bottle and filled it with milk, free of charge. At Cassidy’s in Dublin, musician Brian Brody sang Grace songs and got her dancing. At Dublin’s Stag’s Head, an old haunt of James Joyce, a young bartender amused her by pretending drink stirrers were drumsticks. Cozy Joe’s in Westport had toys. The Tavern restaurant in Westport provided a complimentary “baby bowl” with a mash of potatoes and carrots.
The best surprise of the trip came on Clare Island. This was where the original Grace O’Malley built a fort. Her tomb is here, in an ancient chapel.
I’m told the island is great in the summer, but in early April it was cold, rainy and unbearably windy. The guidebook had promised a pub in a hotel, but it had burned down. So after we’d seen the tomb and the roofless fort, there was nothing to do during the six-hour wait for the return ferry but walk in the wind and look at sheep. My oldest daughter wasn’t feeling well. We were all ready to be crabby and argumentative. All of us, that is, except Grace. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her. She loved walking into the wind and chasing a friendly collie along the beach.
For the first time, I saw Grace not as “the baby,” but as a unique individual — joyful and utterly fearless. On that day, she taught us all how to have a good time, and we sang songs, in spite of the rain. An hour before the ferry came, Mr. McCabe from the Granauille House B&B, busy with repairs and not expecting guests, took pity on us and treated us to tea and cookies by an open fire.
After all this, Grace was so worn out we were able to go to a fancy restaurant, Quay Cottage in Westport, serving fish so fresh they were practically swimming. Grace slept through it.
One day we’ll take Grace back to Ireland when she can better remember it. For now, our own best souvenir from the trip is remembering Grace, running around the stone fort of her warrior ancestress, and greeting sheep, cows and dogs with a cheerful “arf arf!” The pirate queen had come home.
Mary Wisniewski is the Sun-Times’ transportation reporter.