... in Canada and America

The Adventures of the Anonymous Four in Canada and America

I think it’s important to have ground rules. So from before we left it was made clear that should any of the hotel rooms have blinds, then nobody, under any circumstances, was to touch them.

The trip began in earnest at 4am on Friday morning. For reasons that I don’t fully understand Fiancé and I had left packing until Thursday night. Not Thursday evening – Thursday night. We went to bed somewhere in the region of 2am, so the alarm going off a couple of hours later was particularly unwelcome. What lay ahead was a one hour drive to Heathrow, a couple of hours waiting, eight hours on an aeroplane to arrive in Canada at 11am on Friday morning with our bodies considering it to be well and truly bed time.

I reality it was not destined to be that simple. Middle Bro arrived promptly to drive us to Heathrow. On check in we were told that we couldn’t sit together as most of the seat on the plane had been pre-booked. She did her best to get us as close together as possible (which ended up being sat one behind the other) but advised us to speak to the people at the gate to see if there was the possibility of being sat together.

This we did. And we couldn’t be. It also seemed that a few other families were also seated separately. I looked on the tickets for the slogan ‘Air Canada – proud to hate families’. It wasn’t there and I wondered why.

We had breakfasted in the airport – full English all round. As I tucked into the fried egg I mentioned that I once microwaved an egg. I had always been told that it couldn’t be done. So, when I was a bored student on the outskirts of Aberdeen I thought today is the day. I got a saucer and cracked an egg onto it. As far as I recall I only microwaved it for a few seconds, watching it carefully through the glass – which in hindsight was probably very dangerous. When I took it out it looked perfect. It was completely round, the yolk bright and bulging. It seemed to have worked marvellously. My appetite whetted I eased my fork into the sumptuous yolk. There was a most almighty bang – like a bomb going off, and when I looked down at the plate there was nothing there. Nothing at all. Within a few seconds the burning sensation on my face alerted me to where some of the egg had gone, and looking around the kitchen in a stunned and bemused way I saw the rest of the egg strewn around the walls and ceiling. It was amazing how far one small egg could go.

Fiancé bought an adaptor for use in America. Having bought it he then spotted one that could be interchanged to work in America or Europe and swapped it. He needn’t have bothered. Having bought it we never saw it again, presumably leaving it behind somewhere in Heathrow.

Once on the plane Fiancé asked the air hostess if we could be moved a little close together. She looked at the group of us before saying ‘so it’s you and your three girls’. He grinned, and I rose a couple of inches to try and demonstrate grown upness. She took the hint.

In the end we weren’t too far apart. It mattered little as I slept for most of the flight, helped along by the vast number of drugs I was taking for the tonsillitis, which had rather conveniently come on the previous day.

As we prepared for takeoff Stepchild the Elder expressed her anxiety about planes. To make her feel more at ease I explained that in the unlikely event it fell out of the sky, it would reach the ground so fast that she wouldn’t even have time to adopt the brace position. ‘Is that this one’ she asked, leaning forward in a perfect demonstration of the pictures in the safety leaflet. ‘That’s it’ I replied, ‘lean forward and kiss your arse goodbye’.

We had another breakfast on the plane, and lunch.

Having arrived at Canada we took a taxi to the hotel, at which the girls were in awe. Doorman in a red coat, sweeping entrance, an awful lot of lights. At the check in desk the clerk went and got three fun packs. At the last minute she reconsidered giving one of them to me. Which was fortunate.

Knowing we would be tired, we planned for our first day to be relaxed. We settled in to the room on floor 25, unpacked and changed into warmer clothes. It was cold in Toronto. Then we headed out to the CN Tower. By now my tonsillitis was become fairly well imbedded and Fiancé had rather brilliantly come on with a streaming cold.

The CN tower is surprisingly impressive. It is the tallest free standing structure in the world – not the tallest building. Because it’s not a building and apparently the people who do these lists are quite particular about such things. The CN tower is a mast. It is 553m to the very top, and 447 to the highest part that visitors can access – the sky pod. The lift was glass fronted so that you have an excellent view over the city as you go up. This wasn’t completely clear until we had risen from the base into the lift shaft at which point you realised that only the back of the lift was not see through. Stepchild the Elder was nervous but I explained to her that she really ought to stand with her head against the glass looking down so as to get her moneys worth. After all, what was the worst that could happen.

 

The lift travelled at 15 mph and my ears popped as we went up.

The first thing we went to was the glass floor. This is, as the name implies, a glass floor. The only slightly unnerving thing was that there was a clear view to the ground several hundred metres below. It’s strange how unpleasant the first step out is. Stepchild the Elder and Fiancé both required a certain amount of encouragement to step out onto it.

 

We walked the full circle around this level, on the inside. Visibility was poor due to low level cloud, rushing past at great speed, which implied that it was windy.

Taking the lift to the sky pod we looked at the cloud from a higher level. I tried to feel if the tower was swaying in the wind. Apparently it could move up to one metre in high winds. Presumably higher winds would cause it to snap. Back on the previous level we found an outside walk, so walked around it again. The cloud was clearing here and there momentarily.

 

We tried to find the 360˚ restaurant that apparently revolves, giving you a constantly changing view. Or not – if the weather was as present. Instead we found a stationery restaurant (finding out later that the revolving one was up the stairs from where we were) and sat down for some drinks and cake. Being in Canada it seemed polite to have waffles and maples syrup.

What I had was called a giant waffle. They weren’t joking.

After a couple of short but rather effective simulators and a short film assuring us that the tower could sustain an earthquake we were all feeling the effects of an early start and long day of travelling and returned to the hotel.

Toronto is an interesting city, which at first seems remarkably uninteresting. It is the 5^th largest city in North America, yet from the top of the CN tower you could see the city limits. It is filled with tinted glass, gleaming, business like skyscrapers between which are a multitude of eateries and coffee shops. Toronto is interspersed with snippets of interest such as Little Italy and the brickwork of the distillery district. Like all cities, the streets are filled with people of ambiguous identity, neither students nor office workers nor tourists. The nameless crowds of all cities.

When we arrived back at the hotel I went to bed, tired and ill while Fiancé sat with the girls while they went to the indoor hotel pool.

He woke me up some time later. The girls were in bed. It was dark outside and I was in bed fully dressed – which he informed me was his perfectly valid reason for waking me.

The next day I woke at the perfectly respectable time of 7am – had I been in the UK. However, being in Canada it was in fact the extremely unsociable time of 1am. After tossing and turning sufficiently I managed to wake up Fiancé. I whispered to him ‘are you awake’ knowing full well he was. Soon afterwards Stepchild the Younger whispered that she was awake, and so was Stepchild the Elder. Realising we were all awake we stopped whispering. In an attempt to ease jet lag we decided to turn on the lights and occupy ourselves for an hour or so before attempting sleep again.

That day we were due to go to Niagara having heard that there is a rather splendid waterfall there. We breakfasted at the hotel where Stepchild the Younger discovered, and liked French toast. I thought it odd that Toronto would import toast made in France when presumably they had the facilities to make perfectly good toast themselves. But apparently that’s not what it is at all – more along the lines of thick bread fried with cinnamon. Which I have never seen in all my visits to France. Must look harder next time.

Sumptuously fed (help yourself breakfast buffets are very dangerous – they force you to feel considerably hungrier than you really are) we awaited our lift to the Niagara bus trip. Our lift looked like a trolley bus with an interior fresh from the 1920’s with wooden benches that had cast iron ends. We were on it for seconds as the bus station was only just down the road from our hotel. Our driver for the day was Chester Baker who informed us we could call him anything but don’t call him late for dinner. I wondered if we could call him smelly and scruffy – which he was. He informed us that on a clear day you could see the mayor of Buffalo cleaning his teeth from the CN tower. I wondered if the mayor obligingly cleaned his teeth all day, when it was clear, just so people could check this theory.

As we drove out of Toronto we passed through towns that looked like things I’ve seen on TV, houses built from wooden slats and whitewashed, verandas everywhere and an awful lot of buildings with signs outside informing us they were chapels. We drove passed what Chester informed us had been the smallest chapel in the world. It was small, but as it no longer had the status of being the smallest in the world I wondered whether a smaller one had been found or whether someone had been bored enough to build a smaller one.

We also passed an industrial steelworks with girder and chimneys kicking out smoke that merged with the already grey, smoky, foggy sky.

We went through a town where I half expected a shoot out. There was a pub on the corner that resembled those in wild west films and long wide streets that would perfectly suit horse and carriage. It was incredible, and also slightly weird.

Apparently Canada has entered the wine making business. And Chester, as a proud Canadian, took us to a local winery to sample the wares. We tried both red and white, and at the insistence of Stepchild the Younger we forced down some rosé as well. Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger tried all of them as well. None of us thought much of them. Then we tried the ice wine. This is made from grapes that have been left until the first frost, and then harvested. It is a dessert wine and therefore incredibly sweet. Stepchild the Elder liked it – a lot. Following the usual tradition of buying Fiancé’s parents dodgy alcohol from wherever we go we bought a bottle for them. Stepchild the Elder was perfectly happy with this arrangement, convinced that this would ensure her getting to drink some more of it at some point.

We continued on to Niagara through the gorge of Niagara. It was extremely beautiful – although I’m not the first to think so. Apparently Winston Churchill referred to the route as the most charming Sunday drive in the world.

The falls were quieter than I had expected, despite their name (Niagara means thundering water). It was cold and misty. There was still snow on the ground. And ice in the falls. I hadn’t expected ice. Yet it was there – huge blocks of it, several feet high, rising from the base of the falls up into the torrential down pour. It was there despite the weight of the constantly falling water – 6million cubic feet per minute. There are in fact two waterfalls, the American falls (on the American side which I believe has resulted in their being so imaginatively named) and the Horseshoe falls. No surprise what shape they are. Their current position is 7 miles further up the river than where waterfall existed 12 thousand years ago such is the effect of the erosion. Its present position is significantly further back than it was 300 years ago and it will, over time, disappear completely.

 

The falls are the result of Lake Erie flowing into Lake Ontario. Normally there would be nothing exciting about this. However, the two lakes differed in altitude by over 300 feet. The falls themselves have only a drop of 180 feet. 

The Maid of the Mist boat was not operating due to the ice. Lake Eerie was still half frozen and large chunks of ice were going over the falls – which apparently could be quite dangerous. And it is well documented that large chunks of ice can cause certain fatal difficulties to boats.

We saw a few boulders of ice bobbing around in the flow at the base of the falls. It was the almost frozen water flowing over the falls that maintained the huge pillars of ice, and even allowed them to grow.

 

It deep winter the river at the base of the falls can freeze over, providing an ice bridge between Canada and America which people used to walk on. Until early in the last century, when the bridge broke, stranding a couple on a chunk of ice which was heading towards the rapids downstream. A young man tried to save them, but all three died. The rapids downstream are reputed to be the worst in the world.

Which presumably makes them the best in the world in terms of being fearsomely good rapids.

The naff parts of Niagara are kept a street or so back from the falls, and area filled with bright lights, arcades, fast food and the smell of candy floss. We had lunch at Wendy’s. We didn’t know her, but she seemed happy to feed anyone who came in. To my surprise they served jacket potatoes – which is what I chose, before commandeering a table.

Stepchild the Elder came rushing over to inform me that Fiancé was ordering and they had no jackets left so I needed to make a quick decision on an alternative. Forgetting myself for a moment with the disappointment and pressure of sudden decision I replied ‘oh s***’ before changing my order to a cheeseburger.

She came back a few minutes later grinning from ear to ear. ‘I told Dad word for word what you said’ she told me. Ooops.

After lunch we went on a trip behind the falls. We took a lift down to tunnels. They were cold, dark and damp. At the end was a small room right next to the bottom of the falls. You could look out and see the water tumbling down, right there, in front of you. It was wonderful. Powerful and beautiful. Sometimes you need to feel that small.

 

We then walked along the tunnel behind the falls from which two portals led out to the back of the waterfall. It would have been incredible. Except that the end of the portals were completely blocked by ice several feet thick.

 

There were also piles of rocks and bits of trees that had all tumbled over the falls and got caught up with the ice.

We stood at the top of the falls where Stepchild the Younger played in the snow, and watched the water going over, quietly and gracefully. The strange thing about the falls is that you can never really see them because of the constant cloud of mist caused by the force of the fall. Fiancé threw a coin into the water and we watched it go over. Lots of people have felt the need to do the same. There is a museum where the various contraptions used are displayed. These include a large barrel in which a retired school teacher went over the falls – accompanied by her cat. Another large hard rubber ball, which was again successfully used, had an enormous dent in one side implying a certain amount of impact on rocks during the trip. The occupant had been arrested at the bottom to his utmost surprise, as he hadn’t realised that he had gone over the falls yet.

A further device worked – perhaps a little too well as the occupant also successfully traversed the rapids downstream from the falls. However, his container was then trapped for several hours in the whirlpool at the end of the rapids during which time the unfortunate adventurer ran out of air and died.

The greatest tragedy is that most people attempting such folly had risked their life in search of fame and fortune. After an initial rush of photos and articles they all ended up unknown and penniless or dead.

As the weather was clearing we made a last minute decision to take a helicopter ride over the falls. As we waited, Stepchild the Elder jumped up and down with excitement, observing that her and Stepchild the Younger do fun things with us. The helicopter ride was breathtaking. I had the fortune to be put in the front.

It wasn’t until we were airborne that I realised the floor beneath my feet was made of glass providing and excellent all round view. If you like that sort of thing.

 

Without wanting to repeat words such as incredible, amazing and beautiful it is hard to describe the view, the whole experience of taking a helicopter ride over one of the natural wonders of the world. A helicopter is far more manoeuvrable than a plane, being able to turn and bend and tilt so that at times you looked out of the window to the falls, and at others you faced right down onto them. Nothing can explain what we saw, or how it felt. Brilliantly clear, with the sun just setting in the distance. It was a genuine once in a lifetime experience. We flew over the rapids as well, and saw the whirlpool at the end of them where the river takes a sharp bend.

 

Arriving back at the hotel, late, after a thoroughly successful day we were hungry but couldn’t be bothered to go out. So, rather extravagantly, Fiancé ordered room service. One enormous pizza (different flavours on each half), drinks and a bottle of wine. It was wheeled in on a table clothed trolley that I half expected an armed dwarf to be hiding beneath (blame James Bond for that one).

It was wonderful – the only time I have ever had room service.

Fiancé woke me later – it was dark, the girls were in bed and I was asleep fully dressed.

The similarities didn’t end there. Again, we woke early on Sunday morning. However, we had by and large beaten the jetlag in remarkably short time.

Fiancé and I, as two determined adults, managed to get around the logistical problems of exercising conjugal rights that we were now experiencing. We were, after all, sharing a room with the girls. Which is why we were fully aware of the presence of Dudley. To explain, my dearly beloved cat Dudley does, on occasion, fart. Sometimes quite loudly but usually quietly and very unsociably. Anyway, judging by the sounds in the room it appeared we had inadvertently brought him with us. And I wasn’t going to have any nonsense about flatulence not being funny, when clearly it’s hilarious.

At one point, after a certain noise, Stepchild the Younger said ‘Dudley farted’ to which Stepchild the Elder replied ‘no I didn’t’. It was funny, but perhaps you had to be there.

On Sunday we wrote postcards and popped into the hotel shop. On the way back up in the lift, it jolted slightly, making Fiancé feel nauseous. Stepchild the Elder suggested walking instead but the general consensus was that 24 flights was not an option. I looked round the lift. As with any lift I have been in there wasn’t a hatch in the roof through which ‘our hero’ in the movies always escapes. He would be well and truly scuppered in this lift.

I once got stuck in a lift. When I worked in Eastleigh, one day I was running a bit late so to save time I took the lift rather than the stairs. All was well until it came to a sudden halt between floor 2 and 3.

 

It was a tiny lift and after a couple of seconds pushing buttons I realised it wasn’t going to move. There was an emergency phone in there, and I picked it up. A man at the other end announced he was at the stuck lift help place and asked where I was. ‘I’ll give you one good guess’ I said. Apparently he wanted to know what building, and I was just being unhelpful. Having assured me that someone would be there in about 20 minutes, I then called the office to say I was there, but just a couple of floors down before sitting down and eating the sandwiches that had been intended to last until lunch time. Now had there been a hatch in the ceiling it could all have been so different.

On one occasion in the lift we met a short man, not wearing shoes and with tissue paper stuck to his face where he had cut himself shaving. He looked like someone on day release, and informed us that he was due to visit England as part of a long trip around Europe. It worried me that England would let him in.

Fiancé was, in fact, extremely unwell. After everything he had ever eaten leaving his body by the nearest exit, and utterly unable to face breakfast, he went to bed while I took the girls down to the hotel pool for a few hours to enable him to have some peace. For reasons that never became clear, I was involved in a game of beach ball despite not actually being in the pool. Also involved was the head of a lady swimming between the girls at an inopportune moment. Stepchild the Elder apologised in a well meant way – if it can be well meant when you’re laughing hysterically.

Having slept, Fiancé felt much improved so we ventured out in the afternoon to the distillery district. Stepchild the Elder was particularly excited about this as films – such as Chicago (Stepchild the Elder’s favourite) – were filmed there. It felt like a film set, brick buildings and brick streets. It massively under used its film associations, filled with galleries and eateries. The buildings had fantastic interiors – the old distillery workings not covered up at all. We had a lunch in one, with enormous cakes for pudding. In one of the pubs, the copper distilling vats were all still there, in the middle of the pub. It was fantastic.

In the absence of taxis, we started to walk back. The intention was to find a taxi, but we needed to get back into the city to increase our chances of finding one. There was a cold, sharp wind but it was nice to get a feel for the city by wandering through it on foot.

After a while, the cold starting to get to us, Stepchild the Younger spotted a taxi from about 30 miles away (I think she really wanted to get back) which we hailed.

The driver informed us that is was a mere -3˚outside, -9˚ with the wind chill. No wonder we had felt a little chilly.

Back at the hotel we discussed music. Or what Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger refer to as music. Then Stepchild the Elder said ‘on the subject of pop’ before asking for some money for the fizzy drink machine, and finishing with the comment ‘nice link’. To which we all agreed.

On Monday we were woken by the alarm and headed back to the airport. Again we were told we couldn’t sit together as we hadn’t pre-booked seats. Having never until this moment been told we needed to book seats, we booked them for our homeward two flights. However, for this one we were well and truly spread around the plane as a result of the ridiculous system used by Air Canada. Other airlines allocate seats on check in, rather than insisting you pre-book seats when you book the flights. That system would work if they had the decency to inform you on booking that you would be well advised to pre-book seats as well. But they don’t. Such is their level of customer service, which frankly is all that can be expected from colonials.

Toronto airport has the most curious system for flying to America. You take your luggage with you, through passport control (for which we had to complete an inordinate number of forms one of which actually asked the question ‘are you a terrorist’ I think it phrased it more along the lines of ‘are you involved in any terrorist organisations or activities’.  But even so, what are the chances of anyone ticking Yes).

The reason, it appears, is that the USA customs was done here, in Toronto. So no baggage was taken off you in case America decided it wasn’t going to let you in.  Fiancé managed to upset the bleeper machine to such an extent that he had to remove his shoes and belt and as well as be thoroughly frisked.

When we got on the plane it seemed that everyone had been split up, to the extent that couples had been put on seat 1 and 3 of a row of three. Tempers flared. Fiancé negotiated with a few people so as to sit next to Stepchild the Younger and just across the aisle from Stepchild the Elder. I was at the back of the plane and an air hostess informed me that my husband and daughters were near each other. I smiled sweetly, and said good.

At around this time we re-named Air Canada the airline that splits up more families that Jerry Springer. It seemed appropriate.

I ended up sitting next to a mother with her very young daughter (they were due to be either side of me but I kindly moved) on their very first trip out of Canada. Ever. As I quickly totted up all the places I have travelled to it seemed anathema to be that someone has never left their country before. But I suppose we’re lucky. So much of the world is so near to us. In Canada, it’s all a long way away.

The weather, typically, was brilliantly clear. It was only then that I realised that this part of Canada was flat, and from above it looked like Milton Keynes, set out in grid lines as though trying to make life easy for the cartographers. I saw Lake Ontario gleaming in the sun, and behind that Lake Erie with its massive ice coverage – ice that was running down to Niagara falls.

As we came down over America I saw a long sand bank, a long yellow line with blue either side. I didn’t know it then, but that was Daytona Beach. That was where we were staying.

We had a vehicle pre-booked at Orlando – Fiancé was offered an upgrade to an SUV (which I am reliably informed stands for Sports Utility Vehicle) and accepted. The system they operate is that you go and look at their SUV’s and pick the one you want, then drive off – checking the vehicle out at the exit. We all opted for a Jeep – except Fiancé, who wanted a Chevrolet. But was massively outvoted.

We drove up to Orlando to the hotel. There was utter chaos in reception as the computer system had gone down and the girl on reception was trying to handle the situation with amazing ability. I told Stepchild the Elder that the lady was having a nice day, as that’s what people do in America. The room overlooked the pool and beach, which was a beautiful view.

 

We settled in and the girls headed off to the pool – which was freezing. Fiancé and I sat and had a much needed beer. Everyone was very friendly but my initial impressions of America were everything I thought it would be. 100% awful.

We went out for dinner, finding that either places were closed on Monday’s or that the car parks were full. Eventually we found an Italian place. We ordered starters and mains, and the main courses also came with soup. The net result was that we had far too much food.

Thoroughly stuffed we returned to the hotel and promptly fell asleep. I woke up in the middle of the night and turned off the lights, but didn’t want to wake Fiancé to let him know he had gone to sleep fully dressed. He looked so peaceful. In the morning I found out that I should have woken him.

On Tuesday morning we got up late. It was a bit cloudy. We went downstairs for breakfast, which was so high in fat and salt that I felt a coronary coming on. And the waiting staff were ghastly, bringing Fiancé and me cups (for tea) and putting them on the table with their fingers inside the cup, on the end of which were huge pink talons that would make a lion nervous. Nothing matched – even the teacups didn’t fit their saucers.

The trouble with America is that it’s such a new country that if it’s cloudy, there is nothing to do. We wandered along Daytona Beach. Fiancé was still not feeling right. The girls already had swimsuits on under their clothes and told us they wanted to go paddling. Knowing their type of paddling we took all their clothes from them and accepted the inevitable.

Daytona Beach is strange, long, sandy and unimpeded by breakwaters it is a beautiful sight. It is also a road - a huge amount of posing was being done by people driving along in convertibles with a perfectly good road only a few feet away. We continued to amble along the huge, endless, golden beach, lapped by the Atlantic Ocean – which is cold.

The girls played in the surf, totally not understanding tidal currents. As I looked along the beach I realised that Americans come in two sizes – ball shaped or anorexic with irritatingly small bottoms. That’s the bad thing about warm weather. People who should never be seen unless wearing a lot of clothes suddenly walk about half naked.

We returned to the hotel – and the pool. Typically British. The pool’s cold (on a par with the Atlantic), but we’re on holiday, we’ve paid, we’re doing it. Only the mentally unstimulated could cope with lying by a pool all day. The thinking mind can go about 90 minutes maximum before the brain turns to something resembling ready brek. Fiancé, still poorly, wonders if it’s alcohol related. My final release from this – drinking with him – has been taken away.

We went in the pool briefly – any longer and we would have died from hypothermia – and lay in the sun to dry. For a while it wasn’t that bad. My brain must already be addled by the heat.

Stepchild the Younger amused herself by swimming underwater to the edge of the pool where pigeons were sitting, then bursting out of the water to scare them.

Next to our sun loungers was an English boy, whiter than us and skinny by American standards. He also had breasts larger than mine – which isn’t saying much but you get my point. There were in fact a lot of men with enviably large breasts. No wonder American women got implants – they had a lot to compete with.

We went in the spa to regain body temperature after the experience of the pool. I’ve never really understood spas. Why would anyone want to have a bath (which is effectively what it is) with total strangers.

As lying by the pool became inevitably dull we moved the girls on to lunch and alligators leaving the serious seekers of slow death by skin cancer to take the sun loungers and turn them with the movement of the sun.

We drove north to the Alligator Farm along the beach road. It was a long straight road with houses either side and mail boxes along the edge of the road. All very American. The houses themselves were incredible buildings, many of them built on stilts. Huge beach homes, with verandas out onto the sea and space to park a boat. The beach was wide, long, golden end empty. It was peaceful, beautiful and calm.

Almost every building had an American flag hanging from it. I wondered whether it was a demonstration of their freedom as a country, or just reminding people where they are. Fiancé suggested it might have something to do with Iraq war. A massive display of national pride in a time of war.

Along the side of the road were signs advertising the ‘adopt a highway’ scheme. It could only happen here.

We stopped at a roadside café to get some lunch. Initially I opted out, the only choices seeming to be burger. I was hungry, having found little I could face at breakfast, but my body was craving something that resembled food. Not fat dripping junk. Fiancé told me they did subs as well.

I looked at him blankly until he informed me that a sub is what I would refer to as a baguette (or something along those lines). Americans call lots of things French – fries and toast as examples – for reasons that have never been satisfactorily explained. But when they get the chance to actually call a French food by its French name they don’t. They call it a sub – because it resembles a submarine.

It reminded me that America really is a foreign country. Don’t be fooled by the fact we speak almost the same language.

We arrive at the alligator park in time for the show. The ‘trained professional’ was holding a small alligator. He tapped the top of its jaws to make him open his mouth, and told as that alligators have a reflex whereby if anything touches the inside of their mouth their jaws snap shut. He demonstrated this with a pencil – curiously choosing not to use his finger. He swung the pen between the rows of teeth, touching nothing, with a na na na-na na, as the alligator did nothing. Then he touched the teeth and the jaws snapped shut. He did it a few times explaining that the alligator knew this part of the show and really didn’t want to play along, but just couldn’t help it. In the wild of course, this means that if any alligator is lying around with its mouth open (which it will do as this the method used for regulating body temperature) anything that happens to wander in won’t be coming back out.

We were also shown the alligator’s tongue – which is fixed to the bottom of his jaw. As no volunteers were forthcoming to reach into the alligator’s mouth and try to grab his tongue, the ‘trained professional’ showed it to us by getting the mouth open and then pushing up underneath his bottom jaw.

Apparently alligators lose around two thousand teeth in a lifetime but have no tooth fairy. Hardly surprising really as parent alligators would need to start some sort of savings scheme as soon as pregnancy was confirmed in order to cope with the burden. 

The demonstration alligator’s mouth was selotaped shut prior to him being available for stroking by the crowd. No one said he felt like shoes.

We walked around the park looking at the vast numbers of alligators and crocodiles resident there. It was amazing how immobile they were. Completely stationary, whether in water or not. The minimal use of energy is further demonstrated in that alligators only need to eat 50 lbs of food a year. Apparently it’s unwise to point to an enormous alligator and then tell a woman that she eats considerably more than that animal.

Many of the ponds housed turtles including some that were covered in moss and barnacles having been in water for so long. In one pen there was a small deer type animal – much to the consternation of Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger as there was also a very large alligator in the same pen. The signs outside assured us that alligators don’t eat that type of animal – unless of course it happens to inadvertently touch the inside of the alligator’s open mouth.

 

There was a pen of baby alligators and pellets available to feed them with. Now this caused movement as the alligators came rushing over to get the food, fighting and jostling between them.

We wandered through the swamp area along raised duckboards. In the murky waters below we could see alligators. Others lay on the banks at the side, and in the trees all around were vast numbers of birds, many of which were nesting. It was an incredible example of recreating a natural environment, so well that these birds had opted to live here. Apparently the mongooses that eat their eggs are not too keen on co-habiting with alligators. The birds are aware of this and use it to their advantage.

Back at the centre of the park, near the pen containing an awful lot of very big alligators, there was some excitement going on. It seemed that a lady, leaning over the top of the pen, had dropped something in. About a couple of inches in front of the mouth of a very big alligator. The ‘trained professional’ came to the rescue, leaping in to the pen (to the shrieks of concern by the aforementioned lady). He retrieved the dropped article, and after dangling it above the alligator in the pretence of getting it eaten, climbed back out.

On the way out, via the gift shop, there was a display of birds with ‘press here’ stickers, which made them tweet. It seemed rude to walk past without setting them all off.

I was beginning to experience the Americans confusing excitement about the English. They seemed to like our accent, and the more I heard theirs, the more I spoke in the very best English. They were always terribly interested in where we were travelling to, how long we were there for and so on.

We returned along the coast road, more beautiful beneath a sky that burned red and orange with the setting sun.

By now Fiancé and I had recovered from our various ill, and Fiancé had been kind enough to pass his cold on to Stepchild the Elder who was suffering badly.

For dinner we went to a restaurant across the road from the hotel, Julian’s. I think Fiancé chose it because of the most excellent evening we had at a restaurant of a similar name in Paris. We ordered starters, and again found that the main course came with soup as well as salad and a choice of about 15 different sorts of potato.

The starters arrived. Then the salads and soup. By the time the main course appeared we were full. But valiantly continued. It was here that we first encountered black and blue steaks. Fiancé and I both like steaks so underdone that they moo when you put your fork in them. Our steaks were indeed red raw inside, but blackened on the outside. They were delicious.

As if we needed more food, the main courses were also served up with a basket of rolls including cinnamon rolls.

We couldn’t eat them, and took them home instead. We had not as yet managed to make it to pudding in any restaurant.

On Wednesday morning we breakfasted on cinnamon rolls and Fiancé made coffee in the percolator. It smelled wonderful – and tasted less so. Before leaving for Orlando we popped in to the gift shop. I needed a cotton shirt (and hadn’t packed one) to put on in the event that we were out and I was starting to burn. I soon realised that we were in the country where extra large meant extra large. And small meant extra large. I got a small shirt – it was the only small one there, which rather limited my choice. It was enormous – as was the bright pattern on it. Never mind, when in Rome and all that. Although clearly we weren’t in Rome. In fact, if I wore this shirt in Rome I would probably be removed from the city, if not the country.

Cars in America are enormous. Built to a different scale. Maybe it’s to accommodate the population of very big people, or just part of the American ego. It’s almost as though they make a car and think, this will do, this is fine but let’s make it bigger. Because we can.

Our Jeep has a temperature monitor and compass. As we drove south the temperature went up. And up. We found our hotel, which was worryingly close to Disney. The apartment was amazing. For the first time we had separate rooms – although the girls were still sharing a bed. There was also a washing machine and tumble dryer, so I took the opportunity to get some washing done. And then did it all again when I realised that I had put everything in the dryer rather than the washing machine. In my defence it looked like a twin tub.

We went to the Sizzler up the road for lunch, opting just for the buffet rather than steaks and buffet. The waitress brought out plates and we made our first foray - all heading to the salad bar to start with. The waitress brought more plates and we went to the hot food area, which had a range of pastas and various meats and sauces to put over it. The waitress brought more plates and we piled them up yet again. The waitress brought more plates, and asked in a surprised tone if it was correct that we weren’t having steak. Did we look like people who needed this much food? We didn’t use her last set of plates (and she seemed a little upset by this) deciding to try and squeeze in some pudding from the ice cream (and cakes) factory. And then go up again for some more – just in case we were still a fraction peckish.

I wondered how long the waitress would have kept bringing out the plates.  I mean, in a bar, if someone has had a lot to drink and goes to order another, the barman can refuse and tell them he thinks they’ve had enough. That doesn’t seem to happen in restaurants. Someone (like us) who has just devoured the equivalent of three main courses (we weren’t stinting ourselves on the amount we served up), or maybe even a really fat person should perhaps be told ‘sorry, I think you’ve had enough’. It was not to be. By American standards we’d had a small snack.

With the afternoon to spare, Fiancé decided that today might be a good day to start doing Disney stuff. I was alarmed. I had wanted a little time to prepare myself for the ordeal of Disney World.

Disney World is a curious thing. There are a number of parks, reasonably far apart. Having only a few days here, Fiancé and the girls had already made decisions about which ones to go to, and which ones to miss. A long straight road runs up through the park, with slip roads along it, turning off into parks such as Epcot, MGM Studios, World of Sport and Blizzard Beach. At the bottom end of the park is a Disney made town called Celebration. The concept of this town was very curious. People freely choose to live there, but had to conduct their lives according to very strict rules laid down by Disney in order to aspire to the Disney ideals. This included such things as regulations about the lay out of your garden. It was also a tourist attraction and once a month was filled with bubble snow. I wondered how the children who grew up there would ever manage to develop into normal well-adjusted adults. The invisible big brother of the Disney conglomerate regulated every part of their visible lives.

This was just one town living according to such strict rules. Some countries live like that. We call it communism. It seemed odd that Disney was embracing communist ideals in its ‘cartoon’ town. And perhaps more odd that free Americans, who champion freedom around the world, choose to live there.

We were going to Magic Kingdom, which was at the top end of the complex. There was an efficient system of parking and transporting visitors to the first money parting area – namely ticket offices. It’s a long time since I have been to any theme/rides park and have therefore perhaps lost touch with how much these things cost. But I was stunned at the cost of our entry to Disney. I also realised the mercenary money making side of the business when discovering that adult rates apply to anyone aged 10 or over. This is a place designed for children, to which thousands of children are brought on a daily basis.

To start having adult rates paid at such a young age seemed nothing short of greedy. We told Stepchild the Younger that for the next 4 days she was going to be 9. Fortunately she didn’t mind.

 

From there you have the option of taking either a boat or monorail over the man made lagoon to the park itself. On this occasion we took the boat. At the other end was Magic Kingdom where, according to Disney, reality is left behind. They were wrong – reality was very much here and in your face. It was everything I had expected it to be, and worse. There were literally thousands of people, making any sort of progress – especially with two children in tow – almost impossible.

The park rents out pushchairs (they call them strollers, but most people were ambling or stationary rather than strolling) for children who have long since ceased to use them for the simple reason that the park is large. A lot of time is spent on your feet, and if there all day, it is very tiring. In other words, completely unsuitable for the children for whom it is designed. The parents, by now irritable with their tired and grisly offspring as well as frustrated by the near impossibility of movement anywhere due to the crowds were now opting for violence and many seemed determined to sever my legs at the ankles in the desperation to get somewhere.

There was noise everywhere, screams and shouts coming from the rides, crying of younger children, talk and chatter interspersed with occasional snippets of music created by Disney and for which it should be very much ashamed. The air was filled with the nauseating smell of sickly sweet stuff and popcorn. And this whole delightful ambiance was rounded off with unsheltered burning heat.

The park is filled with constant clever ways of making you part with your money. The first thing we bought was autograph books and pens for Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger. I had no idea what the function of these were until we saw someone dressed up as a Disney character (I believe it may have been Pluto, but can’t be sure. It was some sort of dog like thing anyway) and the girls rushed off towards him in a frenzy, joining a queue to get his autograph. I was stunned.

This happened a number of times during the day, although the girls were sometime frustrated by the queuing system used. The characters don’t stay out that long – partly because of the intense heat I would imagine, and the last person in the line to be seen is given a balloon. Quite a few lines (we started to call them lines, apparently Americans don’t really know what a queue is) already had balloons and therefore couldn’t be joined.

I did explain to them that they were queuing up to get an autograph from a man dressed in a fluffy suit, and that in a couple of hours time it would probably be a different man in the suit and therefore a slightly different autograph. I told them that, to save time, Fiancé and I could sign all the autographs in their books instead. It amounted to the same thing.

They assured me that they were aware it was just strangers dressing up, and that these people varied, but that that wasn’t the point. And they continued to run after them throughout the day the way that I might run after Robbie Williams – but not a man dressed up like Robbie Williams.

I excused the presence of all adults on the grounds that they were there for the sake of their children – who were tired, moaning, hot and sleepy. But some adults were in the queues for autographs. Alone. I found it all deeply, deeply worrying. It was just cartoons after all, people dressed up like cartoons.

When I last went to Chessington I was very impressed with their mighty clever queuing system whereby you had no idea at all how long the queue was. It weeved and turned and came back on itself, and most of it was out of sight of the rest of it. Disney World is the same. The only clue is a sign at the end of the queue indicating how long you will be standing in it. Most of these kindly informed us that we would have the pleasure of a 2 minute ride if we were prepared to queue for 60 minutes or longer.

However, on the more popular rides Disney operates a Fast Pass system. With this, you get tickets for a set time and can then go to the front of the queue. On the way in to the park a kind lady had given us some Fast Pass tickets for a ride later in the afternoon that she was clearly not going to be waiting for. There were only three tickets but for the time being that wasn’t an issue. We went off to collect some more.

We successfully got passes for another two rides. On the next one we tried, it wouldn’t give them to us. And that’s when we learned that a time is printed on the pass indicating what time you can get your next one. We now couldn’t get another one for a few hours (in fact, after we had been on some of the rides we had passes for).

Now having time to kill before our first Fast Pass ride we joined a queue for one that did not offer passes. As expected the queue was deceptively long. Already most of us had aching feet. However, we were at least out of the sun. I was surprised at the behaviour of many adults in these queues – barging and pushing and always trying to get in front. Failing to understand that everyone will get on the ride, at some point. It became what Stepchild the Elder and I referred to as the American way of queuing – known in England as queue barging. No wonder they didn’t understand what queues were.

The rides themselves are extremely well done. There is incredible attention to detail and they are brilliantly designed. Of all the rides we went on in the whole of our time at Disney I can’t recall any that were gravely disappointing. However, if the question is ‘are the rides worth everything you have to endure to get on them?’ then the answer is unequivocally ‘no’.

There were several things around the park designed to get you wet. This included a camel that randomly ‘spat’ on the passing crowd, totem poles that sprayed water when you stood in front of them (and were being used by several children to cool down) and a good old hosing down in front of splash mountain. A thorough hosing down it was too. Stepchild the Elder was particularly concerned by all this as, opting for a summery top that showed her shoulders, she hadn’t wanted to ruin the look by wearing a bra. Oh yes, and it was a white top.

We managed to get on a few rides that afternoon – Pirates of the Caribbean, Splash Mountain, Haunted House (which had some marvellous special effects), Small World (in which Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger were determined to sing along with an outstandingly irritating song, at great risk to their own personal safety) and some jungle river thing. This again was a good ride, particularly at the end when the girl leading it advised that if children get lost, then after 24 hours they become the property of Magic Kingdom, are taken to Small World where their feet are bolted to the ground and they are taught the irritating song in 27 different languages. All the adults laughed, heartily while the children looked on confused.

The rides in the park are all quite a long way apart. Due to the already explained difficulties of forward momentum, this did help kill some of the time between our Fast Pass slots. However, once our Fast Passes started to become valid the afternoon moved along a little more swiftly.

During one of the longer gaps we broke for lunch. The fast food venue advised that it had seating for 1117 people. It seemed that 1110 people were already sitting there. The reason for this was simple. Disney is big and tiring and tortuous to the lower limbs and feet. There is nowhere to sit down. Lunch therefore constituted much needed foot relief.

It was during the time at Disney that I perfect the art of sitting on a lamp post. Oh yes it can be done, when the need is great. And the need was frequently great.

Magic Kingdom has several ‘zones’. I think the idea is that each area was slightly differently themed, but it wasn’t obvious. There were still thousands of people, thousands of shops wooing you in, irritating background music and all the buildings designed like toy town houses. The only theming that could have been done was in the style of the buildings. Not being familiar with the architectural idiosyncrasies of Disney any such variation was lost on me.

One are was called Liberty Square and, as the name implies, was to do with America’s independence. I wasn’t aware that Disney had bought – among so many other things – the rights to America’s independence. The square had a short description about the country’s liberty in which it described it as the release from tyranny. That would be tyranny from the British. Nice.

I was glad we had spent so much money getting in, as the British were clearly so well appreciated by the organisation.

As evening drew on we headed for Main Street to find somewhere to sit for the electric light parade. This was easier said than done. However, we eventually managed to squeeze in somewhere. During the wait Stepchild the Younger became bored, wanting to know when it would start. Although uncomfortable sitting on the pavement in an area the size of a beer mat, I was pleased to get the weight off my feet.

 

As the parade started the true selfishness of the adults in attendance came to the fore, as a couple (who had been previously sitting in front of Stepchild the Elder & Stepchild the Younger – which I might add gave them a perfectly good view) stood up, and completely refused to let any smaller people in front of them. With much pushing and shoving we did manage to get them to a situation where they could see most of what was going on.

The parade itself was very well done, brilliantly colourful. It made Blackpool look like 100 year old Christmas lights. Which, I suppose, is what it is.

Having watched the parade we went for our final ride – Big Thunder Mountain. The problem here was that we had lost the map, the lights had all been dimmed for the parade and thousands of people were following the parade along a similar route that we needed to get to the ride.

We eventually got there and went on the ride, which was all the more fun for being in the dark with the end of day Disney fireworks overhead. What I hadn’t known at the time was that 6 months ago someone died on this ride. Criticisms have been made that Disney’s obsession with profit resulted in an inadequate spend on safety. One of the trains going round had been making strange noises for some time, but no one took the vehicle off the circuit. Instead it continued to be loaded up and eventually a wheel came off causing it to crash in one of the tunnels, injuring several and killing one. Although the information on his death certificate differs. No one is allowed to die in Disney. Or more accurately, no one is allowed to be pronounced dead in Disney. So, the killed young man was presumably unceremoniously removed to the car park some 2 miles away and pronounced dead there.

Presumably it’s all part of Disney’s leaving reality behind attitude. Death is reality, so it isn’t allowed. Queues, tiredness, aching feet however are not reality – apparently they are all a wonderful part of the cartoon dream world.

We came off the ride and sat on a fence to watch the rest of the fireworks – which were extremely good. Had we been near the castle we would have seen something intended to be Tinkerbell going along a zip wire from the castle to Main Street. But we weren’t, so we didn’t. I still slept fine that night in spite of it.

We headed towards the exit, knowing that there would be long queues to get out. Deciding that the monorail queue was bigger we decided to return by boat where the queue – also huge – moved remarkably quickly. The boat was packed absolutely full. By some miracle we managed to find somewhere to sit among all the parents carrying sleeping children. As the boat set off I mentioned that, in the unlikely event it sank (it really was rather full) then push and kick whomever necessary in order to get out.

In the buggy back to the car park we found out that our parking zone was nicknamed the Prozac zone – Grumpy one side and Happy the other.

It had been an exhausting day. I calculated that of the 10 hours we had been there, about 20 minutes had been on rides and 40 minutes or so for food, drink and lavatorial requirements. That meant we had just been stood around, or in queues for 9 hours. Phrased like that, it doesn’t sound so fun.

The following day we woke late. Being at that awkward time between breakfast and lunch we decided to go for lunch at Black Angus where I Fiancé and I had delicious steak burgers.

You should never eat anything bigger than your head, and this burger came close to those limits. Stepchild the Younger devoured a whole pizza and Stepchild the Elder tucked into a medium rare steak – and loved it, much to the surprise and delight of Fiancé and me.

Although early, we had another long – potentially arduous – day ahead, so I had a beer. Fortunately, it was enormous. Stepchild the Younger made a rather effective and revolting peashooter with a combination of a straw and Coke soaked bits of paper.

The venue for the day was Seaworld. We arrived just before the Shamu show, so hot footed it to the stadium to secure some seats. The stadium helpfully points out where the soak zone is – which Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger wanted to sit in – while Fiancé and I sensibly placed ourselves out of the way.

 

Initially the show was delayed. One of the instructors explained, in the best way he knew how – given the number of children in the audience – that a couple of the killer whales were a bit amorous. Spring and all that. Furthermore, a baby killer whale was currently more interested in suckling off its mother. So they were all being given some time out. Three were swimming around the front pool while the other messed around in the back pools. He went back to see that state of play and advised us the whales were ordering pizza. As another whale came to join the group in the front pool he confirmed that the instructors had no control at all.

After about 10 minutes of free time, the whales were called to attention and the show proceeded. It was very well done, and remarkably clever although I did feel a little as though respect for the animal as an incredible and beautiful creature ranked lower on the list of priorities than making them perform tricks in public.

 

Seaworld was a vast improvement on Disney for a number of reasons. It was smaller, less crowded and there was a multitude of things to see in between rides and shows. We went on an underwater tunnel around which swam sharks and swordfish. We saw a dolphin nursery, turtles, puffins and penguins. The penguins were particularly amusing and entertaining, a baby stood on a rock, stamping his feet and nervous about jumping in, others hopping out of the water with incredible grace while another stood on top of a pile of snow directly under a gentle snow shower. In the water they zipped up and down, leaping out of the water, and turning with the agility of dolphins. I wondered if their water antics had developed out of an awareness that the water contained no predators.

We watched the dolphin show – and were all sat in the soak zone. The clue should have been the number of people dressed in swimsuits and carrying towels. We got soaked. Completely soaked.

Seaworld has a couple of rides, one if which is a roller coaster that includes 7 loops. Putting into the lockers everything that might ever fall off us we went to go on the ride. Stepchild the Younger was just big enough. And as we joined the queue she held my hand, and said to me anxiously that she didn’t really want to go on it. She hadn’t been on a loop the loop before and was a bit nervous. I told her that I had never done a loop the loop either, and tried to assure her she would be fine.

Having established the order we would sit in, we strapped ourselves in, and set off. The ride starts off with a lot of up. As I told Stepchild the Younger, if there’s an up there has to be a down. And sure enough, there was. And round and up and over and through, and then some more again in case you hadn’t been spun round enough. It was brilliant. All my internal organs ended up somewhere near the small of my back, and gradually re-assembled themselves as we came to the end.

We had barely got off the ride before Stepchild the Younger declared her thorough approval of it and insisted we go again. Now. On the way back we looked at the photos. Stepchild the Younger had her face screwed up completely and was letting out an enormous scream. Fiancé asked if she had spent the first half of the ride with her eyes shut and screaming. Really screaming. Yes, she admitted. And wouldn’t let us buy the photo. Which was a shame, because it was funny.

I told Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger that we could only go on it again if everyone kept their eyes open the whole way round (as well as aiming for a better photo). They promised they would and we re-joined the queue. A girl behind us was as nervous as Stepchild the Younger had been, so she explained how much fun the ride actually was.

The second time was even better. And we all looked reasonably presentable in the photo.

We also went on the Journey to Atlantis ride. The queue for this was long during which we were reminded several times that we would get very wet. Stepchild the Younger was concerned about the welfare of her stuffed killer whale (that she had won in a game). I managed to find a plastic bag to put it into. In the event it that was the only thing that came out of the ride dry.

In the boat we made the error of having Fiancé and a large man in the same boat sitting on the same side, so for the early stages the boat was a little lopsided. As expected, the ride eventually had a lot of up. Followed by the inevitable down. As we were sitting in the back of the boat we were largely unaffected by the wave caused by this drop. Seaworld had planned for such eventualities, and a hose of water was liberally sprayed over the back of the boat in an unnecessary soaking measure. Fiancé had thought there was another large drop out of sight. There was a drop through a completely dark tunnel, but nothing very big.

We came off the ride sodden. Stepchild the Younger’s shorts were so wet you could see her knickers through them.

We finished off the day with the sea lion and otter show. This was an excellent performance.

On the drive back we managed to miss the turn and get a bit lost. How we actually found our way back is still a bit of a mystery. The plan had been to find somewhere to eat, but it was late and the girls were asleep (and wet). Fiancé had bought some bits and pieces to have for breakfast. When we returned to the apartment we ate half of it for dinner.

On Friday we got up early, and exhausted. The girls phoned home and then we left for another day at Magic Kingdom. The intention was to leave around 5pm. Initially it wasn’t too bad as I now knew what to expect. For variety, we took the monorail into the park and went off to get our first Fast Pass. The booked ride was in two hours time – and according to the Fast Pass we were unable to get another one for over two hours. We therefore had two hours with nothing to do – all the queues for rides being an unreasonably 60 – 90 minutes long.

It was at this point I decided I don’t understand what Disney is. If it’s meant to be a rides park it fails as it is extremely difficult to go on more than 4 or 5 rides in a whole day there. If it’s meant to be a theme park it also fails as there is no discernable theme. You don’t ever feel that you’re in this cartoon or that. I don’t feel I’m in Winnie the Pooh just because I walked passed Piglets Burger Bar. What you do feel is that you’re in a pedestrianised shopping precinct on Christmas eve, but I don’t think that’s quite what Disney’s aiming for.

Again killing time by spending money we eventually went to our first event – a 3D film. It was fantastic, and realism was added with smells of apple pie and an occasional spray of water.

It was an hour until the afternoon parade and we decided that it might be sensible to try and find ourselves somewhere to sit for this. We secured an edge of pavement pole viewing position. All we had to do now was sit there, in serious sunshine, for an hour. It wasn’t long before Stepchild the Younger found this difficult and the services of Game Boy were called upon.

Eventually the parade began. There were an enormous number of characters in it and we had a fantastic view of proceedings.

Once finished we then re-commenced the hunt for Fast Passes. The ride in Tomorrow Land, which we had considered, had a Fast Pass return time long beyond when we planned to leave. So instead we bought ice cream and water fans. This was quite simply a fan attached to a spray bottle so that you can spray yourself with a gentle cooling mist as well as fan. Or, as Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger preferred, liberally drench Fiancé and I with a gentle cooling mist. Until I showed Stepchild the Younger that it was quite fun to go up behind someone, make a sneezing sound and spray the back of their neck at the same time. That really upsets people. But it’s funny.

Again having time spare, we went to Toon Town. Now this was more along the lines of what I had expected Magic Kingdom to be. The whole area was designed like a little cartoon village. You did feel that you were in a theme. What’s more, there were things to do which did not involve queuing or spending money. For example, you could look in Minnie’s house and Mickey’s house – where Stepchild the Younger touched something, setting off a loud and slightly embarrassing alarm, at the sound of which she looked sheepish and fled.

 

Toon Town also housed an awful lot of people dressed up like cartoon characters. And yes, we queued for all of them. Pooh, Tigger, Eyeore, Chip, Dale, Minnie, Cinderella, Belle, some other people and Micky.

These characters weren’t outside, but in an air-conditioned room and what I found a little strange was the silence. Obviously the person inside doesn’t speak like the character they have dressed as, so they make no sound at all. Outside, in the general noise and melee, this isn’t as obvious. But here, in these silent air-conditioned rooms, I felt sorry for the younger children who seemed to expect a hello at the least.

Babies don’t like people dressed up as Disney characters. They screamed furiously and refused to let their parents take them anywhere near these characters. Astute little things, and well spent entrance fees.

We took the train, which completely circles the park – just to be sure we had endured everything there was to endure. Possibly because it was Good Friday, and therefore a public holiday, it was a day of fewer rides. We went on Peter Pan (which had a most excellent aerial effect) and Winnie the Pooh – which involved much spending of money in the gift shop on the way out.

We queued for a lady to sign the autograph books with Arial’s name (she didn’t recommend her washing powder though) before heading back. There was a show in front of the castle, which the girls wanted to watch.

At this point I momentarily lost all control of myself, stamped my feet and pointed out that I had put up with these parks for 3 days, it was long past 5pm (which was our intended departure time), this was my holiday too and it would be nice to do something a little less awful. Recovering myself, we watched the show that was a demonstration of everything worth loathing Disney for. It was deeply nauseating, all about good prevailing over evil. Just like it always does in real life. I wish the wicked witch had won – the show would have been over a lot quicker.

We continued to move towards the way out. Just before the monorail and boat loading areas were three more characters. Three more queues. Aaaarrrggghhh! Imminent departure foiled again. I sat and waited while they queued. Three times.

Finally we got on the monorail and left Magic Kingdom forever. My favourite moment of the day. As the tram approached the stop for our car park we were advised not to get off like we’re in an action movie. But wait until it stops. One chap, having got off, ran to his car while the attendant on his loud speaker called out ‘what are you running for, why are you in such a hurry?’ With the combination of this embarrassment and the guffaws from those sitting in the tram he did eventually slow down to a walk.

Tired and hungry we struggled to find somewhere for dinner – something to do with Good Friday evening. Eventually we opted for the Black Angus where there was a 40 minute wait.

During the wait, Fiancé furnished me with a huge, much needed beer. He was also drinking again. Disney is an alcohol free zone – to make the unreality as real as possible I assume.

Again we ordered far too much, with starters the size of main courses followed by more black and blue steaks. Again, we are completely unable to contemplate pudding.

On Saturday morning, having got up at a reasonable time, I was in the bathroom performing my ablutions when I saw some insect antennae poking out of the water overflow. Doing what any self respecting woman would do, I shrieked, ran to the back of the room and called upon Fiancé to save me.

Drama over, we finished readying ourselves and headed to Animal Kingdom – on of Disney World’s other parks.

Now this was much more of a theme park than Magic Kingdom had been and considerably more pleasant. There were trees everywhere, which had the effect of giving the park the desired jungle, feel, as well as providing much needed cooling shade. It was utterly pleasant to wander around.

Having secured a Fast Pass for the safari ride, we occupied the intervening time with a nature walk, which included birds, fish and hippos. Much to Stepchild the Younger’s delight there was a room filled with skulls and cages of small animals such as lizards, hedgehogs and dwarf mice.

We came to the gorilla pen. Unfortunately there was nothing to be seen. Then all of a sudden a pair of huge gorillas came bounding out (something to do with lunch having just been served) followed by two smaller ones. It was breath taking, so be so close to these beautiful animals.

 

Having completed the walk (already this was an improvement on Magic Kingdom in that there was something interesting to do when not on rides) we made our way to the safari. This ride was one of the best in the whole of Disney World. It actually really felt like a safari ride. And we were so close to all the animals. Not only that, but the animals natural environments had been recreated with perfection.

 

The design of the safari had obviously been extremely cleverly arranged in that we saw wilder beast and we saw lions, but never saw any fences. Presumably there must be.  You just wouldn’t put lions in the same living area as wilder beast. Not even Disney would do that.

At one point an ostrich held up the safari bus – not in a highwayman style. It just happened to want to walk along the road we were due to drive along. And walk slowly. Really strutting its stuff.

The ride included a couple of rather shaky bridges, and for a bit of added fun one of them is designed to wobble about in an extreme way, giving the impression that it will collapse at any moment. Despite having known this was going to happen, Stepchild the Elder was terrified. She didn’t actually say so at the time. But then she didn’t need to. The look on her face was enough to cover it.

For some additional terror inducement we then went onto a time travel simulator taking us back to the dinosaur era. This was actually a little scary at moments (but don’t tell anyone I said so), and extremely shaky.

 

Having lunched somewhere shady we then tried to find somewhere suitable to watch the parade – oh yes, and Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger decided they wanted to go on some horrific whirly roller coaster. Fiancé and I were convinced it would make us sick, so we left them to it and watched from a distance. While in the queue Stepchild the Younger came running back over to us with her tooth which seemed to have spontaneously left her mouth – apparently it was nothing to do with personal oral hygiene.

Back to the parade. There were dozens of perfectly good places. But they were all on the sunny side – and it was a very hot day. Every inch of the shaded parts of the route had been filled to capacity.

The parade itself didn’t include that many characters, but was made up of a series of extremely ornate and decorative moving models of various unrecognisable animals.

To cool down after the parade we watched another 3D film in a wonderfully air conditioned theatre. Due to the selfishness of certain viewers refusing to move along the benches, I ended up sitting on a seat join point. It was only afterwards when I found out the rest of the seats had holes for people to be spiked and spooked with the suggestion of insects that I was rather pleased I had been unable to experience the added joy of imagined creepy crawlies.

Our day was to be rounded off with a ride on the rapids. This consisted of a round raft type arrangement which gently span round with the movement of the water. By sheer luck of the draw, where Fiancé and I sat barely got wet at all. Whereas Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger were completely soaked. And that in itself was extremely funny. We realised afterwards that on the bridge going over the final part of this ride are buttons which generate a shower of water, and instruction to passers by to soak the rafts as they pass. Nothing like a bit of interaction.

We had made the mistake of letting Stepchild the Younger and Stepchild the Elder bring their squirty fans with them for the day. As I filled my water bottle at one of the water fountains Stepchild the Younger sprayed me liberally. So when I turned around it seemed right to pour my newly filled bottle of water over her. She was very surprised. And before long there ensued a hilarious and rather scrappy water fight.

As we left, Stepchild the Younger seeing that Stepchild the Elder wanted but could not afford a safari Eyore, bought it for her as a surprise.

I think I possibly let out a yelp of some sort of deep joy as we left Disney, never to return. I might even have punched the air in a not too overt gesture of delight.

When we returned to the car the thermometer informed us it was 103° and it felt like it. On arriving at the apartment we made for the pool – which was incredibly warm – and stayed in it until dark. By the time we got out, the evening air was cold. What’s more, sprinklers had been turned on all round the pool to water the trees. These were of course particularly fun to walk through.

We again had dinner in the room due to an early start the following day.

On Sunday we up early and – after I had gone through a certain familiar process in the bathroom when another creepy crawly appeared, presumably looking for its friend – we started the long drive down to Fort Lauderdale for our cruise. I told Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger that it would be similar to Titanic. Except for the sinking part. You had to pay extra for that.

Fiancé, by now familiar with the Jeep, was enjoying driving with buttons as opposed to pedals. As a mere woman I am genetically unable to control a car, let alone understand one. Therefore further explanation of this new technique is beyond the scope of these pages.

As yet another car with an American flag on it passed us Fiancé observes that Americans are in fact very similar to Muslims in their religious fervour. The way Europe used to be, exampled by the Spanish Inquisition and Bloody Mary among many many others. America isn’t as old as Europe. It needs a few more hundred years to become cynical about religion, or at least quieter about it. Currently there are dozens of churches and chapels for a modern, in your face, loud religion. It’s almost as if the louder it is, the more obvious, the more you mean it. They have yet to learn that religion is a quiet and personal thing.

The road to Fort Lauderdale was how I had always imagined America – long, straight, empty, running through miles and miles of open nothingness. The nothingness here was lush and green. And I had always wanted to drive through barren deserts.

After experiencing the American system of signposting (when they say next left, they mean the one right here, right now – confused all the more as the ‘highway’ exits are on either the left or right of the road) where by and large nothing is signposted at all and no clues whatsoever are given, we found the port. After some additional fun, we found the ship. And after filling in an awful lot of forms and queuing several times we were eventually allowed onto the ship. They could learn a lot from Portsmouth cross channel ferries.

As we were on a ship, our room was a cabin. At it was a small ship, the cabin was tiny. Two small beds on either side of the room, above which were fold away bunk beds (that were currently folded away). It was the first time Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger would have their own bed to sleep in, while it was the first time that Fiancé and I would have to sleep separately. Not that we didn’t try – it really was just a little bit too narrow.

We convened on deck for a buffet lunch. It was very sunny, and unable to locate his glasses Fiancé reconciled himself to the fact that another pair had got lost on holiday. Lunch was followed by the emergency procedures drill before setting sail.. The drill was quite fun – the ‘oh no I think we may be sinking’ alarm sounds, we all scurry off to the cabin, pick up life jackets and proceed to the muster station on the top deck where we are expected to put on the life jacket. For a simple looking device, it is surprisingly involved process to get into it. And enormously uncomfortable. We were told that in the event we missed our lifeboat, a rope ladder would be attached down the side of the ship for us to climb down. In the event the rope ladder was no longer there, or could not be used, we were taught how to jump off the ship. In the event the ship was no long upright, but had tilted forwards, backwards or sideways (as is likely if it should start to sink) was curiously not covered at all.

Fiancé and I became aware – largely because she told us – that Stepchild the Elder had an irrational fear of ships/boats and generally all things floating. We couldn’t understand why. I can appreciate an irrational fear of insects – they’re tiny, we can kill them, the vast majority pose absolutely no threat to our personal safety – bad example, but ships? I couldn’t see it. To make her feel better I said that our cabin was possibly just on or just below the waterline, and look how safe and cosy that was. It didn’t seem to work.

After setting sail Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger went in the deck pool. Unusually for a swimming pool, it had a wave effect going on – something to do with the momentum of the ship. It was also a salt water pool, but there were also two warm, freshwater spas.

Fiancé and I sat on deck, drinking.

Before long, Stepchild the Younger had attracted the attention of a puny example of a child – scrawny, white and with a plait that went down the full length of his back. Wherever she went, he followed. Naturally we teased her mercilessly – it seemed the right thing to do.

As dinner approached we returned to the cabin to ready ourselves, having recently found out we were expected to dress for dinner. At this point Stepchild the Elder suddenly turned into a fully fledge grown woman when she declared with a note of despair that she had nothing at all to wear. (This is on the back of her running up to us when we had been outside, mortified that she had broken a nail).

What we hadn’t catered for in our decisions relating to evening dress was that the restaurant was air conditioned to such an extent that ice cubes probably wouldn’t melt if left in there for a few days. We were on a table with a black woman and her son – Brandon. They had also been to Disney World, and Brandon  - who was 13 – clearly wanted to talk at length about what they had been up to. He was also extremely curious about other countries, and travelling, asking unexpected questions such as is the Queen a celebrity or does she actually have a role in government. Fiancé was deeply impressed, and spent much of the evening engrossed in conversation with him.

Our Bahamian waiter, Leon, was sheer entertainment. After a mere 5 courses (yippee, we managed pudding – only just, but managed it nonetheless) we retired to the Grand Lounge for the show. Cabaret sort of stuff. Good, but not good enough to actually bother to stay and watch for more than 10 minutes.

Tired and well fed, bed was calling us. Fiancé and I decided to try and fit into one bunk bed. I slept beautifully until the early hours of the morning when he woke me up to let me know that he had no room, was sleeping badly as a result and one of us had to go. I got the feeling that one was me, so climbed to the bunk above. I then woke a couple of hours later, freezing cold (my hot water bottle having kicked me out of his bed!) so I ventured into the bathroom, took all the towels and laid them out over the bed to provide some extra warmth.

The following day – which I am reliably informed was Monday – we rose bright and early. Well, early anyway. As we breakfasted we watched Nassau, Bahamas loom into view.

The excursion we had booked for the day was a trip across the coral reef on a glass-bottomed boat, followed by a day at Blue Lagoon. When Fiancé had booked it the previous evening, the girl at the desk looked up and said ‘so that’s one adult and three children?’ Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger had laughed – it seemed to be becoming a joke.

We were not released onto unsuspecting Nassau until we had endured a Butlins style rousing. You know the thing – lots of shouting back responses, especially Ya’man – which apparently is what everyone in the Bahamas says.

 

The glass-bottomed bottom was small and rocky and Stepchild the Elder couldn’t wait to get aboard. We sailed out of the harbour (the homes of seikh’s, celebrities and Elvis being pointed out to us on the way) towards the sea garden. To provide a good view of the fish, bread rolls were thrown over the side. Shoals of fish hurtled towards them, devouring them like a pack of piranhas. I was surprised that fish ate bread. I’m so expert on fish – in fact it is fairer to say that I know virtually nothing about fish, and one of the things I didn’t know was their penchant for a crusty bread roll.

The cunning plot worked and we were afforded fantastic visions of a multitude of fish, some of them fantastically coloured. We went to the bottom of the boat to look at the coral, and a close up of the fish. It wasn’t what I had expected. I had thought it would be more colourful. Instead it all looked rather brown. And sandy. I wasn’t totally convinced about the environmental effects of the boat, which seemed to kick up a lot of sand and also felt as though it was grazing the coral (which we had been informed took 1 year to grow 1 inch). I was surprised at the fluidity of the coral, however, swaying gently with the movement of the sea.

The boat dropped us off at Blue Lagoon Island where we wandered around for several minutes to try and find the lagoon. The island was beautiful, long beaches covered in white sand (not that soft – full of teeny fragments of coral which is sharp, and hurts your feet), lapped by a turquoise sea, which was completely clear. Along much of the coastline were rocks, lumpy rocks on the beach and in the sea as well as flat rock faces reaching out into the water.

 

Having found the lagoon, we commandeered some hammocks and lay in the sun beneath the palm trees. I looked cautiously at the coconuts above. These things do actually fall off, with no warning at all. When I was in Mauritius, walking along, minding my own business, one of damn things came crashing down inches from me, shattering on the paved ground with an alarming bang and splattering my legs with its juices. If they fell on your head, you would be knocked out cold. Which would probably be a good thing, as it would temporarily save you from the embarrassment of having a coconut fall on your head.

Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger went kayaking on the lagoon – well, until Stepchild the Younger kept jumping out on the grounds that kayaking was very dull, at which point Fiancé took over. I joined Fiancé in the water. You could see right through it, and some stripy fish came over to us, swimming around us in curiosity. Fiancé found that if you reached your arms out and held your fingers close to the top of the water, the fish swam up to them. Maybe they thought it was food. Fortunately they didn’t have teeth. Or knives and forks.

After a sumptuous buffet lunch I made the mistake of falling asleep in the hammock (and sun). When I awoke my back had a distinct hammock imprint, while my front was burnt to a crisp (hammocks are no good for sunning both sides, impossible to lie on your tummy in them – frankly not easy to get into them on your back either).

As we prepared to leave to catch the last boat off the island we realised that Stepchild the Younger had misplaced her shoes. Fiancé went to hunt them out while I went to the jetty with the girls, presumably with the possible job of having to stop the boat from leaving if Fiancé was delayed. You can therefore imagine my relief when I saw him re-appear. And to Stepchild the Younger’s delight, he was carrying her shoes.

Stepchild the Elder – by now sporting a record breaking number of freckles – fell asleep on the ferry ride back, sat up in the chair, her head gently lolling until it woke her up. Seeing Fiancé and I smiling at her, she knew she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t falling asleep.

By now deeply embarrassed, she put a towel over her head and settled more comfortably into the not very comfortable chairs – or possibly to prevent my playing join the dots with her freckles. Stepchild the Younger put her arms on the table, her head on her arms, and also succumbed to sleep.

We arrived back at Nassau where the locals tried to sell us bracelets, necklaces and hair braiding. Curiously enough, having been asked about 15 times by 15 different people, we still didn’t want anything.  Instead we wandered back to the ship, passed a Disney ship with Disney characters hanging onto an anchor on the hull.

Back on board we sent Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger off to the pool – along with the charge card so they could get drinks – while Fiancé and I packed and showered. The bathroom at this point became more of a wet room as the teeny rim around the bottom of the shower was by no means up to the job of restraining all the water. The clues were there – a large plug hole in the middle of the bathroom floor.

We dressed for dinner – brilliantly forgetting how cold the dining room was – and made our way upstairs. For the soup course Fiancé opted for a beef consommé. Stepchild the Younger, suddenly adventurous had been trying our food thus far and asked what his soup tasted like. Stuck for words I helped out and told her it tasted like cow – which Stepchild the Elder found extremely amusing.

After dinner, as it was the last night we were instructed to swing napkins over our heads and generally whoop and shriek. The lights were dimmed and all the waiters put trays on their head on which was something that was on fire. Judging by the smell, it was something sugary. They proceeded to dance up and down the aisles, dropping to their knees, leaning back on their hands and kicking their legs out, never once dropping the burning trays. Behind them were the rest of the catering staff, clapping and shaking rattles.

It was a splendid finale after which we returned to the cabin and slept like babies. For a few hours at least. I was awoken during the night when the light was turned on, and gradually became aware that I was wearing nothing, the sheets were pushed down to my waist, and I was facing Stepchild the Younger on the top bunk opposite and she was looking back at me. I pulled back the sheets, recovering my modesty.

On Tuesday morning Fiancé and I got up early and persuaded Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger that they wanted to do the same. We breakfasted and finished packing for arrival back in America. Already aware that the international ferry processes leaved a lot to be desired it shouldn’t have surprised us that it took a good couple of hours before we were allowed to disembark. It made me realise how much we take for granted in the ease of travel from the UK. During the wait we played Bingo, and were asked to call out ya’man if it was a number we wanted or a pirate sounding aarrgh if it wasn’t.

When we eventually disembarked and passed through customs Stepchild the Elder managed to encounter certain difficulties getting herself and her suitcase off the escalator. An official left to her assistance, but not before a reasonable chunk of her flip flop had been devoured by the escalator, leaving large teeth marks in the bottom of them. We returned to the car and there were Fiancé’s sunglasses – right there on the dashboard.

We picked up directions for the next hotel, and were firmly told to use these written directions rather than our map – otherwise we would get lost. Quickly realising that their written instructions were rubbish, and had got us lost, we reverted to the map. This cleared up some of the issues, but the only hotel which appeared to vaguely meet the name we were after was a horribly run down building, with broken vents, grubby curtains (judging from the outside), dishevelled garden, definitely no pool. We paused outside, hoping and praying that this was not it. Fiancé asked a passerby – fortunately the street the hotel was on split in the middle – we were on the wrong bit. With a huge sigh of relief we made out way to the correct part of the street and correct hotel, which was much more what we were expecting.

We went out to lunch at a diner next to the hotel. This was a proper American diner, the sort of thing which if in England you would decide had gone too over the top. Stepchild the Elder and a milkshake and I had a smoothie. Both drinks were enormous and topped with a pile of whipped cream, and I used all the suction available to me to retrieve pieces of strawberry and banana from the bottom of the glass. We ordered sandwiches that were so enormous that they required a knife and fork to eat.

We returned to the hotel with plans of going in the pool while Fiancé went out to locate stamps so that we could post off all our postcards – except that it there was torrential rain, thunder and lightning. So we sat in the room continuing to write postcards, while Fiancé got wet outside and returned to the room some time later, suitably drenched.

The weather cleared up later in the afternoon and the girls played in the pool. Thoroughly tired out they chose to stay in the room while Fiancé and I went out for dinner – under instructions to try and bring back a doggy bag if possible. Just in case.

We went to a wonderful little Italian restaurant down the road, and sat outside where there was a female vocalist performing fantastically. Never mind doggy bag – we ordered a take away pizza for the girls.

Deciding to go all the way and have cocktails, Fiancé ordered a Key Lime Pie. Yes, there is a drink version as well as the edible version. There wasn’t much key and there wasn’t much pie, but there was a whole lot of lime. It was almost undrinkable. And naturally I found this hilarious.

We wandered back; armed with pizza, which Stepchild the Elder promptly devoured all but two slices once we got in.

Fiancé set the alarm for the morning - we had an earlier start than normal – and we dozed off. We woke up in the morning, about 30 minutes after we should have left. The alarm had not gone off. Fortunately I had organised everyone so that all the clothes and bits and pieces required for the day were already laid out ready. Within about 10 minutes we were dressed and out. It was amazing we were that fast especially as I had run out of the bathroom shrieking as a cockroach scuttled around my feet. I did the only thing possible – sent Fiancé in there after it and kindly passed him a shoe with which to flatten the little so and so. Neither Stepchild the Elder nor Stepchild the Younger particularly wanted to use the bathroom after that.

We took the remaining pizza in the car, which Stepchild the Younger decided was all hers as Stepchild the Elder had eaten most of it the previous evening.

Still bleary eyed and in a hurry we headed for the Florida Turnpike, which ran all the way down to the Keys. Except that we managed to get on it going in the wrong direction.

Having resolved that situation we started to make reasonable time – until we came to one of many tolls. Going for the exact change booth (which we had used before and handed exact change to a person) we were faced with a bucket – no person – telling us it would only take coins. We didn’t have coins. By this time there were cars behind us beeping so we didn’t have the option of backing up. The only available choice was to drive through. Which we did. Fiancé then stopped and went back to ask what he should do. The first person he spoke to helpfully told him to return to his car. Return and do what? After a few minutes he went back and spoke to someone else who asked if this was the first time he had skipped a toll. It was – so she told us to carry on. No one minds on your first time apparently.

By now we had lost our good time and were running late. We hurtled down to the Keys were the road became a slow moving single carriageway.

Fiancé sped up where he could – although on one occasion of doing this he managed to take out two low flying birds with the aerial. The aerial was on my side, so I had the full effect of the lumps of blood being spattered over the windscreen and down my side of the car, and a nice view of bits of bird still stuck to the aerial. It was revolting. We had got them with quite a bang. Stepchild the Younger was deeply disappointed to have missed it and rather hoped Fiancé would do it again.

We arrived at the Theater (it is America) of the Sea bang on time – Stepchild the Younger was more interested in checking out dead bird bits on the car. Rushing in we checked in for our activities that morning. The whole place was well populated with cats. They were everywhere, sitting on the counter in the gift shop, wandering all round the venue. All colours. All types.

The day began with a tour of the venue in which we saw (quite closely) sharks, enormous turtles, equally enormous fish including some beautifully coloured ones, parrots (which were very noisy), a huge stingray and barracudas as well as a conch with the snail like animal inside it – using the term snail in the loosest possible sense, as the animal in a conch shell is considerably bigger. As the guide went round telling us about the various marine animals she threw fish into the water for them. However, local stalks and herons, realising that this was their equivalent of a fast food restaurant, swept in and pinched a reasonable quantity of the fish almost as soon as it hit the water.

There were also injured animals there, which included a crocodile. This unfortunate animal had wandered into someone’s back garden. The guide informed us that the resident, instead of phoning the authorities (I imagine that you can look up Crocodile Catchers in the Florida Yellow Pages in much the same way that we look up people to remove wasp nests) went outside and shot it in the head. Miraculously this didn’t kill the croc, but did make it blind in both eyes.

There was also a hunch-backed turtle whose shell was misshapen due to a large air bubble beneath it. A further effect of this bubble was that the turtle couldn’t submerge.

It was therefore kept in a pool that was shaded so that it wouldn’t overheat. Apparently this deformity was a birth defect, probably caused by the egg being moved. We were informed that if turtle eggs are moved and not replaced in exactly the same orientation then such deformities are likely.

At the end of the tour the guide picked up a baby shark for us to stoke. It had rough skin. Apparently sharks taste through their skin, and when people are shipwrecked in shark infested water their skin will be rubbed raw as sharks swim past them so see if it’s something they want to eat

Having viewed all the animals we went to watch the dolphin show. The Theater of the Sea was considerably smaller than Sea World, and this actually made it nicer. You could get closer to the animals, and the whole atmosphere was much more intimate. The dolphin show stadium was small and the trainers provided enormous amounts of information about dolphins and the way in which they are trained.

This was followed by the sea lion show, which again was intimate and informative. The sea lion had amazing character and skill. He caught a ball when he was in the water, came out of the water, rolled over three time then balanced on a stool on his front fins, never letting the ball drop. He also knew the word ‘good’ and kept his nose on a target, wherever the trainer moved it and however fast. She tried to trick him by saying several words which sound like good, but he never let go until the correct word was said.

We had a quick break for lunch before the Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger’s dolphin swim. Stepchild the Younger’s back had got a little sunburnt and was itching. Throughout lunch she kept asking when it would stop. Fiancé and I both told her that if she left it alone, the itching would go away in a few minutes. I went off to get cutlery and condiments. On my return Stepchild the Younger told me that she had not touched her back for some time and it was still itching, despite my saying it would go. ‘I lied’ I told her. Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger giggled. It seemed that while I was away from the table Stepchild the Younger had made the same comment to Fiancé who had replied in exactly the same way.

Having lunched, the girls went to get changed for the dolphin swim. There was a briefing before the swim in which we were given all necessary information, including the warning not to stroke the dolphin’s tummy. This apparently can make a male dolphin a bit amorous and may result in a very unique experience.

It was incredible to watch and from the grins on their faces Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger clearly enjoyed every minute of it. They swam round, stroked, danced, kissed and had a dorsal fin tow. It was only when we saw the photos that it became clear there were two dolphins in their area. When the girls were showering and changing a lady asked if they had done the dolphin swim. ‘Oh yes’ I beamed. She scowled back. ‘Our dolphin didn’t want to do it, and kept swimming away’. All of a sudden it was clear where this other dolphin had appeared from.

We went back up to Key Largo for the final activity of the day – snorkelling. The boat gently moved out into the sea; where he put his foot down and it shot off like a speedboat, bow tilted up and huge amounts of spray on either side. The coral reef we were snorkelling was 4.5 miles off the coast, in the Atlantic Ocean.

We had been kitted out on the journey with flippers, inflatable vest, mask and snorkel. The ladders on the back of the boat were lowered into the water and we clambered down into the sea – which was surprisingly warm. From the boat we could see the coral reef and needed to swim 50m or so over to it. The sea was choppy – we heard on a weather forecast later that day that the waves were 3-7 feet.

We swam over to the coral reef and started to snorkel. Snorkelling is a very strange experience, and initially very unnatural. The mask was dipped in an unspecified liquid before we put it on which ensured that it created a waterproof seal when on our faces. The mask also covers your nose. And this is where the initial difficulties arose. There is the bit in your mouth, through which you breathe, but it is almost impossible not to also breathe through your nose. But when you do, it is an alarming feeling of not being able to breathe as the mask was snugly fitted over your nose. It took a minute or two to get used to this, and not panic. A further difficulty was that the large waves now and them tipped themselves into the snorkel, resulting in a mouthful of sea. I also found that the mask didn’t always stay that well sealed to my face, letting in water that went into my eyes and then up my nose during my struggled inhalations against the mask.

Once all of these problems were overcome, it was an incredible experience. With your head out of the sea visibility is as good as nil (effect of the mask), and it’s noisy, cold and choppy. Head down and suddenly everything can be seen clearly. Also there was a most incredible silence, broken only by the rasp of your own breath. Just below us was a seabed of coral and vast numbers of brightly coloured fish that didn’t move when you swam through them – or rather glided. The art of snorkelling is that you slightly inflate the vest, keep your arms by your side and sway your legs ever so slightly to move forward.

 

We had been instructed not to damage the coral – which takes a year to grow 1 inch. This created problems if you wanted to stop and tread water for a bit as you had to find an area with no coral in before you could put your legs down. Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger soon found the constant need for movement a bit tiring and Fiancé took them back to the boat. It then took me several minutes to try and find him again, finally resorting to looking at people under the water as it was far easier to see when submerged.

 

We had a waterproof camera, but taking pictures became a bit trial and error. The reason for this was simple – but hadn’t previously occurred to us. The mask sits a couple of inches away from your face. Therefore, to take pictures you are holding the camera some way away from your eye, trying to look through it. As the water was a bit cloudy (because of the extent of wind and waves) the overall result was that you had no idea what you were photographing. In the end Fiancé just held it at arms length, clicked and hoped for the best. The final photographs have come out considerably better than expected.

 

Apparently there were turtles out there, but we never saw them.

Fiancé and I eventually decided to return to the boat, which was exceedingly rocky, being moored and stationery on the not very smooth Atlantic. By the time we got back Stepchild the Elder was ashen white and feeling sick.

Fiancé got on the boat and quite quickly realised that he would feel less ill if he stayed in the sea. After a few minutes persuasion Stepchild the Elder joined him, and the colour of her face started to return to normal.

When Fiancé did get back on the boat he again started to feel rapidly unwell, and eventually threw up over the side of the boat. Or to put it more accurately, on the side of the boat. He looked round at the skipper, smiled sweetly and said ‘sorry about that’ as the skipper hosed down the offending area.

Before too many more people were sick (others were feeling decidedly peculiar) we headed back to land. Once moving again we all felt a bit better. The experience had unfortunately done nothing to enhance Stepchild the Elder’s opinion of boats.

We dressed and dried as best we could on the ride back. Having come all this way to the Keys, Fiancé was reluctant to go back to the hotel. He wanted to get down to Key West (about an hour’s drive). I wasn’t so sure but we decided to set off and defer further decision making for the time being. Fiancé, having emptied his stomach, was now hungry and part of the journey south was to locate a suitable eating place.

As we drove further down the Keys the more beautiful they became, tiny narrow islands linked by long bridges. Gradually the islands got smaller and bridges got longer. In many places you could see clear, turquoise water on either side of you. There were lots of places selling limes, and I wondered if this was the origin of Key Lime. Fiancé didn’t want to think about it.

We reached the 7 mile bridge, which is exactly what it says it is. A bridge, 7 miles long, linking two of the islands. There are in fact two bridges, but the other one appeared much older, and was no longer used. A number of sections had been removed from it, presumably where some sort of bridge used to be to allow boats to pass under. The new bridge, and in fact all the bridges we had been on, were humped so that there was room beneath them for shipping.

The 7 mile bridge went very high, and from the top all you could see was miles and miles of long straight bridge stretching out in front of you across the water, with the Atlantic Ocean all around.  The view was incredible, made all the more beautiful by the sun setting in distance and a feeling of being out there in the middle of nowhere. Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger has drifted off to sleep, but we woke them up to show them – it was that good. 5 miles across the bridge the traffic all came to a standstill. In front of us people had got out of their cars, and were looking down the road, and over the edge of the bridge. Up ahead we could see a helicopter hovering just above the bridge, and the flashing lights of a police car.

We waited for a while before deciding that whatever had happened up ahead (accident, suicide, car over the edge) it was serious and the traffic jam would be there for some time. So Fiancé turned around and we headed back up along the bridge, the steep hill of it ahead.

It solved the question about whether we should drive down to Key West.

After a couple of false starts we found an ocean side restaurant. Quite literally. We had a table on a first floor veranda, and the beach was below us. A small beach, with the sea lapping at the edges of it.

Stepchild the Younger asked if we could have starters as she was hungry. We decided to get a couple of things for all of us to share – potato skins and chicken strips. Then I saw stuffed mushroom – stuffed with crabmeat and spinach and topped with cheese. Stepchild the Elder had had this a few nights ago at Black Angus and it had been very nice. I persuaded Fiancé to add it to the list of starters. The waiter informed us it was only 1 mushroom. Even better, we thought, bearing in mind leaving room for main courses. As usual, the mains courses all came with salad and an enormous choice of potatoes.

While we waited the bread basket came. It was loaded with warm rolls, including a delicious loaf at the bottom. We ate the lot. In hindsight this was probably a mistake. Seeing our empty basket, the waiter brought us a new one. By this time we should have known better, and left it. But there was another one of those delicious loaves.

Our salads appeared, and were duly eaten. We were getting full, and hadn’t yet had starters. Before long, these too arrived. And there was our mushroom. It was the biggest mushroom in the world, almost too big for the plate. It had to be genetically modified – nothing in nature could be that huge. It was big enough for a main course, let alone starter. Fiancé glared at me accusingly.

We ate it – and our share of the rest of the starters and were completely stuffed. Realising that the mushroom had been a terrible mistake Fiancé blamed me. Naturally I passed the blame on to Stepchild the Younger – it had after all been her idea to have starters in the first place.

The main courses appeared, and were delicious. Unspeakably delicious. But none of us was able to make much of a dent in them. Because of the mushroom. Even Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger blamed the mushroom – and they hadn’t eaten any of it.

Uncomfortably full we settled into the car for the long journey back to the hotel, and all fall asleep on the way back. Except Fiancé of course. Otherwise we would have crashed.

The following day – Thursday – was our last full day. For one we had nowhere to go and nothing to do, so opted for a well earned lie in. We returned to the diner for lunch and milkshakes. Everyone except me opted for pudding afterwards. Fiancé asked if I was sure that I didn’t want anything. ‘ Oh no’, I replied, ‘I know when I’m full’. He laughed, in that way which implies he doesn’t believe a word of it. I think we were back at the mushroom.

We popped into a shop for some last minute present buying, and managed to smash some of the display items (it’s not a holiday until we have broken something – additional ground rules being laid down for next year, namely don’t touch blinds or things in shops).

All other tasks complete we settled down to an afternoon by the pool.

We decided to return to the Italian restaurant for dinner – this time accompanied by the girls. After the meal they were each given a teddy bear. Stepchild the Elder’s was green so she called it Key Lime Pie.

On Friday we had the long trip back to England. We drove to Miami airport, and round it about three times, such was the convoluted route to return the hire car. Naturally any useful signposts were given at the last minute. For the flights home we were sitting together, so expected an uneventful return journey. The flight from Miami to Toronto was indeed most uneventful – although we witness frustrated families who had been split up.

At Toronto there is curious system whereby you go through customs even if on a transfer, therefore you actually enter the country, get more stamps in the passport and so on. Stepchild the Elder was picked by the customs lady to answer her questions – assuming that if we were lying we wouldn’t have briefed the children. Stepchild the Elder was asked if I was her aunt – clearly the trip had aged me. When the circumstances were explained we were then asked if we had written consent from the absent parent to take the children abroad. This was the first time such a question had been asked (and our third trip through Canadian customs) and we were now on the homebound route, so it seemed particularly irrelevant. She let us through anyway.

By luck rather than judgement we found our way to a different terminal from where the homebound flight left. Baggage control had told us that as we were using the same airline, the bags would be transferred across. I had my doubts.

As we had officially entered Canada I expected at some point to ‘check in’. Otherwise our luggage would be put on a London bound flight, and no one would know if we were on that flight. There was no such checking process. My concerns grew.

While we waited for the flight (the wrong one was being displayed on the screen at the gate, adding to the general incompetence and confusion) there seemed to be a situation going on at the gate. Fiancé went over to see what the problem was. It seemed that the flight was over-subscribed, and people were being turned away. Concerned, Fiancé checked that we were on it. We were – as we had pre-booked seats. Suddenly the implications of the seat booking took a whole new turn as I realised that we could have been turned away from either one of our outbound flights. I was stunned that on long haul, scheduled, expensive flights Air Canada adopted such a system. Some of those turned away had booked their flights over 6 months previously. They were also informed that the next flight was full. The overall effect would be to ruin onward trips and travel plans in England.

This mayhem caused the plane to leave 45 minutes late. As expected many families had been separated. So families had been re-jiggled, any vacant seats identified, and these then filled with people from the turned away group.

Eventually we set off, vowing never to fly Air Canada again.

The good film was put on quite late after which Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger managed to get some sleep. Fiancé and I however were not so fortunate. I didn’t even feel tired.

The flight back was quick (despite leaving late we arrived at Heathrow 5 minutes early), so the hours of night would have less than usual anyway. We arrived in London having missed a whole nights sleep, and knowing we would feel the full effects of this later on.

One final ordeal lay ahead – baggage collection. We waited at the carousel, and two of the three cases duly came round. After several minutes it became clear that no further luggage was being added. And several people were waiting (implying that a carton had not been unpacked rather than that ours had been lost).

In the end I went to the Air Canada baggage desk with the luggage bar codes. At the front of the queue was a man filling in a lost luggage form and some ladies behind him in the queue mentioning they had heard the clerk say that some luggage appeared to have gone missing. Just as I was starting to despair, another lady came and joined the ones in front of me and declared that some of the baggage scattered around us had our flight number on it, and perhaps we might want to check them. So I started looking, and almost immediately found the missing suitcase. Abandoned in the middle of the baggage collection concourse. And the Air Canada clerk hadn’t the faintest idea it (and many others) was there.

Too irritated to bother finding out how on earth this had happened, we went out to meet Middle Bro for our lift home. When Fiancé and I eventually got back we put the suitcases on the bed, unzipped them, and promptly fell asleep.

It had been an action packed holiday, filled with things we would remember for life. If not longer.

 

NOTES

The above is a true story. At the time of writing Child the Elder was 12 and Child the Younger was 10. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books.