In the last four months, E.:
– watched the bumps racing on the final day of Summer Eights in Oxford
– played in Jesus Green and along The Backs in Cambridge
– walked on the moor with wild ponies in Dartmoor National Park
– ate dinner in more than one pub where the building was older than either of his two countries
– drove past Stonehenge
– toured a stately home
– tasted the waters at the old temple to Sulis Minerva in Bath
– saw two of the great cathedrals of medieval England (Salisbury and Ely)
– cycled alongside the canals of Amsterdam
– saw the Dutch Masters in the Rijksmuseum
– saw the Lipizzaners in their stables in Vienna
– went to the top of the Olympiaturm in Munich
– saw an original copy of the Magna Carta
– dipped his feet in The Wash and paddled in the English Channel
– toured caves which had been quarried from the days of the Romans onwards
– threw pebbles into the sea along the Jurassic Coast
– walked through the salt marshes in Chichester where the smugglers used to disembark
– visited the Roman Palace at Fishbourne
– walked the grounds of a village church, parts of which dated back to the Norman conquest.
He’s done more in the past summer than some people get to do in a lifetime.
He probably won’t remember any of it.
If he remembers anything, I bet it will be this:
We rode a double decker bus several times a week in and out of town, and he always, always sat on the top level at the very front where the big windows were.
And, according to the tally Q. and I made on our penultimate day in the U.K., we visited thirty-one playgrounds (including actual playgrounds, indoor play areas, and other locations that happened to have a play area attached, like pubs and tourist attractions).
Buses and playgrounds. Those will be his memories.
A perfect summer for a toddler, really.