Traveling with child is not the same as traveling without child.
This should not be surprising, and yet, the enormity of the truth is breaking slowly over us.
Let me give you an example: most people, as they walk down the narrow labyrinth of twisting cobblestone streets that make up this ancient city (Seville was founded in pre-Roman times), might look up at the ornate balconies, at the beautiful tile-work that adorn the colorful walls, and remark on them to each other. They might stop in one of the hundreds of little café-bars that are tucked in on every block and enjoy some tapas, or perhaps a drink of coffee or wine.
We walk these same streets, gaze upon the beauty around us, and spin un-ending tales of Jedi councils, Sith Lords and two-sided light sabers.
Zev has adjusted to the time change alright. He’s going to sleep later than his State-side bedtime of 9 pm, but in this country where dinner doesn’t start until 9 or 10 pm, where kids his age fill the plazas until past midnight while their parents sit and enjoy the evening air together, he’s hardly out of place.
But he’s obviously working through the mental shift to being a new place and not having any kids his own age to play with, and is taking comfort in the fantasy world of Star Wars. We’re hopeful that he’ll settle in, eventually, and notice the city around him. Until then, I do my best to integrate the world around us into our game.
Of course, we’ve had some nice adventures in our week here so far, as the photos should tell. And he has had a few encounters playing with the Sevillan children (I’m curious whether they or he noticed they didn’t speak the same language, they were having so much fun running and tumbling together).
