I love watching all these folks pulling their suitcases behind Newel through the airport. I wish I had pictures of our journey from Paris to Spain.
Except we had to make a run for our small commuter flight. At the last minute, Eliza began to not feel well and trying to assess her situation was kind of tricky.
She would be okay and then suddenly, not, but couldn't seem to pinpoint anything particular. She's six, you know. By the time we did land in Seville, she was in a full blown high fever.
And not a little one ... sorry to all the passengers on that flight.
We ran straight to our little town. Troubleshooting access to a doctor right away, we were directed to a little side street in a neat and tidy office. It was the middle of siesta when all things are closed but that doctor kindly ushered her in, diagnosed the problem without a word of English spoken, handed off medicine and charged a minimal fee.
No paper work. No hassles. It was awesome and quick when we needed it most.
Bless her heart, she had strep throat without any of the usual signs.
We arrived at our villa in Carmona, Spain and quite literally caught our breath.
We spent the first days there recuperating.
It was the perfect place for it. It's like we were thirsting for warm sun and downtime.
The air literally smelled like these lemons growing all over the property on which we were staying.
The kids had never seen figs so I taught them how we ate them as children, straight from my grandmother's tree at the farm in South Carolina.
And after some much needed rest, we were ready to go again.