A "first" trip to Italy

Being a new family had meant many firsts.  First laugh, first words, first steps, first visits, first holidays.

Some of these things had happened far earlier than for most others.  We had decided to continue with as much travel as was reasonable with the baby, and it had all generally been great.  There had been some parts which were tougher and there was certainly a change from what we had been previously used to.  But it had all still be rewarding both for ourselves and also for the baby.

With all of these positive experiences, we decided that we would try for another first.  It wouldn't be baby's first long haul travel, but it would be his first trip to Italy.

We arrived at the airport late in the evening.  To try and maximise baby's chances of sleeping, we had booked a flight for the early hours of the morning.  We did our best to use up his energy, letting him wander and explore the airport before boarding.  The hours ticked by and eventually it was our time to board.  One of the great benefits of traveling with the baby has been the lack of any lining up.  Be it for the flight, immigration or security, the moment they see the stroller we either get waved through or sent to a dedicated fast line.  It's been one of the great joys of traveling with baby and I'm going to miss it when he gets older.

Our efforts with the baby were not in vain, and shortly after takeoff he was fast asleep.  He took up most of my seat, but that was fine by me.  For him to be well rested was all that mattered and it would hopefully mean a more relaxed and calm journey for everyone.  As the lights in the cabin dimmed, I took the opportunity to slip one of the complimentary eye masks over his head to keep any stray lights from waking him up.

We were flying with Qatar Airways again, so instead of a direct flight to Italy, we had a stop over in Doha.  It was a pleasant break for us that gave us an chance to recoup before the final short leg to Rome.  Our arrival early in the morning was something new for us. We normally arrived in Doha when it was pitch black, so it was lovely to see the sun rising over the sparse and beautiful desert.

During our stay in Hamad International Airport, we cleaned up the baby, had some food and took advantage of all the facilities for children.

Our final leg was once again fairly calm and stress free.  There was far more walking around and far less sleeping this time, but that was fine.  So long as there wasn't any screaming or crying, it was all quite manageable.  Baby took the time to pace up and down the aisles, waving and saying a bright "hi!" to anyone who would look at him.  I was worried he would be disturbing other passengers, but everyone seemed to enjoy his presence and the distraction from the flight he provided.  Some passengers were overtly friendly, trying to talk and engage with him.  It was all lovely and he seemed to have a great time.

After only a little more than 5 hours, we were in Rome.  But this wasn't the end of the travel.

We had decided to go to Puglia for this holiday.  Instead of breaking up the travel.  I made the decision to white knuckle it and do it all in one hit.  So at Rome airport, we collected our luggage and moved over to the next terminal.  There, we waited our last short flight to Bari.

Everything had gone well so far.

Easter Processions

Our trip to Madrid had coincided with Easter.  

During Easter in Spain, there are famous processions that occur throughout Spain.  These processions are grand affairs steeped in history and tradition.  Cities like Seville are known for having some of the biggest of these religious processions, but these events were all still celebrated in other parts of the country including in Madrid.  We were extremely lucky to have found ourselves here during this time.  It was completely unplanned and it was only well after I had booked the tickets that I realised that we would indeed get to witness these incredible events.

The processions seemed to mostly happen at night.  The wonderful girl at the front desk of the hotel was very kind and printed out and prepared explanations for us on when and where in the city we could find them happening.  When she talked about them, she thumped on her chest as she talked about the power of the music.  One evening as we walked down towards Puerta del Sol, we saw a gathering crowd.  We could see down one of the side streets that people were gathering for the coming procession.

At first we couldn't see anything.  There was just the gathering crowd, all slowly pushing together and to the front.  Nothing happened.  People waited and then some people decided to just move on.  Then very slowly you could hear it.  Feint at first, but it was the music.  The steady beat of the snare drums as they rattled off their beats like a metronome.  Then as the drums became louder, we could start to hear the brass band.  The trumpets first, then the other instruments became louder.  In the cold and dark of the evening, the music hit hard.  It seemed to reach deep into the soul, with both a glory and struggle.  As I listened and looked, I could see the procession slowly reach us.  Slowly.  Step by step.  They carried the towering floats and sculptures.  It moved slowly, above the gathered crow, almost like a boat pushing through this enormous sea of people.

  

Another evening, we finished dinner in a different part of the city closer to the palace and decided to take a slow and winding walk home.  As we were walking, we found the streets were slowly being cordoned off by police as they prepared for another procession.  On the large street, there was far less of restriction on the gathering crowd and so we were all able to stand closer and with a better view.   Just like the first procession we attended, before we saw anything we first heard the music.  This slowly approaching sound created a strange sense of anticipation and excitement.  I wondered if it was just because we were new to all of this, would we feel the same again?  

What appeared from around the corner was not what I was expecting at all.

A procession of marchers impeccably dressed in old European romantic military style uniforms, along with far more ominous and threatening marchers in red hoods.  Those in the hoods looked like a strange cross between something out of Star Wars and the KKK.  I wasn't sure whether to be terrified or laughing, but in the circumstances there was still amazingly, a solemn feel to it all. 

We didn't stay for the entire procession.  It was getting extremely cold now.  Baby Pickle was fast asleep, wrapped up in warm clothes and a blanket.  We on the other hand needed the comfort of somewhere for a warm drink.

Before we left, we spotted a statue.  It wasn't of anyone famous or any notable figure.  I later found out it was part of a series of statues around Madrid of ordinary people, with this one called the "curious neighbour".  Touching the statue on the very well worn and polished bum was apparently lucky and would mean you would return to Madrid one day.

Warming foods

The cold of Madrid had made walking the streets of the city an easy task.  Many of our recent trips to Europe had been during summer, and for all the joy that brings, it also meant having to deal with the at times oppressive heat.  This time, the unexpected cold meant that every walk could be done fairly comfortably so long as we were all properly dressed.  Veronica and baby didn't have any problems, but I was probably slightly underdressed with only a cardigan and a light jacket.  I was convinced that this was all enough, but I probably should have bought a warmer hat sooner.

Another far more important benefit of the cold was the food.  Part of our excitement for the trip included being able to experience a variety of Spanish cuisine.  I had enjoyed the food during my last trip, but it was a different type of trip then.  I was still in a backpacking stage in my travels, often spending large amounts of time by myself, and so the focus on food tended towards simpler and quicker options.  The idea of sitting by myself in a restaurant lingering over a meal has never appealed to me.  It wasn't any shyness about being by myself, but it was more the boredom of it all.  This time, I didn't want to miss out on any of that, with Veronica I knew I would be trying a broader range of food options.  The cold weather made all of this all the more appealing.  It gave us a far bigger appetite than we would have otherwise had, but it also seemed to compliment the heavier type of food we would be eating in Madrid. 

One of our first visits was to the chocolate shop El Riojano.  It was overly simplistic to call this a chocolate shop.  It was a bakery and a tea room.  An old and historic shop, we found ourselves visiting several times during our stay.  Its signature molten hot chocolate was served in small coffee cups into which you dipped delicate and crumbly lady fingers.  It was a perfect cold weather food and served as an ideal breakfast.

Another unexpected surprise was being able to try the "torrijas".  During the Easter period, these French toast style desserts are traditionally eaten by the locals.  Served cold, they bore a passing resemblance to French toast, but strangely tasted more like the Hong Kong style variant.  As a part of our breakfast, the sweet and spiced pieces of toast were a good accompaniment to the rich hot chocolate and the strong black coffees.

Even with our desire to try some nicer restaurants, it didn't mean we were going to be skipping the simpler fare in Madrid.  I always found it strange that an inland city had such a strong seafood culture.  Near Plaza Mayor, we went into one of the multitude of little bars serving the bocadillo de calamares.  It was simple and freshly made.  Veronica seemed apprehensive, but served with an ice cold beer it was incredibly satisfying.

Another walk down memory lane for me was bringing Veronica to Casa Labra.  This ideally placed bar near Puerta del Sol was a mainstay for my dining during my previous visit.  I remember coming back to it repeatedly both with Phil and then later by myself.  I hoped that it would be as good as I remembered.  All too often, our memories of places like these seem to improve with age.  Was it really that good to begin with?  Was it merely a nostalgia for those older times that made the place "good"?  I ordered beers along with the famed croquetas and deep fried bacalao.  Normally, I would wait for a "fresh" batch, but the brisque business meant there was no need to wait as every tray brought out was immediately purchased and served.  Taking the plates to Veronica, we bit in to the piping hot morsels.  Veronica's face lit up.  It was as good as I had remembered.  Standing outside definitely added to the experience, with the cold weather contrasting sharply to this lovely hot fried food.  With its location, this spot became a regular stop for us.  We would find ourselves wandering past on the way somewhere and just randomly pop in for a quick beer and snack.  One time, Veronica decided to stop in at the shops looking at some clothes.  I felt bored wandering the aisles when I suddenly realised how close Casa Labra was.  Along with baby, I made my way over for a quick beer and croqueta whilst Veronica continued with her browsing. 

This trip wasn't all about nostalgia though.  We wanted to try some of the famous dishes and restaurants that Madrid had to offer.  High on the list of where we wanted to visit was "Botin", with its (often disputed) reputation as the oldest restaurant in the world.  Booking was a hassle, but we managed to secure a table with some friends on the upper floor.  It was a touch difficult to carry the baby in his pram up the stairs, but the staff were generally obliging whenever we needed any assistance.  It was a trend we noticed throughout our trip.  Inside the old dining room, we ordered the roast suckling pig.  This was the dish to get in this restaurant.  Cooked in wood ovens that are apparently kept burning permanently.    

It was good.  The skin was crispy and the meat was tender.  Was it a truly memorable meal that I will cherish forever?  No, it definitely wasn't.  The price was also heavily inflated, almost certainly because of the fame of the restaurant.  I still enjoyed myself.  It was a lovely place to have dinner, full of history.  But I would put it more on the "bucket list" type of places to visit.

There were plenty of other restaurants in Madrid that seemed to offer more.  Local restaurants serving traditional cuisine that didn't have the same touristic slant or focus.  We searched and found as many of these restaurants, each time enjoying the rich and hearty meals they would serve us.  Flavourful stews, fried meats and potatoes, pickled vegetables.  It was all incredibly tasty and seemed quite close to many of the more traditional cantonese dishes you would find in Hong Kong.

Of all the dishes we encountered, I particularly enjoyed the Callos Madrilenos, or Madrid style beef tripe.  It was a slow cooked trip, incredibly rich in flavour and soft in texture.  Paired with some bread and a nice red wine, it was a lovely dish for the cold "winter" nights we were experiencing.  What we also found incredible was the kindness and warmth of the people.  Even with the baby, it never seemed to be a problem.  The staff would always happily accomodate us, and in many cases they went out of their way to assist or help us.  There were no stares or unhappiness about us entering a restaurant with a baby.  None at all.  It was all just part of life and they were always happy for that to include a baby.

One night, we went searching for a place to try one of the local specialities, "cocido".  A stew made with chickpeas and a variety of different meats and vegetables, this was a winter favourite of the locals.  We made little to no headway in our search.  We walked from restaurant to restaurant, with terrible timing.  Each place we arrived at seemed to have just closed or just stopped taking orders as we arrived.  We had walked what felt like a circle around central Madrid when we walked past one last restaurant named "L'Hardy".  This it turned out was another one of the old famous restaurants of Madrid.  We had no idea of the fame of this restaurant or even the type of restaurant it was.  We were standing outside on the ground floor when we saw the sign.  The doorman at the front saw us and asked if we wanted a table.  We said yes, and he immediately brought us in and told us to wait.  We were a bit confused, but also cold and hungry.  We walked in and waited.  Something seemed strange though.  We weren't being led to the dining room or to any place that seemed like a restaurant.  Instead it felt more like a hallway of a grand old home.  We contemplated leaving when the restaurant's maitre'd appeared.  He welcomed us into the restaurant and took us to the bottom of a large, grand windig staircase.  I apologised for the stroller (with baby sleeping comfortably inside) and said we probably wouldn't be able to visit his restaurant.  Not a problem at all it seemed.  He quickly arranged for waiters to run down the stairs and to help us carry the stroller up the stairs.  Once we were upstairs, I became a bit worried.  This was clearly a very fancy restaurant.  The dining rooms were opulent and everyone inside was immaculately dressed.  I felt out of place with the baby, but the waiters insisted that it was fine.  We were brought into one of the smaller dining rooms.  The table was laid out with crisp white table clothes, fine china and silver cutlery.  The baby continued to sleep, but I could see the look of slight concern from the other guests.  I don't think it was any disdain towards us for being there, but likely more of a mild concern about the prospect of a crying baby.

We looked at the menu and immediately ordered two servings of the cocido.  The waiter advised us to not order much else, so we limited ourselves to a bottle of wine and some of the fresh peas which we were informed were in season.  The baby continued to sleep and so we began to relax.  Around us, the other guests also seemed to realise that the baby was fast asleep and so their own anxieties seemed to also disappear.  The chatter and laughter in the room resumed, though with some guests occasionally chiding with good humour their friends for laughing or talking too loudly around a baby!  It was a friendly and happy atmosphere that I never expected.  When the peas arrived, we were famished and we made very short work of them.  They tasted fresh and incredibly sweet, the intense flavour coming through the saltiness of the pork that they were cooked with.

After that, the main course arrived, or rather the main courses.  The famous cocido isn't really a single dish, but rather a series of dishes.  It is a stew, but it isn't served in one go but is instead split into two.  The first dish is the soup from the long stewing process, which is then subsequently followed by the serving of the chickpeas, meats and vegetables that were stewed.  The soup was served by our waiter from a large pot into each of soup plates.  It was a lovely soup.  Full of the flavours of all the various ingredients.  Knowing that this would be followed by the ingredients, I couldn't help but think of the similarities of this dish to the Cantonese "old fire" soups which I had grown up with.  It was a familiar taste and flavour, though with a very Western tilt.

The soup was the highlight of the meal for me.  I love the depth of the flavours.  But next was everything else.  The waiter brought out new plates for us and then began to prepare each with all the various vegetables that had formed part of the cocido stew.  The chickpeas were of course there, as were potatoes, carrots and cabbage.  Then around the dish, he brought out smaller plates, filled with all the different meats which had been slowly cooked over hours in the stew.

It was a monumental amount of food in front of us.  We began to eat slowly, trying each of the vegetables and the various meats.  Everything was delicious, soft from the long cooking and yet still retaining flavour.  This was a bit of a difference to the Cantonese soups I was more accustomed to, where by the end of the cooking process, the ingredients are often devoid of much of the flavour having given it all to the soup itself.  We continued to eat, but the amount of food in front of us barely seemed to change.  I think I at best at half of what was in front of me and Veronica barely made a dent at all.  I fell back into my chair defeated, and I asked the waiter if anyone ever actually finished all of this food.  He looked at me and laughed as he said a simple "No".  This wasn't a meal to be eaten in haste he explained.  It was more often eaten during the day, over a long period as people lingered over the meal with friends and family.  It had been a unique experience that still wasn't over.  Part of ordering the cocido meant that we also had dessert.  I was hoping for something small, but instead they brought out a Bombe Alaska for us to share.  I was more than full, but I couldn't say no to this.  At the end of it all, baby continued to sleep.  The other guests around us smiled and chatted with us about our journey and how amazing it was for them to see such a small baby.  As they left, one of the older ladies gently touched his hand as it rested on the stroller.  She had earlier declared that being here at such a young age, he was definitely a "Madrileno".

For all of the fanciness we had been fortunate enough to experience, we found ourselves being drawn back to the simpler foods in Madrid.  The little taps bars, the smaller restaurants.  They all seemed to make the types of food which Spain seems to excel at.  On one of the colder and wetter nights, at the recommendation of our hotel, we went to one of the more down to earth bars nearby.  Inside, the floors were grimy with oil and beer.  Combined with all the water from the rain, it was almost dangerously slippery.  We had been assured that this was the sign of a place with good food in Madrid.  We weren't to be disappointed as we drank our beers with the potatoes bravas, croquetas and fried chicken.

As a nightcap, in addition to the bars all through the city, Madrid was also blessed with chocolaterias and churrerias everywhere.  For us, our late night drinking and partying wasn't going to be happening with the baby.  So instead we enjoyed our evening walks with the stops inside these establishments.  They were a warm break from the cold night, with the lovely hot chocolates and freshly made churros a perfect snack and boost.

We had enjoyed our food journey in Madrid.  It had delivered for us far more than we expected.  In a city with so much tradition, we had been fortunate to experience a variety of different food experiences.  

Return to Madrid

We were very tired when we arrived in Madrid.  It had been a long trip with the extra new stress of looking after the baby.  There was a pile of stuff that needed to be cleaned.  There were dirty clothes.  Bags needed to be unpacked.    

None of this seemed to matter though.  Veronica and I were both too excited to care much about any of that.  We were in Madrid and we wanted to explore and to enjoy the city.

We put on our jackets, made sure baby was nice and warm, then went out to see the city.

It had been more than ten years since I had been in Madrid.  I had very fond memories of the city.  I remembered it feeling busy and lively.  It had been cooler then, but now it was cold.  Our hotel was perfectly placed in the centre of Madrid at Plaza del Callao.  It meant it was easy for us to constantly pop in and out whenever we needed, something particularly important now we had the baby with us.  Whilst it was cold, the small glimpses of spring had begun and new blossoms were on all the trees.

We walked down to Puerta del Sol.  It was exactly as a remembered it, though with less buskers.  We felt nothing but happiness walking through the city.  For me, all the great memories I had still seemed to hold true.  The energy of the place was as I remembered and there was a friendliness each place we went.  Most people seemed shocked to see the baby as well.  Children were common, but the sight of such a tiny asian baby must have been something more out of the ordinary. 

The weather suddenly turned even colder.  We had walked over to Plaza Mayor when I noticed small flecks of snow settling on the baby's clothes.  I looked up at the sky and I could see a small flurry of snow falling.  It was late March, so this felt strange.  I later asked some locals who told me that it was indeed a bizarre time of year and that only a couple of weeks earlier the temperatures had been in the 20s.  We weren't too concerned by any of it.  I was slightly undressed for snow, but Veronica had made sure that the baby had all the necessary clothes to be comfortable in this weather.  Since the weather was still feeling fresh, we decided to go for a longer walk and made our way to Retiro Park.

This brought back far more memories.

When I had last visited with Phil, he had arranged an Airbnb for us near this park and so we had explored it extensively.  It was a strange feeling to now be walking through the grounds again with my family.  With the cooler weather, it was a bit more subdued, but there were still plenty of people enjoying themselves.

It was a strange mix of nostalgia and excitement that I was feeling.  There was such an intense familiarity to everything.  I was very odd given my previous visit had only been for a few days.  With Veronica and the baby, everything felt so much more special now as well.  The old memories started to fade, overtaken by the new experiences we were having.  

It was only the beginning of the trip, but I was already quietly confident that taking the risk to travel would be correct decision for us all.

Flying with a baby

We were invited to a friend's wedding in Spain.  Ron was very pregnant when we were invited and we immediately thought that we wouldn't be attending.  It was a shame.  Good friends were getting married and we both would have loved to have gone.  I hadn't been to Spain in ten years and Ron had great memories of the place from traveling at university. Our assumption was that any long haul travel with a baby would be too difficult too fathom. We dismissed the idea of attending fairly quickly as nonsense and unpractical given the big changes that we would be facing soon.

Yet strangely, the idea kept popping up.

At catch ups with friends with kids, any discussion of travel didn't come with the expected warnings, but instead with encouragement.  When we mentioned how we would have loved to have gone to the wedding, many of our closer friends were even quicker to respond that we should go.  Their reasons were compelling as well.  The flights would be cheaper whilst the child was young.  At a young age, the baby wouldn't be moving around much and would be sleeping anyway.  Since we would be going long haul, there would be no real issue with jet lag for the baby given they were asleep more than they were awake.

We started to think about it.  Why not?  Sure, it may be a bit difficult, but wouldn't the additional stress and hassle be only a bit more incremental to what we would already be facing as new parents?  First, we had to have the child.  As that whirlwind of change occurred, the initial weeks passed quickly.  I decided to book the tickets and all the accommodation just in case we decided we were to go.  At worst, I could cancel at only a small cost.

A month went by.  We were getting used to our new friend.  We thought about it a bit more and decided we would embark on this new adventure.  We were tired from all the change, but we thought about it more and we thought the trip would do us good.  Ron was still on her maternity leave, I needed to take some block leave.  It seemed like a good excuse for us to spend some extra time together as a new family.  Everything was already booked and ready.  We just needed to get our logistics arranged for the travel.  When I had time over the next few weeks, I began buying things I thought I needed and reading up on how to approach traveling with a new born.  

The day of our trip arrived.  I was a bit nervous.  I didn't think that being in Spain would be too difficult.  After all, with our preparations and what we were bringing, it would surely be just be doing everything we were doing at home, just in a different location?  What made me more nervous was the flying.  We were flying Qatar Airways over to Madrid, so it would be two long haul flights with a short stop over before we arrived.  The plane logistics were daunting to the uninitiated like myself.  How would I deal with the feeding, the changing, the crying?  What would happen if I couldn't settle him or if there were some other disaster which I wasn't able to avoid?  Most of all, I also felt bad about the potential disruption to the sleep and rest of other passengers.

The taxi arrived to take us to the airport.  Immediately things felt different, with the luggage alone being double what I was used to.  In addition to our usual bags, we had an extra baby bag for the flight, my usual hand carry full of more things for the baby, and the stroller.  It made travelling together feel necessary just in order to have enough hands to manage everything.  

At the airport, everything was smooth.  We were fortunate to be flying more comfortably, but even if that wasn't the case it seemed that everything was set up to help people flying with children.  The staff at the desks were well trained in how to treat us.  Dealing with the stroller wasn't an issue at all, and we were given the option of having it checked there and then or at the gate.  We decided to check at the gate so we would be able to move around the airport more easily.  Once we were checked in, we had to go through security and immigration.  This was again a simple process and we were led to a dedicated priority line for people traveling with children.  Within a short time, we were sitting in the lounge drinking champagne whilst baby drank his milk.

Boarding the plane was also straight forward.  Again, flying in a more comfortable class helped the whole situation, but we would have been allowed to board first with a baby in any event.  Once on the plane, we settled into our seats and got ourselves ready for the next few hours.  On the advice of our friends, we had prepared a bottle of milk in the lounge for the take off.  Once the plane lifted off the ground, I immediately started to feed the baby.  We had been advised that feeding during take off and landing would ensure his ears would pop and it seemed to work perfectly.

Comfortably seated on the plane, we were treated well by the cabin crew.  They all seemed to be enthralled by how small the baby was.  Seeing babies traveling was probably nothing out of the ordinary, but they all fretted over him.  I guessed that it was probably a small break for the usual day to day tasks.  The plane wasn't full which was good.  When we asked for the bassinet to be set up, the purser very kindly noted to us that it wasn't a full flight and so she offered instead to set up one of the seats so that baby could sleep more comfortably.

It was a surreal thing to see baby tucked in and asleep on his own lie flight bed on his very first flight. This was a level of luxury and indulgence beyond what I had imagined or even considered.  It had taken me a long time to get to this point in my life where I was able to fly so comfortably.  For baby to jump straight into this seemed like it could cause some issues down the road. Would he grow up spoiled?  Would this impact his drive and motivation in life? Would he lack the necessary toughness needed to succeed later on?  It was something to consider, but for now I was happy to take this as a win.  He was sleeping comfortably and wasn't making a noise.

We arrived at our first stop and went straight to the lounge.  We didn't have a direct flight to Spain, and with a baby, this turned out to be a bit of a blessing.  The brief stop meant that we were able to recollect ourselves and also help prepare baby for the final leg of the journey.  We went to a baby room where we changed baby again, gave him a wipe down and freshen up, and cleaned all of the bottles and accessories that had been used on the plane.  Recharged and ready, we went back for the last flight that would take us to Spain.

The final flight wasn't too long.  We were able to relax, with baby between us and the flight crew once again being incredibly kind and helpful to us.  Everyone wanted to come to see the baby.  They cooed over him, tried to entertain him and were generally just enamoured.  It made for another easier flight for us.  Any time I needed help with anything, they would come racing.  They would drop whatever task or request they were managing and immediately come to our aid or assistance.

So flying with the baby was far easier than I expected.  We certainly had a smoother ride with our approach to flying and travel, but we were also very lucky to have a very chilled out baby.  Nothing seemed to upset or annoy him too much.  If anything, he seemed to sleep better than normal and enjoyed all the attention from the flight attendants.  I thought more about the whole experience.  

What were my observations about what had gone right and what had gone wrong?  There was a list of things that I would do again.

1. Preparation - unsurprisingly, preparing early took away most of the concern.  I had all the bottles, the formula, the diapers, the wipes ready in the baby bag.  I had backups waiting in other bags just in case we needed more.  Beyond that, I also planned out the timing of feeding, cleaning and also where I expected to be at different times during the journey.  It seemed to me to be the perfect situation to "front load" the stress to the planning period so that the journey itself would be stress free.

2. Supplies - it would seem like an obvious thing to do, but having the right supplies to deal with the babies needs are essential for the flight.  Nappies, formula, bottles, wipes, clothes.  All these things are needed many times over.  What I felt helped with the whole process was how we planned out these supplies.  Rather than cramming everything into a single bag, I only set out what I needed at any particular time in the baby bag itself.  I kept it fairly light so that when I need to make the trips to the bathroom to change him, I was able to do so quickly and without fuss.  For the extras that were needed, I just kept these in our separate hand carry.  As and when the baby bag needed resupply, that was an easy task to accomplish from the separate hand carry.

3. Lounge / baby room access - it may seem like an entitled thing to set out on a list, but it was very helpful.  Having the space to set up, to clean the baby, to clean the bottles, to gather up and reassess what we needed to do was truly invaluable.  However, with the options now available at different airports to purchase lounge access for a small fee, it would be something I would consider no matter what class I was flying.  At worst, most airports now have good baby rooms which can satisfy much of, if not all of, this need.  Beyond being able to tidy up for the baby, it also just gave us a bit of time to rest and recuperate from the flight itself as well.

4. Timing - it all goes back to preparation.  By timing the feeds of baby, I was able to arrange his schedule so that during take off and landing he was being fed.  The great concern I had was the discomfort to baby with the pressure changes, but this was all managed with the feeding schedule.  It made for a far happier baby (and far happier fellow passengers).

 

Exhaustion

Well this was a new experience.  It was a level of exhaustion I hadn't experienced before.  I had done all nighters before (for both work and fun), I had been through physical challenges in the past that meant a lack of sleep... but this?  This was an ongoing level of hammering that was wearing away at my resistance.  The first few nights had been fine, with baby still sleeping even if for a shorter period through the night.  Now, we experiencing him waking every few hours.

He was just a baby.  I couldn't blame him for any of this.  It was just a part of the natural cycle of things.  Still, it did mean that I was completely and utterly shattered during the days.  The paternity leave entitlements in Hong Kong were far from generous, so I also found myself in the unenviable position of having to go to work each day after having spent most of the evening feeding and soothing the crying child.

When I managed to calm him.  To put him to bed.  That feeling of success and satisfaction was hard to beat.  Yet it was probably just as much to do with relief at knowing I could get a couple of hours of extra sleep.

A baby photoshoot

 Veronica was completely enamoured with Pickle.  He was so small and delicate.  She wanted to capture every moment of his life.  Our phones were filling up fast with photos and videos, but more was still needed.

Professional support was needed to satisfy Veronica's requirements.  She found a studio online that did at home visits to do baby photoshoots.  I wasn't sure how I felt about it all.  It seemed all a bit much.  I loved having Pickle in our lives, but did we need to go to these lengths to capture these early moments of his life?

We probably didn't, but like with many things in life, "need" is a strong word.  We may not need many things, but that doesn't mean that they aren't nice to have.  The pictures came out well.  The photographers seemed to be baby whisperers, able to calm and sooth at all times, which resulted in some incredible pictures.

A new arrival

I had restless night.

It was nothing compared to what Veronica was going through, but I still felt exhausted.  My friend Christoph had been kind enough to let me crash at his place close to the hospital, so I tried to sleep.  I put the phone next to my head and closed my eyes.  I expected to be woken with a call, but nothing came.  After a few hours of sleep, I woke up and made my way back to the hospital.  Even without the call, I preferred to be there with Veronica.

At the hospital, there was still no major change.  Veronica had barely slept and was still waiting.  I sat in the same cafe downstairs and kept waiting until the call finally came that she was being moved into the delivery ward and that I could finally join her.  I packed up my things and moved up quickly to the private room where she had been moved in anticipation of the labour starting.

Inside the labour room, we were still waiting.  Veronica paced around, the pain of the contractions still intense but with no further dilation.  A doctor had come to induce her and to break her water, but there still didn't seem to be any major progress.  I tried to comfort her as much as I could.  One of the nurses came and suggested some deep tissue massages in her lower back to help ease her pain.  Between us, we took turns massaging her back to try to give her some relief.  The nurses left, and I was alone with her as I tried my best to comfort her through the painful contractions.  Baby had decided that the best place to rest his head was on the base of her spine , so every contraction was doubly painful.  The nurse came back to check.  A sudden flurry of activity began as the nurse declared with surprise that Veronica had gone from being barely dilated to now suddenly being fully dilated.  The baby was coming.

The nurses ushered me out of the main area and onto a seat to the side as they prepared the room for the birth.  The bed was changed and Veronica was helped into a better position.  Once ready, I was led back in to be by her side.  I took her by her hand as she began the process of labour.  Something so many people have gone through before, something so intrinsically part of who we are as humans, and yet something which is so foreign and unique an experience to the uninitiated.   

The intensity and the pain that Veronica went through was incredible to witness and to be near.  It was an emotional experience as I tried to encourage and support her as best as I could from my position to the side.  I held her hand.  I spoke as many words of support as I could think of.  I helped her count.  The nurses urged me to be vocal in my support and so I took on as much of a coaching role as I could.  It seemed apt.  I gave her timing instructions.  I helped her with her pacing.  I gave her unwavering moral support.  What more could I do?  I was deeply invested in this and yet I felt incredibly impotent and powerless through it all.  There was ultimately nothing I could really do.  This was something Veronica had to go through alone, with all of us mere bystanders hoping to be of some minor help.

The time went quickly.  It went very quickly.  From when I was ushered out and then back in, it was only forty minutes.  In that short time, it was done.  With one final push and with the firm hands of the midwife, a new life sprang into our world.  A gentle cry started, with eyes closed and in shock.  I felt a huge wave of emotion.  It was a powerful experience to have gone through.  The nurses checked Veronica, the doctor came to make sure everything was fine and to check the baby.

Then the baby was brought to his mother, placed immediately on her chest.  The warmth and the sound of her heart instantaneously soothed him.

It had been nine months.  Now we would commence the next part of our lives together.
 

Waiting for a new arrival

The baby was coming.  It was very clear that he would be slightly earlier than expected so we needed to go the hospital.  Veronica had been experiencing some terrible nights sleep and by the morning, her contractions had started and were becoming frequent.  At each contraction, she froze in pain and had to lay down.  It was difficult to watch, with nothing I could do to help her other than to offer my support.  I grabbed our prepared bags and we made our way to the hospital.  There, Veronica was quickly admitted to the prenatal care ward.  She wasn't quite ready to be moved to the room for labour yet.  So we would have to wait.  With her being in this prenatal care ward, it meant that I could only stay during the designated visiting times. So instead, I found myself a cafe to camp myself and to wait.

I tried to do some work, to clear up as much as possible as I waited.  It was a strange time.  Full of nervousness, anticipation, and anxiety.  Through all of this, I also felt a sense of complete powerlessness.  As with Veronica's pain, there was nothing I could really do.  Even my ability to be physically close to her as she struggled with this final phase of the pregnancy was now taken from me and I was reduced to being a distant player.

I walked around the grounds of the hospital a bit.  I tried to stay calm and rational.  The fresh air helped, but I thought it best to keep my busy so I went back to the cafe and worked.  There wasn't anything else I could do, so I used this time to deal with open work matters and to close things off as much as I could before the baby's arrival.

Once the evening visiting hours arrived, I rushed back upstairs to be with Veronica.  She had been suffering but was still it seemed no where close to labour.  I waited with her.  We walked around the ward together and as I tried to provide her with as much comfort as possible.  The nurse checked her again close to when it was time for me to go.  There was still a lot of time to wait.  She told me that I should go and find somewhere to get some sleep, she even said that it wasn't time yet for me to be pacing in the hallway!  I wanted to stay close, so I called a friend who lived nearby and arranged to crash at his place.

Pavlova Christmas

I was over the moon to have won 4kg of passionfruit from Cheese Club.  Over the last few years, they had continued to grow in Hong Kong and Asia.  I was a big fan of their service and it made buying dairy products far more affordable in Hong Kong.  Their success had also led them to expand into other areas such as fruit.  With the Christmas period in full swing, they had launched a series of giveaways.  I had signed up to everything I could, and the win of the fruit was a very pleasant surprise.

Still, with 4kg of passionfruit, I needed to think of what to do with it all.  The fruit themselves were delicious, probably the best passionfruit I had ever eaten, but I still had too much of it to just casually eat day to day.

Since it was a festive time, it seemed that the best use of it would be for a pavlova.  This cake from my childhood that seemed to be the specialty of every grandma in Australia was still a favourite.  Making a pavlova was easy, but making a good one usually took a bit more effort and concentration.  I had a good recipe, and now that I had the fruit it seemed to be the perfect time.

Fully decorated, it is a thing of beauty.  After our dinner, Veronica's family all took a slice and quickly embraced it.  Who doesn't love a good pav?