Vacating the homeland.
I say, vacationing should involve less exhaustion and more relaxation. My father was evidently wiser than I realized to have ignored my begging and avoided this particular island paradise when I was young as one would a colony teeming with lepers and carriers of the plague.
That stated, I'm pleased to report that the entire family has enjoyed the sights, sounds, and continuously brilliant weather with nary a sunburn in sight, thanks to the patented wards that surround every island in the resort. My goal is to pay some hapless maintenance wizard to tell me how this is achieved so I can implement the design on every piece of property we own, because surely the information will pay for itself in what our pasty, fair-skinned family will save on greasy, sticky sunblocking materials.
Potter, innocent as he is, panicked upon discovering the utter lack of sunscreen in our suitcases once we arrived, and I suppose his being raised by Muggles has prevailed yet again. Honestly, doesn't everyone know that Atlantis is completely up to date when it comes to making vacations brainless in every way for bumbling wizards and witches? These places make it their business to take care of everything, including saving the guests from themselves. Even the drunken fools we've seen staggering around the poolside bars in nothing but criminally tiny swimming briefs can guzzle deceptively fruity little drinks garnished with paper parasols until they pass out in the sun for hours, and when they wake, they won't be the slightest bit red. It's a magical miracle.
Of course, now that Atlantis has been officially claimed and incorporated by the sodding tourism-loving simpletons who govern the Bahamas, nothing is sacred. In any case, Atlantis is comprised of more than just the main island resort. I ought to know, as I've already been dragged through most of the others by a very determined three year old. In sandals. While juggling Potter and Bean. And dodging paparazzi. The one downfall of being mildly infamous in an all-wizard, all-the-time magical resort, I suppose.
As I predicted, Potter wasn't aware that Atlantis even existed (outside of Muggle mythology, that is). While Precious indulged in one of the daily, child-friendly afternoon snacks I was able to choose from prior to our trip, I explained a bit of history most people having grown up in the wizarding world would have known. Atlantis is a modest archipelago connected by means of a posh underwater tunnel system laden with gift shops, restaurants and a network of clear encasements meant for viewing the sea life. The entire area is heavily warded to keep Muggles as far away from this version of magical utopia as possible. Before the wards were altered to permit Muggle ships and aircraft to pass moderately closeby without detecting the islands, there were occasional disappearances and displacements in the area courtesy of The Bermuda Triangle's precisely aligned triangular wards. Thankfully, most of that nonsense has been pushed into the fanciful myth category by Muggle scholars who can't prove a thing otherwise, due to the heavy warding system. It's rather ingenious work, and I had just convinced Potter to read an old school essay of mine on the topic when we realized Our Angel had absconded with the bear-shaped bottle of honey. Which was nearly empty when we found the two of them, locked in a passionate embrace.
Our first night may have been spent in our suite watching chunks of apple, peanut butter and honey come out the wrong end of Our Cupcake's digestive tract, but nothing can keep a determined would-be theme park attendee down for long. First thing the next morning, My Beauty was up and raring to go.
We've visited all of the specific themed events on each and every island in the park, with the exception of Jungle Safari and Wally the Walrus' World of Water (the first of which is on the agenda for tomorrow, so Potter and I can sit on a covered tram and be ferried to the attractions instead of navigating them on foot). Having endured the weepy clinging when it was time to leave Mermaid Cove (not all mermaids are the same hideous beasts that live in Scotland, Potter has learned), and more tears during the manufactured multi-storm show on Tempest Keys at dusk last night, I'm nearly ready to heave my blond brat into the shark exhibit.
I jest, of course. But we've come awfully close on several occasions.
And I demand to pay a visit to the bloody spa, since this trip is my birthday present to myself and I have done nothing but cater to the whim of my needy children. It would be a dream come true to plop Precious and The Cheeky One down in front of the telly and enjoy a professional massage with Potter during my lengthy nap. Or, to march down to the little spa hut I know is eluding me, flop down on a table, and allow the natives to light candles and slather me in fragrant oils. Perhaps I'd even slink into the jacuzzi, to get my Galleon's worth.
Admittedly, I imagined this vacation to be mostly for myself and the kids, but Potter seems to be the one enjoying himself the most. I wasn't the only one deprived of certain childhood delights, and it warms my heart more than basking in the sun, or lying on the perfect white sand to see Potter filled with complete wonder and joy. If it wasn't for the bloody upcoming hurricane season, I might have looked into booking us another stay for the end of July.
That stated, I'm pleased to report that the entire family has enjoyed the sights, sounds, and continuously brilliant weather with nary a sunburn in sight, thanks to the patented wards that surround every island in the resort. My goal is to pay some hapless maintenance wizard to tell me how this is achieved so I can implement the design on every piece of property we own, because surely the information will pay for itself in what our pasty, fair-skinned family will save on greasy, sticky sunblocking materials.
Potter, innocent as he is, panicked upon discovering the utter lack of sunscreen in our suitcases once we arrived, and I suppose his being raised by Muggles has prevailed yet again. Honestly, doesn't everyone know that Atlantis is completely up to date when it comes to making vacations brainless in every way for bumbling wizards and witches? These places make it their business to take care of everything, including saving the guests from themselves. Even the drunken fools we've seen staggering around the poolside bars in nothing but criminally tiny swimming briefs can guzzle deceptively fruity little drinks garnished with paper parasols until they pass out in the sun for hours, and when they wake, they won't be the slightest bit red. It's a magical miracle.
Of course, now that Atlantis has been officially claimed and incorporated by the sodding tourism-loving simpletons who govern the Bahamas, nothing is sacred. In any case, Atlantis is comprised of more than just the main island resort. I ought to know, as I've already been dragged through most of the others by a very determined three year old. In sandals. While juggling Potter and Bean. And dodging paparazzi. The one downfall of being mildly infamous in an all-wizard, all-the-time magical resort, I suppose.
As I predicted, Potter wasn't aware that Atlantis even existed (outside of Muggle mythology, that is). While Precious indulged in one of the daily, child-friendly afternoon snacks I was able to choose from prior to our trip, I explained a bit of history most people having grown up in the wizarding world would have known. Atlantis is a modest archipelago connected by means of a posh underwater tunnel system laden with gift shops, restaurants and a network of clear encasements meant for viewing the sea life. The entire area is heavily warded to keep Muggles as far away from this version of magical utopia as possible. Before the wards were altered to permit Muggle ships and aircraft to pass moderately closeby without detecting the islands, there were occasional disappearances and displacements in the area courtesy of The Bermuda Triangle's precisely aligned triangular wards. Thankfully, most of that nonsense has been pushed into the fanciful myth category by Muggle scholars who can't prove a thing otherwise, due to the heavy warding system. It's rather ingenious work, and I had just convinced Potter to read an old school essay of mine on the topic when we realized Our Angel had absconded with the bear-shaped bottle of honey. Which was nearly empty when we found the two of them, locked in a passionate embrace.
Our first night may have been spent in our suite watching chunks of apple, peanut butter and honey come out the wrong end of Our Cupcake's digestive tract, but nothing can keep a determined would-be theme park attendee down for long. First thing the next morning, My Beauty was up and raring to go.
We've visited all of the specific themed events on each and every island in the park, with the exception of Jungle Safari and Wally the Walrus' World of Water (the first of which is on the agenda for tomorrow, so Potter and I can sit on a covered tram and be ferried to the attractions instead of navigating them on foot). Having endured the weepy clinging when it was time to leave Mermaid Cove (not all mermaids are the same hideous beasts that live in Scotland, Potter has learned), and more tears during the manufactured multi-storm show on Tempest Keys at dusk last night, I'm nearly ready to heave my blond brat into the shark exhibit.
I jest, of course. But we've come awfully close on several occasions.
And I demand to pay a visit to the bloody spa, since this trip is my birthday present to myself and I have done nothing but cater to the whim of my needy children. It would be a dream come true to plop Precious and The Cheeky One down in front of the telly and enjoy a professional massage with Potter during my lengthy nap. Or, to march down to the little spa hut I know is eluding me, flop down on a table, and allow the natives to light candles and slather me in fragrant oils. Perhaps I'd even slink into the jacuzzi, to get my Galleon's worth.
Admittedly, I imagined this vacation to be mostly for myself and the kids, but Potter seems to be the one enjoying himself the most. I wasn't the only one deprived of certain childhood delights, and it warms my heart more than basking in the sun, or lying on the perfect white sand to see Potter filled with complete wonder and joy. If it wasn't for the bloody upcoming hurricane season, I might have looked into booking us another stay for the end of July.
