“You better not teach him anything questionable again, I don’t need any more dirty looks when dropping him at day care!”, warned Jules. – “What’s the point of having kids if you can’t teach them a couple of expletives?”, I said, despairingly. “Gabriel, it seems strip bars and underground poker games are out, we need to find something else to do”.

Castro de Santa Trega, A Guarda, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Viacrucis do Monte Santa Trega, A Guarda, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Our Lisbon hometown is no longer under lockdown but travelling is still a complicated affair, so we continue to write from home, using photographs from previous trips.

Base of the Vigo Vertical escalator at Porta do Sol, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Smeon Building detail, Porta do Sol, Vigo, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

We were on the final leg of a trip that had taken us through Northern Spain, and it was now time for Gabriel and me to wander alone in Galicia while Jules attended some meetings. “Come on Gabriel, we’ll start with Vigo. There’s a statue of Jules Verne at the port, so we can apologise for pilfering his name and using it to write nonsense”.

Building detail, Vigo branch of the Xunta de Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Close-up of Jules Verne’s statue, Vigo, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Before we even got to the port, our attention was diverted to a contraption not even Jules Verne imagined: an automated car park. As we both marvelled at the robotic arm whisking our car away to its lair, I wondered where children get their passions from.

‘El Sireno’ sculpture, Porta do Sol, Vigo, Galicia (PPL2-Enhanced)

Sunset at Camiño do Casal Vello, Mos, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

From their parents, perhaps? Indeed, Jules would have loved to see the giant parking robot as much as we did, but her interest for mechanical doohickeys falls well short of Gabriel’s obsession for all sorts of machinery. I have also tried to make him into the next Chris Froome, but the only thing he likes to do with his balance bike is to ring the bell.

Two men sitting on a bench, Vigo Port, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

‘El Sireno’ sculpture, Porta do Sol, Vigo, Galicia (PPL1-Corrected)

As I put aside any hope of living my sunset years off my son’s cycling fortune, we left the automated car park and explored Vigo’s lesser landmarks. Once atop Vigo’s Fortress, we concocted a plan to disrupt Jules’ meetings. “Gabriel, we’ll send your mom a picture of you on top of this slab. With the right angle, it will seem like you’re perilously hanging off the ledge”.

Hermitage of Nosa Señora da Guía, Vigo, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)

Gabriel at the Castro Fortress, Vigo, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Jules’ reply was unexpected but no less terrifying: “I’ll put you on diaper duty till the end of days if he loses his cap”. – “Gabriel, we’ll need to do better”, I said while snugging down his cap.

Old Minho International Bridge, with the Portuguese border on the background, Galicia, Spain (PPL2-Enhanced)

Old Minho International Bridge, with the Spanish border on the background, Minho, Portugal (PPL2-Enhanced)

We got back to the car park, marvelled again at the giant robot, and drove south till we found the old international bridge that crosses over River Minho and onto Portugal. The handsome 19^th century steel bridge – often mistakenly attributed to Eiffel because of the familiar lattice design – passes most of its days in solitude, as traffic now goes through a nearby bridge built in the 90s.

Portuguese entrance to the old Minho International Bridge, Minho, Portugal (PPL1-Corrected)

Middle of the old Minho International Bridge, Portugal-Spain border (PPL1-Corrected)

It was the perfect setting for further mischief. Like bygone smugglers, we crossed the bridge on foot. Once in the middle of the bridge, with one foot in Spain and one foot in Portugal, we sent Jules another message: “Gabriel lost his cap. We’re escaping the country to avoid diaper duty”.

Tunnel below the old Minho International Bridge, Minho, Portugal (PPL3-Altered)

Gabriel near the old Minho International Bridge, Minho, Portugal (PPL2-Enhanced)

“Which one of you two stooges came up with that plan?”, texted back Jules. “In any case, I hope the larger stooge is planning to change the diaper of the smaller stooge at the end of that bridge. If the latter comes back with a red bum, the former will suffer indescribable penances”.

Calçada da Gaviarra, Valença Fortress, Minho, Portugal (PPL3-Altered)

One of the undergorund entrances to the Valença Fortress, Minho, Portugal (PPL3-Altered)

– “Beach?”, proposed Gabriel after the diaper change.

Foggy afternoon at Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL2-Enhanced)

We got there just as thick fog crawled from the sea, pushing away most beach goers. In the distance, we could just about make out jumping silhouettes. When we got closer, we saw they belonged to a few teenagers that had buried an exercise ball in the sand and were using it for Nadia Comăneci worthy flips.

Sequence of an acrobatic flip using an exercise ball buried in the sand, Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)

Acrobatic flip using an exercise ball buried in the sand, Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

I asked them if I could take pictures and crouched down to capture the action, with Gabriel providing not entirely useful assistance. One flip was quickly followed by another one, with each kid trying to upstage the previous jumper.

Sequence of an acrobatic flip using an exercise ball buried in the sand, Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)

Acrobatic flip using an exercise ball buried in the sand, Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

“Gabriel, one day you’ll want to try something similar”, I uttered mostly to myself. “Should we let you, in hopes that the skill and responsibility you will gain from it outweigh the risks?”. Getting to a dispassionate and rational decision did not seem too arduous, but then again family matters are never dispassionate and rarely rational.

Gulls at Praia América on a foggy afternoon, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)

Gabriel at Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL1-Corrected)

Lacking a definitive answer, we continued our journey and found ourselves in a small fishing port, still being chased by the same thick fog that is ever so common along the Galician coastline.

Hermitage of Nosa Señora da Guía, Vigo, Galicia, Spain (PPL2-Enhanced)

Boardwalk at Praia América, Galicia, Spain (PPL2-Enhanced)

“Gabriel, do you see that streetlight with all the dangling old shoes? Each pair is a kid that didn’t want to eat their soup…”. Before I could finish my ruse, a figure came out of the mist. – “I heard that!”, said Jules, who had seemingly finished her meetings early and had tracked us down.

A Guarda port on a foggy morning, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)

A Guarda port on a foggy morning, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)

– “Don’t worry, Gabriel has long learned to ignore half of what I say”, I countered. “Here, I’ll show you”. “Gabriel, will you eat your soup tonight?”. Gabriel hesitantly looked at the streetlight and then defiantly at us: – “No!”, he declared.

Street light with old sneakers, A Guarda, Galicia, Spain (PPL2-Enhanced)

Foggy afternoon at Ramallosa, near river Miñor, Galicia, Spain (PPL2-Enhanced)

Alas, we will surely make countless mistakes along the way – which Gabriel will diligently list as a teenager – but one thing is certain: Three Stooges always trump two stooges.

Verne*

PS: Teenaged Gabriel, if and when you read this blog, cut us at least some slack for not going through the hassle of updating its name to ‘Jules Verne Times Three’. Despite what your teachers will tell you, sometimes one plus one does indeed equal three.

Montage of Jules and Gabriel at a playground, A Guarda, Galicia, Spain (PPL3-Altered)