We made it, sweaty and ready to get cold, to the waterpark. It was pseudo-heavenly, if by heavenly you mean spending most of the day in three feet of water with obnoxious pop music blaring into your skulls. But it was great. We weren’t hot.

They have separate men’s and women’s entrances to the park, through the locker rooms, and for some reason, they require you to walk through a shower of water spraying into your sides. This means you have to get undressed (down to your swimsuit) to walk into the park, and then, if you’re like me and don’t love walking around in just your swimsuit, get your shirt and shorts back on to find the spot where you’ll park.

Overall, the park was great – think Schlitterbahn but 1/10th of its size. They made a huge deal out of the wave pool, which they turned on only twice during the entire day we were there. They announced its pending arrival, whereby almost the entire park sloshed into the rather small pool, crammed like sardines in their innertubes. All the lifeguards stood around the pool and started dancing, trying to get everyone to clap their hands. Which they did. The announcer guy sounded like the beginning of a boxing match, and the pop music was turned up even louder. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the wave pool started, and that was that – just a wave pool. I mean, Chickpea had a good time, but really – it was just waves. But everyone thought it was just the coolest, which I thought was funny since we essentially live on the beach.

Chickpea had a blast. She wore water wings (or muscles, or arm floaties, or whatever you call them) for the first time, and loved her newfound independence. Kabob nor I could barely touch her. She loved floating around, on her back, on her tummy kicking. She seemed so old. And she was wiped out by the end – we decided to pack our belongings and grab dinner at a little kiosk on the way out, and when I looked into the stroller to ask her what she wanted, she was stone-cold out. That never happens with her.

They also don’t have the park regulations like they do in the States, so Chickpea was able to ride a grown-up ride with us, one of those family tube rides. We sat in a two-seater tube and she sat on Kabob’s lap. She had a blast. We rode it three times in a row.

Two highlights stand out for me: One, while eating dinner, Kabob and I got to laughing at the atrocious music they were blasting. Not only was it bonafide gansta rap, it was filthy, language-ridden gangsta rap. And since hardly anyone there spoke English, no one knew the words. Families and little kids were running around, having a great time, and Mr. Potty Mouth was singing at the top of his mouth about all kinds of disgrace. Given the situation, and that we had that I-was-outside-in-the-water-all-day tired feeling, we found it quite humorous.

Second, while we were eating lunch, a man who was rather, um, hairy, walked by. Chickpea pointed to his chest and said, “What’s that, Mommy?” I just casually said, “I don’t know.” She eloquently, and rather loudly, said, “It’s a Man Shirt, Mommy!” I was so glad no one around us understood English, or two-year-old English, for that matter. But Kabob and I did, and found it hysterical.

Alright, time to shower and hit the sack. I’m so glad we had a nice break from the routine today, but we’ve got an early morning tomorrow, getting everything ready to go. Have a good weekend, and I’ll touch base as I’m able. Probably from five more time zones away.

posted: 07 June 29
under: culture