Travels with Baby: Vertigo
We barely survive Trogir, Croatia's bell tower.
by Ayun Halliday
June 5, 2007
Heights have never held much touristic appeal for me. I'm not opposed to
breathtaking views. What I object to is the 2,000 worn stone steps it
takes to reach them.I like it much better when my vistas catch me by surprise,
preferably in some charming al fresco café with cute waiters and cheap
beer.
Given my lifelong aversion to any holiday view requiring a climb, it would have
been ironic had I accidentally dropped Milo from the cathedral tower in Trogir,
Croatia‘s town square. Also tragic and inexcusable. What kind of mother
hauls her innocent, wingless babes forty-seven non-safety-proofed meters straight
up, when all parties would've been perfectly happy on the ground?
I don't know. The kind who discovers that admission to bell tower is included
the Cathedral's five kuna entry fee, maybe. The kind who then has to figure
out how to get everybody down in one piece, a much scarier proposition than the
trip up, when I was able to spot Milo's body with my own. Presumably, if
he'd started to slip between two of the steep, backless metal steps spiraling
up the bell tower's inner walls, or pitched sideways beneath the rusting
handrail that is the only thing separating visitors from the void, my reflexes
would've kicked in in time to save him. I could've grabbed the back
of his shirt. Something. On the way up, my own butterflies stayed fairly contained,
hemmed in by the endless patter pouring out of me as I worked
I would have to do this alone, one harrowing step at a time. to keep the boy
calm. "Good job, honey. One foot in front of the other, that's right.
Hold on tight. Don't look down. Doing great."
Had I only but known. Going up is a cakewalk, compared to coming down.
Coming down, Milo could see just how long of a drop it was to the stone floor
below. I had to choose between trailing behind to keep an eye on him, or preceding
him in hopes that I might break his fall. Actually, I let him make the call,
because
if it was up to me, we would've remained under those giant iron bells,
crouched far from the open hole that is the only means of exit for those for
whom flinging themselves over the waist-high stone wall isn't an option.
I was impressed by the little man's confidence. He said he'd go
first.
Inky had already started down, escorted by her father. I would have to do this
alone, without Greg's steadying influence, one harrowing step at a time.
Hopefully nothing would disrupt my concentration. The pigeons roosting across
the way wouldn't launch themselves into sudden, noisy flight. The massive
bells wouldn't start chiming the hour, their mighty vibrations blowing
my tiny son right off of his feet. (Thank God he wasn't wearing his red
cowboy boots this morning. The floor-sweeping hems of my fetchingly low-slung
trousers were problem enough.)
©2007 Ayun Halliday and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Ayun Halliday is author of The Big Rumpus and No Touch Monkey! and the popular zine East Village Inky. She is a columnist for Bust and a frequent contributor to Babble. Visit AyunHalliday.com.
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We barely survive Trogir, Croatia's bell tower.
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