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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
My Mom is one of my favourite travel companions. And not because we have a perfect relationship and never fight and always agree on everything from climate change to feminism.
It’s not because of some clichéd mother-daughter coming-together-despite-differences-in-a-fractured-world kind of thing either. Well, not entirely.
Truth be told my Mom and I often don’t see eye to eye. We each bring a particular blend of personality, belief and experience to our relationship that makes some of our differences … rather permanent.
But not irreconcilable.
But we find there’s something about hitting the unknown road together that works as a great reminder that with a little kindness, a little love, a little humour and a little listening, even very different people can tolerate one another and embark on a grand adventure that leaves them forever changed and for the better.
1. It’s beautiful. All of it. And it’s right in front of you
Our time spent in Belgium, Sicily, Italy, France, Portugal, Morocco and even New York is a constant reminder that my Mom is the more photogenic of the two of us. That might have something to do with the fact that she – how shall I put it? – excels at things other than the art of photography.
I’m often mid-chew or mid-sentence when she snaps a particularly unflattering pic but I’ve come to realize this photographic impatience is a window into my Mom’s way of being in the world.
For her, it’s not about the Instagram-worthy view. The quickest snapshot in time is all she’s after because in that imperfect moment all the beauty and wonder of the world is contained. She doesn’t wait for me to pose because, to her, I’m the most beautiful I’ll ever be in that moment and no camera could make it otherwise.
This unfiltered view is a celebration of the moment, inspired by a deep abiding belief that no future recollection could ever fully capture this kaleidoscopic moment exploding with joy and life-giving beauty. So … why bother fretting over the snapshot, my dear one?
2. Try it all. And try to love it all
As my mother herself would say, she’s no spring chicken. But that doesn’t stop her from doing those things we often ascribe to the young. Including experiencing a modicum of budget travel discomfort.
Couchsurfing, for example.
I’ve managed to convince my Mom to sleep on the couches of complete strangers in strange lands to have strange conversations over strange food. And she loves it.
Okay, maybe not every moment, but I can see her trying to love it, working to love it. And that’s one of my Mom’s superpowers.
On our last trip together in Portugal, I realized she has this incredible ability to be comfortable, sleep heavily and savour life deeply in a $30/night forest shack as she does in a five-star castle perched among manicured bougainvillea on a hillside.
This is no accident of simple, come-what-may easygoingness. Instead, this is because she is not just present in the moment, but present in herself.
My Mom will never hesitate to tell you that no one can make you have a good time but yourself.
This is basically a parental version of the wisdom I have gained from real-life adult therapy: I am the steward of the quality of my own experience.
Watching my Mom create a picnic of olives, bread, cheese, smoked salmon and wine on our musty bed during a downpour in Portugal allowed me to see yet again, how good she is at working with what she’s got. That is more than travel-buddy magic: it’s a lesson on how to live the good life.
3. Your limits are yours, so do with them what you will
My Mom isn’t afraid of much and she’s not one to sit idly around. On a visit to Morocco, I was working in Marrakech and, rather than wait around for me, Mom decided to strike out on a little mountain adventure with a guide.
Despite having no water, or sunscreen or other provisions and wearing a pair of black flats, Mom found herself hiking, and sometimes just straight up clambering, along a steep and treacherous dusty mountain path about an hour outside the city.
With the excited encouragement of her young guide, Mom, red-faced and sweaty, tried to muster a smile as she made the trek. The guide strung her purse around his one hand while he reached back to pull her with the other. He told her that he was determined to get her to the top of the mountain.
The path culminated in a series of smallish cliffs, the last of which hikers must pay a local ladder owner for help surmounting. This rickety ladder was vertical on a 10-foot cliff and my Mom, exhausted and with not-so-great knees, could hardly climb.
The guide, eager to fulfill his promise, open-palm pushed my Mom’s tush up the ladder in a heave-ho fashion as the ladder owner reached down for her from above, her red purse dangling from his shoulder.
Mom, already weak from fatigue, is now further weakened by the deep need to laugh, asking God how on earth she got herself into this position. Through all of this, the bum-pushing continued from below.
Despite the discomfort, the swollen knees, the sunburn and the mortification, my Mom laughed until she cried telling me this story back at our guesthouse that night.
There was no silver lining redemption to the excursion, really. But how she laughed.
The experience didn’t temper her desire for adventure as we journeyed on. She faced her fear of heights at an ancient fortress soon thereafter. Although later, she did choose to watch the rolling waves from the top of the rocky cliffs, while I clambered down for a better view.
This is a woman who knows her limit, even if she doesn’t always stay within it.
Carol Linnitt lives in Victoria.