Do You Have a Travel With Kids Story to Share?
Let’s get a ” Travelling with Kids ” story published from every country in the world! Just write your travelling story and submit it to me with a photo or two. It can be almost anything you like- funny, moving, your emotional/transformational journey, about your favourite place or travel advice to share. Approximately, 500-1000 words with 2-3 photos.
Why I Started intrepidparents.com
I started my intrepid parents FB page and website so we can share practical information and ideas about travelling with our kids. I’d love you to introduce yourself, post questions and share your experiences/thoughts.
I had travelled long haul with Lucas from when he was a baby, but our first major trip was for several months in the Arctic when he was nearly three years old. Setting off with a toddler, I had so many unanswered questions. Lucas had been ill due to food sensitivities since he was 10 months old. Even if he was well, was taking him on such a trip the right thing to do? Where we would actually ‘fit in’ with other travellers? Despite my worries, the drive to go was unrelenting; I had to try at least. I eased my concerns by planning to abandon the trip immediately if it didn’t suit Lucas in any way.
Before having Lucas, I had been to around fifty countries alone or with friends. Seeing myself as a fairly seasoned traveller, I wasn’t concerned with the practicalities. Apart from making room in my pack to squash some tiny clothes and toys, and ensuring I could translate foreign food labels due to Lucas’s food intolerances, taking Lucas would be straight forward. If anything, it had to be much easier than my previous solo trips. English was spoken throughout Scandinavia; they have excellent health care and modern transport systems. This had to be easy. Right? Wrong!
Three weeks later… Lucas had never been happier or healthier. I, however, was exhausted beyond words from having no personal space day after day and sleep deprivation night after night. It was late. I looked over at Lucas jumping on the bed, and felt crushed by his immeasurable tanks of energy. I wanted to run far, far away. And never come back. Ever.
The next day we were to catch a boat taking us a further three days from an airport. Choosing to go an hour in the opposite direction from home seemed insane.
I knelt on the floor crying, fumbled desperately through the contents of my back pack, and pulled out my stack of how to travel with kids’ books. I thumbed through everyone of them before searching chapters and indexes. There must be something here about what to do on the hard days. PLEASE?! Surely, I’m not the only parent to feel like this?
There was no advice. The only solution seemed to go home, but Lucas had not been this well since he was 10 months of age. The plan had been to abandon the trip if it didn’t suit Lucas, I never imagined it would be me struggling. Seeing Lucas so well and happy, and fear of regret if I went home now, found us boarding the boat North to the Arctic as planned.
I’m incredibly thankful we took that boat; it was a turning point in the trip, helped by the wonderful staff on the Hurtigruten. At times, I wonder what on earth possesses me to make my life so difficult, but those times are short-lived and the funniest to look back on. There’s no price I can put on the precious memories we have for the rest of our lives.
Roars Hostel in Stamsund, Lofoten Islands, Norway
Lucas is the best excuse! Instead of trudging up the steep hill to the hostel in the dark, with my huge back pack, pushchair and child, a taxi was a justifiable and mighty fine alternative. After pulling everything out of the taxi, we walked into the hostel I’d read such great things about in my Lonely Planet guide. It is run by the charismatic ” Roar ” whose rugged Norwegian fisherman looks, thick tousled hair and permanent stubble, belie the man beneath. The few words he says are worth saying; and he has the uncanny ability of knowing what is going on with you before you know yourself.
Roar told me to take a room near the dining area/lounge, so I could socialise after Lucas’s bedtime. Inspired! After the hours spent in hotel hallways waiting for Lucas to go to sleep over the previous three weeks, this, and time with my Mummy hat off, was a godsend. People missing nephews or little brothers were delighted to have Lucas to play with, and loved teaching Lucas about their languages and countries. Lucas, believed he had mastered five languages after as many days.
Lofoten has magnificent mountains, rising sharply out of the icy Arctic sea. Built on a pier, the waves lapping under the bedroom lulled us to sleep on the first night but awoke me with an adrenaline jolt during the storm the following night.
(this story is incomplete and the gallery is to follow)
Our Tough Start-Wonderful Lessons
A cyclone of activity prefaced our intrepid Arctic adventure. Between donning my backpack and escaping with my three-year-old, stood a seemingly impenetrable wall of packing and organising. I crystal-gazed for possible work-related problems arising in the next few months, and everything was added to my ‘to-do list’, and deemed compulsory to complete before we left. Sacrificing the final two nights sleep altogether, I staggered through the tasks knowing that soon I’d be on holiday. I’d have plenty of opportunities to rest and sleep then.
Inexplicably, it came as a shock. Travelling with a toddler capable of fuelling a small nation is not restful, and my extensive solo travelling was no preparation. Lucas, overcome with excitement in sharing not only a room but a double bed with me, became supercharged like The Duracell Bunny day and night. My sleep deprivation increased every night, inversely proportionally to his sleep requirements, and his dynamite enthusiasm I once loved, made me want to cry. We had had some wonderful times too, but so little sleep and sharing our living space 24 hours a day, day after day had depleted all my energy. I couldn’t image continuing for another three months.
Three weeks into the trip we walked hand in hand in Bergen, as Lucas chatted away incessantly with enough enthusiasm for a large school full of children. My spirit felt broken. With horror, I caught sight of myself reflected in a café window. My sleep deprivation was so severe I looked sallow and hollow like an intravenous drug user. I looked away to see a kindly 90-year-old lady on the street walking towards us with more spring in her step than I had. We had a cup of tea together, before she insisted on buying Lucas a toy. She played with Lucas, providing precious time out for me and fresh company for Lucas. I loved that lady!
We were due to catch the Hurtigruten boat the following night which would take me further from a flight home, the idea of which filled me, quite frankly, with horror. Sad to give up in the South of Norway before even reaching the Arctic, I admitted defeat.
A last-minute change of mind spurred by a fear of regret, and the fact that Lucas’s health was thriving for the first time in two years, led me to board the Hurtigruten in Bergen, at 10:30 pm.
The Hurtigruten follows the spectacular Norwegian Western coastline, stopping at many coastal villages along the way, taking three days to reach the wild and beautiful Lofoten Islands. As soon as we boarded the fabulous Finnmarken, the best of the Hurtigruten fleet, Lucas was swamped by the ship’s staff wanting to play with him. I was doubly grateful:for the respite, and because I loved seeing them fussing over him. My family lived on the other side of the world, my Mum died when Lucas was a year-old, and Lucas’s extended paternal family were distant. I’d felt sad when antenatal friends’ children were surrounded by doting family members. Lucas didn’t have that, so it was heart-warming to see these beautiful people wanting to spend so much time with him. The chef made themed meals for him, which up to five waiters would bring out to watch his reaction. Guests asked me daily if it was Lucas’s birthday; one was a volcano with sparklers in it for the eruption. Lucas became an honorary staff member, awarded a staff badge and was thrilled by admission to the staff only kitchen. Even when they were off duty, people turning up to play with him. The difficulties of the early part of our trip dissipated, and I had sanity and energy restoring “me” time and rest.
After breakfast on the second day, I became friends with Sarah. Tall, blonde, slim, immaculately dressed; she walked with the posture only dancers possess. When at home in America, she worked for the UN and as a nurse in a women’s prison, and enjoyed painting and sculpting in her spare time. She was holidaying with her children and her mother; they had a lovely close relationship. I’d always wanted the whole extended family thing growing up. It never happened, and I wanted it even more now for my son. Sarah changed my view on family, and what she said that night has been demonstrated time and time again. ” Trish ,” she said, ” Don’t put so much emphasis on the blood relative thing, it’s nice when you have it, but it’s not what it’s all about. Where ever you are in the world; you will meet people that will want to be part of yours and Lucas’s family. Don’t miss those precious opportunities by looking in the other direction. You’ll rob yourselves, and them, of wonderful times together. They may play a role in your lives for a short time or a long time, nevertheless, you have everything you need and are never alone in caring for Lucas.”
David. A tall, kind, rather handsome member of the crew, told me I looked completely exhausted upon boarding, and it was clear I needed sleep and time out. It wasn’t a coincidence the staff came and asked me if they could spend time with Lucas. They did it initially to support me, a total stranger, then they fell in love with Lucas and wanted to spend time with him anyway. Leaving the ship was a teary good-bye.
If I hadn’t taken the plunge and continued the trip to Lofoten, I would probably not have travelled with Lucas again, as the early part had been so challenging.
I learnt such a valuable lesson from Sarah. We are not often surrounded by blood relatives, but we are surrounded by friends and family in the same way we are friends and family to others. I’m so grateful to everyone, who have been part of our family, even for a short time. You know who you are xx.
The Northern Lights-Traveling with kids
The Northern Lights at the North Pole (Aurora Borealis) and the Southern lights at the South Pole (Aurora Australis), occur when particles from the sun emit light as they enter our earth’s atmosphere. This occurs constantly, however the lights are only visible at certain locations and conditions, on a clear night.
Many come to the Arctic to see the often elusive Northern Lights. It was -7 degrees outside, so our surveillance checks were brief; our chance of missing them high. Roar, our hostel owner, saw them and woke us. After layering warmly and wrapping up in blankets, we joined the others outside. Vertical rays of green and white light moved extremely quickly, in a wavelike motion across the sky, constantly changing shape. Each wave is made of rays of light dancing around each other, whilst simultaneously moving across the sky like shimmering vibrant green, flapping sheets.
We stood flexing our heads as horizontal as we could, transfixed in awestruck silence. Suddenly, the lights transformed into a giant inverted cone above us; it felt we’d be scooped up from the earth.
Then the Northern Lights disappeared.
In the morning, I pondered whether Lucas was old enough to have fully appreciated the phenomenon. I looked over at him, playing with a torch.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m showing Tigger the Northern lights, Mummy,” shining the torch on the ceiling. He was holding his toy up at arm’s length by its neck, to show the torchlight dancing across the ceiling.
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