As a mum, traveling with a grown-up daughter sets you up to run a gauntlet of emotions, especially if both of you are used to solo travel. For years, my daughter and I have taken four weeks from reality for an annual adventure together of personality mayhem amidst far-flung destinations. Once upon a time, I looked after her when traveling; now, it's a role reversal; she looks after me. The fact that my daughter is looking for peace and relaxation when holidaying and I'm looking for writing content and heaps of photographs, we still manage to blend our different wants with hilarious moments despite any occasional looks of disdain and pooh-poohing dribble or bitching from each of us.
Picking a destination is never any drama as we always have several on our hit list to choose from—occasionally, there are false starts in the planning if we find out something we don't like about a place—while I am happy to go anywhere, daughter will not compromise on her spa time, daily beer intake, and meat must be on a menu at a resort. She was hot to go to a particular resort in Raja Ampat that I had been to until I informed her that there was local produce on the menu, which meant no meat. The meal's main event was a lot of tofu—her passion to go there dwindled dramatically.
We always consider whether it's the best time to go to a particular destination, especially when snorkeling. It's not just the weather or the currents; it comes down to what marine life can be found or may be migrating through and which resort has the best house reef, as sharing a boat is not in our makeup. The cost of any adventure comes into play when said daughter sends copious Instagram pics of incredible hotels that would defy the capabilities of most people's bank accounts, let alone mine. Our target places are boutique in size, with unusual or traditional architecture—no hotels that scream budget tourists en masse catering to those into smorgasbord gouging each morning. We like to play ladies in the mornings in our little bubble of rarified air. When we leisurely arrive for brekky, we appreciate cook-to-order sustenance. We are like peas in a pod regarding our morning routines, aligning perfectly with waking up when the sun rises, bathroom requirements, and pre-people mingling rituals. Considering that we often share a bed—thank heavens it's usually a king-size, and we are not big humans—being in rhythm in the mornings is a blessing.
A city visit is a serious business as we live in a small tourist-driven town in the north of Queensland, Australia, which does lack the big city vibes and man-made attractions; for my daughter, that translates into shopping. In cities, we chase excellent restaurants or incredible street food, museums, art galleries, and historic locations, with a tendency to get lost despite having the requisite maps on our iPhones. The said daughter will have checked out what restaurants are a must-do in any place at least three months before leaving home and booked if necessary, as well as booking her pampering spa time. Both of these items on her agenda must fit in with the other. Food and wine are part of my daughter's genetic makeup, as she did dishes for me in a cafe when she was only 6. Her penchant for travel stems from the gypsy inclinations of her mother and the fact that she began traveling when she was a babe-in-arms. My daughter is still in the restaurant industry, and living to eat is her motto. In Ubud several years ago, during the middle of the day in searing heat, I was given the pooh-pooh treatment as I couldn't keep up with her so-called walking, more like running, to get to a famous dumpling restaurant before it closed. As for her craving for indulgent spa opportunities, she's your typical work-life-balance-focused Millennial who believes that if she works hard, she's entitled to her holiday pampering moments of utter bliss like floating in rose petal baths.
Apart from the bustle of a city for a few days, our wish list overflows with remote and hard-to-get-to places as it lessens the chances of being overrun with other travelers who may or may not be part of our 'tribe.' We may be tourists, but we like to consider ourselves as 'non-tourists,' just people stumbling our way around the world in flights of fancy. Plane travel is a breeze as my daughter can run faster than I can at an airport if we are late for a connecting flight. She will often become my porter if my backpack gets too heavy, as it's loaded with my camera, lenses, and laptop. She has also been known as my decoy—on the Surin Islands in Thailand, the monkeys were content with bombarding missiles at her tent in the middle of the night and never mine—this was the only time I got her to camp. As she loves her sleep, this was not a highlight of the trip, but stalking baby sharks in the shallows and the incredible snorkeling put the monkeys' antics in perspective.
We know each other's quirky proclivities, and when one throws a tantrum over something that doesn't matter to the other, we allow personal time-out—like putting baby in the corner, though sometimes it's mum. We get busy in the mornings and chill out in the afternoons, having naps, watching movies, and reading books in companionable mode. The highlight of most days is sipping on a sundowner drink while playing cards or travel scrabble, with one of us usually attempting to cheat. Our conversations typically end up hilarious chats about what happened during the day, throwing ideas around for the next day's adventure, or creating fantastical stories about the other hotel guests.
The holidays we share always amaze me—I dread the day when I can no longer have this one-on-one time with her. From making her wait while I just have to take another photograph to her making me wait while she rescues a turtle off the middle of the road in Sri Lanka, we know when to make allowances for each other. Her chasing one dish, 'Cha Ca' every day for lunch at a different restaurant in Hanoi, Vietnam, and both of us wishing to escape salty showers at a small resort in North Sulawesi to a luxury hotel in the city of Manado despite the cost; we are both very similar in our outlook.
We have nursed each other when sick while traveling, laughed over stupid things, cried when feeling emotional, and chatted endlessly in some of the most amazing places in the world. Mother-daughter travel is the most precious experience.
Gail Palethorpe, a self proclaimed Australian gypsy, is a freelance writer, photographer and eternal traveller. Check out her website Gail Palethorpe Photography and her Shutterstock profile.
