Fi O’Meara, a physiotherapist from Cork, her husband Sam Russell, head of Product Design in NCAD Dublin and their sons Corin and Daithí Russell packed up their home, jobs and school in Cork city last August.
It is hard to know at what point in a year’s travel that the journey home begins, but certainly the return from Colombia to Spain, and to our campervan in particular, felt like a homecoming of sorts.
The bikes and Lego, Barry’s tea and whiskey awaited us with the best sort of cosy familiarity. The journey back was an epic three days of constant travel, involving terrifying drivers, momentarily lost luggage, missed connection flights and trains, and more queuing and bureaucracy than anyone really wanted. I’m ashamed to admit that our young boys dealt with it all with far more patience and dignity than me, our 10-year-old reassuring me at one point that I’d feel better after a cup of the aforementioned tea.
Despite having the richest and most rewarding experiences in Central and South America, it was only when we returned to our van that some motherly part of me sighed with relief at the fact that Sam and I had successfully kept our young family alive and healthy for this wilder section of our trip.
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I relished the fact that our beds were now reassuringly free of scorpions, that the kids always had seat belts on and that our conversations no longer contained detailed descriptions about the state of our innards. But even given that reassurance, returning to European turf we also felt that our exciting adventure into the unknown was over.
Thankfully there was still so much more to come, albeit of a more familiar European vibe.
April saw us exploring the Alpujarra mountain region in southern Spain. The fresh spring days gave us blissful hikes through fields of wild lavender and rosemary, goats and almond trees, following the intricate aqua duct systems serving the hillside farms.
Nearer to the coast, the dystopian scenes of endless miles of polytunnels showed us where much of Europe’s fruit and veg originate. We learned from friends at home of food shortages as a direct result of the unusually wet March this region experienced. Food air-miles was now a concept the boys could easily understand, seeing this industrial growing with their own eyes.
Now being back in Europe we were within easy reach, and family came to visit for the most excited of reunions. Grandparents doted on “tall boys” with their “stretched legs”. In return we in return filled their ears with lavish tales from adventures afar. We all relished the easy, fond company.
As May approached we settled into a small seaside village in the heart of an agricultural community near Cartagena, while the boys attended a local alternative school. Holidaying and travelling through places, we always feel that we are skimming the surface and so stopping and engaging with the run-of-the-mill local life felt like a good way to dig a bit deeper into this rural community.
We were all challenged with our still fairly basic Spanish, but happily so, and were rewarded with such warmth and patience from the schoolteachers and families. The boys were initially overwhelmed, but settled quickly, charmed by the freedom this school offered. Classes were regularly outdoors and the children had autonomy choosing their learning through various group projects.
Initially puzzled by the school’s seemingly unruly nature, where discipline was certainly looser than back home, the boys soon embraced their freedom, recognising that classroom learning can take many different forms.
Feeling the pull of the wandering life we were excited to be back in our van in June. Van life is cramped and we have all learned the dance we must make around each other in our tiny home, which occasionally borders on claustrophobia. But life is lived outdoors and free.
Having spent the majority of the past year physically active and outdoors, the thought of coming back to Ireland where so much of our lives is contained indoors, does crush the wilder part of my soul. The time we have spent with our boys, free from other commitments, feels like a rare and special privilege to us as parents.
This untethered year has allowed us to develop our hobbies, to read abundantly, to have lengthy chats with strangers and to absorb languidly the natural environment around us. All of our learning is unquantifiable as it has slipped in under our skins in the mountains and siestas, villages and waters everywhere.
But home is definitely calling us and for this family there are some aspects of Irish life that can’t be replaced. We miss our own home, family and friends, our dog, a hug from my dad, fresh Irish swims and the wild, if damp countryside. In particular I miss Irish women’s humour. A text message a few weeks ago from a woman neighbour describing the antics in our quirky neighbourhood, had me belly laughing in a way I hadn’t all year. This sudden realisation hit me with a pang of homesickness so strong I nearly packed my bags there and then.
I think we all return from long-term travel with notions — ideas of new found rhythms and rituals. Isn’t that part of the joy of travel?
Some notions change us forever, some we integrate into our lives and even more we shed gradually. But the memories always remain, the knowledge of what’s beyond our shores and this helps us put context on our own lives at home.
For now, with a week remaining until we sail home, I’m trying to prepare myself for the integration of my two selves — the person with all those notions fizzing, and that person back home in Cork city who’ll probably roll her eyes at most of them. Isn’t that in itself an exciting place to be?
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