This year my husband, kids and I did three years worth of traveling in one summer. It was a once-in-a-lifetime vacation. There is an almost 100% chance (because never say never, right?) that the children, my husband, and I will never go on a trip like this again. It’s bittersweet. 

It wasn’t an easy time. At 17 and 19, my kids are virtually adults, and while they love and appreciate us, they are also very invested in their space, their friends, and their home lives. The pandemic has not helped with this. As a matter of fact, it has only hindered the sense of wanderlust I tried to instill in them from a young age. They appreciated so many things during our trip to Europe, and they tried to be grateful, but they missed so many things from home it was a tough balance for all of us.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wanted to raise children who would jump on a plane at the drop of a hat. In 2018 they were well on their way. We had already taken two successful long trips–one to Scotland and another to the Grand Canyon. The kids were able to pack for themselves, lug their own baggage, and follow us with ease. In 2020 the kids were 16 and 14, and we were ready for more family travel. I tried to book a trip to London and Paris, but of course we all know how 2020 plans played out. In the summer of 2021 no one in the family had yet contracted Covid, and though we were vaccinated I didn’t know how it would affect us. As such, I wasn’t comfortable taking the family too far out of Florida, so we did a driving trip touring colleges for my eldest, from Florida to North Carolina. In the summer of 2022, even though I’d planned on letting my children choose a high school graduation trip and my oldest had chosen Rome, I still wasn’t ready to go overseas. I’d had Covid, and so had my oldest daughter, but my youngest and my husband hadn’t and I didn’t want to risk an illness overseas. For what it’s worth, my husband and younger daughter caught Covid on my birthday trip to Arizona, and my eldest and I caught it again from them, so we were all well exposed when summer 2023 rolled around. 

Thus, in October, we started planning the European vacation we had put off for three years. We decided to focus on Italy, as that was my daughter’s graduation trip wish. We didn’t include London or Paris, but we did start with three days in Barcelona, then boarded a cruise that took us to Marseilles, Nice, Livorno for two nights, Genoa, Sicily, and Naples. The cruise ended in Rome, and we spent three days there with a private tour of the Vatican and another private tour of Rome itself.

If I had one takeaway from our trip to, and our time in Spain, it’s to contradict the old adage–when it comes to European travel, it is not the journey, it is the destination. While the flights and transfers, luggage and car rides were all smooth, we left Tampa on July 4th at 7 am and landed in Barcelona on July 5th at 9 am. Even accounting for the six-hour time difference, we had been traveling for 20 hours. Everyone made our trip as pleasant as possible–with the exception of the family with the five-year-old who screamed throughout the entire overnight flight guaranteeing none of us got any sleep. I had many great ideas that evening: Planes should have cry-rooms. Airlines should make bathrooms into cry rooms. Airlines should give away noise cancelling headphones (I later learned that my daughter wore hers throughout the whole flight and still heard the child). I am happy I never had to fly across the globe with a five-year-old. All travelers should be happy I never traveled across the globe with a five-year-old. I was a very considerate mother. Five-year-olds should perhaps be banned from international travel.

Fortunately, the flight came to an end before I started a letter-writing campaign. We were thrilled to escape the family we dubbed “Scream Desensitized” in the customs line, only to arrive at the hotel and find them in the lobby. The five-year-old was still screaming. This gave us ample reason to reinforce, for the kids, that we would not be giving into jet lag by napping in the hotel lobby. Each scream made my daughters twitch. So we checked in, dropped off our bags, and set out on a walk to get our bearings. The weather was a lovely 86 degrees and sunny (remember this for later posts–it’s relevant) and it turned out we were only a few blocks away from El Corte Ingles. We went to La Boqueria and found empanadas, sliced watermelon, and plenty of fantastic sandwiches. On the way back to the hotel, with time to spare, we stopped at a cafe for coffee and gelato, then watched the vendors on La Rambla. They sold a magnificently eclectic array of stuff–like Oriental Trading Company in a kiosk. We also found the important locations in town close to our hotel–the pharmacy, the little shop that sells water, and the closest site for the hop-on-hop-off bus.

When we returned to our hotel we found the lobby blessedly quiet. We went to our rooms and took a short nap before heading out to dinner. The youngest was too exhausted to even join us, but she had eaten well at La Boqueria so we let her rest. The eldest joined us but was so tired she begged off even getting gelato, so my husband and I dropped her back at the hotel and just went for a walk ourselves. We held hands, like a couple! In love. It was delightful. Travel is so our thing. 

The kids, however, were out of sorts. I understood. They had only experienced the travail of the journey; they had not yet had the joy of immersion in the destination. I hoped the next day would change that. My husband and I were still adamantly fighting jet lag, so we got up at 8, had breakfast, then got some tickets for the hop-on-hop-off bus to see the city. The kids, who would have preferred to sleep until noon, endured.

They continued to persevere until that afternoon when we arrived at the bus station for the tour to Montserrat and they both developed headaches and bouts of nausea. Advil, bottles of Diet Coke and water, and mints were the best we could get at the time. If I’d given the kids the opportunity to go back to the hotel they’d probably have jumped at the chance, but instead we traveled by train high up the mountain to the Benedictine Monastery known for its image of the Virgin Mary that appeared in a cave on the site where the Monastery was built. It is known as one of the many “Black Madonnas” or “Black Virgins” found not only in Europe but throughout the world. People regularly make pilgrimages to Monserrat to touch the statue of Mary holding the earth in her hands. Walking up the steps to the statue, praying a rosary, and then watching as each member of my family reverently touched the globe before touching it myself was an experience no words can express, and no picture can capture.

After seeing the statue, we went into a grotto with a beautiful array of candles. Knowing that Barcelona was the beloved city of my friend Rose Mary, who suddenly and unexpectedly passed away in March, I lit a candle for her and for my father-in-law whom we lost in September. Yes, there were some tears, but that was okay. I’ve come to realize that it is the sign of a life well-lived to have people miss you.

The kids perked up after some more water and snacks, and we actually had a good time. We shopped, watched some videos, tasted some monk-made liquor, then rested on our bus ride down the mountain. Back in the city we grabbed dinner at a sandwich shop, and even got some dessert. We made a new game plan that paid attention to the need to occasionally stop and refresh ourselves, and got ready for the next day with optimism.

I had reason to be optimistic, because our final day in Barcelona was “Gaudi Day.” We spent most of it between Sagrada Familia, the basilica designed by Antoni Gaudi, and Park Guell, which Gaudi also designed. In a way it’s a shame that we started our trip in Barcelona. Even the Vatican, with all its history and beauty, did not affect my children the way Sagrada Familia did. The East side portrays various scenes from the advent of and birth of Christ. On the inside, the East side stained glass is made of the greens and blues of dawn. The glass on the West side, or the Passion side, is made of the reds and oranges of sunset. The exterior West facade tells the story of Christ’s Passion and death. The interior is made to reflect nature, and at times I did feel like I was walking through a stone forest in the pale blue and green morning light on the east, and the sunset red and orange on the west. It combined the sacredness of nature with that of God, and no words can do it justice. Pictures may give a glimpse.

Though building started in 1882, the cathedral still remains unfinished. It is a real-life example of a church, like Notre Dame in Paris, whose builders knew they would not live to see their work’s completion. Seeing Sagrada Familia brought that concept so much more clearly home to me because I, also, may not live to see its completion, which is slated for 2032. Granted, I hope to be alive past my 60th birthday–and wouldn’t it be amazing to celebrate it there!–but as my friend’s passing shows, there are no guarantees. Looking upon a church that might not be completed until 100 years after its architect’s death (Gaudi died in 1932) evokes awe at the beauty and the faith of those who put their lives into something they know they will never see in its entirety.

In many ways, it brought me to the realization that my parenting is a lot like building that cathedral. We start with some sort of design, some plan, for our children’s lives, and we take the plan as far as we can. But at a certain point the lives we planned for our children are no longer in our hands. They are the project that, God-willing, we will not see to its completion. We can only hope we put enough effort into the initial design that something beautiful emerges–though that is something we may never fully see. After all, who wants to outlive their children?

My younger daughter caught me in contemplation. “Mom’s getting that look again!” she shouted. “Time for a change of venue!” She patted my shoulder and said, “Finish up that rosary and let’s hit the park!” I was thrilled to see that, two days post-flight, the girls were somewhat getting into this travel thing. We made our way over to Park Guell. Gaudi was commissioned to design an upscale community for the upper class (think 1920’s McMansions). It never got traction because of lack of transportation at the time, so the owner of the land gave it to the city of Barcelona as a park. And such a beautiful park it was, with intricately colorful tiled structures, benches, and an adorable tile lizard that we all just adored.

By the time we made it through the park, my oldest daughter was exhausted and starving. In college she had gotten into a sleeping and eating routine that worked well for her, but to which we were not yet attuned. So we grabbed some food, dropped her off at the hotel for a nap, and took my younger daughter to the absolutely insane Miro Museum. From the outside it has an adorable statue who looks like Wall-E from the Disney movie. That’s because, from the street, you cannot see the enormous penis jutting out from the front of it. Reminding myself that my child is sixteen and knows about penises, we went in and had an absolute blast taking in some astoundingly bizarre art. Miro’s sculpture of an inside-out turtle shell, topped by a tiny ball with what looks like horns, gave a lot of insight into his mind when I realized it was essentially titled “Woman.” Many of his “Woman” titled sculptures were similarly telling. We had a good giggle over it all. I preferred his painting.

We finished our last day in Barcelona at their aquarium, because my youngest adores fish. I would not have chosen to go to an aquarium; we have those in Florida. But she had done so many of the things we wanted to do, and had been so happy and invested, we wanted to prioritize one of her goals before we embarked on the cruise to Italy. “This is the best smelling aquarium I have ever been to,” she said. She was right. It smelled like a garden. I don’t know how they got a building full of fish to smell like flowers, but they did. We walked through some really cool immersive shark exhibits, saw some penguins, then headed back to the hotel to grab my oldest daughter before going out for tapas. That was a huge hit with everyone.

Other than re-emphasizing for me the importance of destination in making a journey worthwhile, the first leg of our trip taught me that traveling with teenagers has its challenges. At 19 and 17 they have developed their own routines, and they have their own priorities which do not always mesh with mine.

When I am traveling with my family, I am traveling with my best friend. Our kids love us, but we are not–nor should we be–their best friends, and so they miss theirs. I do not want to be constantly connected to the virtual world. The virtual world is where the majority of their friends abide, and it is very costly to access overseas. They are very attached to their space–their rooms, their beds, their kitchen, their washing machines, the familiarity of home. I was, too, at their age. I would arrive in a different country when I traveled in college, get to the hotel, and weep in the shower for 20 or so minutes. But then I would dry myself off and try to immerse myself in the new place–the sights, the sounds, the smells. I was 15 the first time I traveled to Europe on a school trip without my family, and proceeded to do so until I graduated college at 21 (after which I traveled with my now-husband). I would get hungry, or thirsty, or tired, but I’d press on because I was so in love with the culture and the history of new places. I still do, and I still am, and I think I always will be.

My kids may not be like me in that respect, and reflection on this vacation is teaching me to be okay with that. After all, as the mom of almost-adults, I have given them all the design suggestions I could. I wish I’d had the pandemic years to refine those designs, but I can’t change the past. I have to accept that from now on it will be their decision to modify my blueprints for their lives as they see fit. I want them to be comfortable traveling the world. I have tried to give them that. It’s up to them what they do with it.

As for me and my husband, we will continue to travel as often and as much as we can, to fulfill the design of our lives. And hopefully it will be magnificent.