"Trip
of a Lifetime!" This is a common phrase, often tossed around to
justify big choices or budget-stretching when planning a vacation. The Oxford
online dictionary defines it as "an experience that does not occur more
than once in a lifetime." I’ve been to Paris once and am unlikely to
return—does that make it a trip of a lifetime? What about our trips to Mexico?
I’ve gone many times, but each one has been different. Experiences from one
trip may never be repeated on another, but that does not make it a “Trip of a
Lifetime. In the case of this trip with Mom, its extent, duration, and complexity
definitely warrants the title. There is huge gulf between the many “once-in-a-lifetime”
moments etched into my memory from when I first remember travelling (early
1980s onward)—and the 41-day stretch of nonstop movement, emotion, and sensory
experience that I shared with Mom in the fall of 2024.
What
distinguished this trip was its scale and the logistical planning required to
cover all places on Mom’s list within the time allotted and to ensure that we
actually were able to experience some history and culture during our short
stays. Especially during the second half of the journey when were island-hopping
across Indonesia, Australia, and Polynesia, ordering and arranging our destinations
was a cross between hide-and-seek and a jigsaw puzzle. Which airlines serve our
particular destinations and on which days. How should we sequence our stops in
order to minimize wait time for a flight, avoid getting trapped on an island
without available departure flights, and how were we going to get to and from each
airport?
I was
definitely disappointed after I returned that the scope of the trip and the
work I put into its planning it wasn’t fully appreciated by those close to me.
Them:
“What have you been doing since you finished your thesis?”
Me:
“I’ve been planning this complicated bucket list trip with my mom and then
traveling for 6 weeks. and taking an around-the-world trip with my mom.”
Them:
“For four months?!”
Me:
“Yes! The trip itself was six weeks, but it was completely self-planned and
very customized. I wanted to make sure we experienced the essence of every
location—even those where we were just doing a flyby.”
Them:
“LOL. Sounds fun.”
I don’t
think that the complicated nature of the trip was clear, nor were most people
interested in some of the nuts and bolts of the planning process. Although they
may have fully appreciated how remarkable this trip was—or may never have the
chance to do something similar—I know Mom did.
I
traveled down to Georgia several times of over the summer for family events or
to help with various projects, including visa applications. At least once per visit,
Mom would stop me in the kitchen and drape both arms over my shoulders. With eyes
glistening welling tears and a voice trembling with emotion, she would lower
her head, and say, “I’m so grateful that you’re doing this with me. I know it’s
crazy. I know I’m crazy. But this is important to me, and I truly couldn’t do
it without you.”
Now,
months after our adventure—with no future experience of this kind on the
horizon—I’m starting to get uncharacteristically emotional about the trip too. What
a gift the experience and time with my extraordinary mother was! We have
hundreds of photos: stunning vistas in Jeju Island, Korea, and Borneo, Indonesia.
We have unique memories of our triumphs navigating the underground subway in Hong
Kong, deciphering restaurant menus in an eerily deserted shopping mall in Haikou,
China, and sharing a plane cabin with live seafood strapped into the chairs at
the front of the plane as we left Chatham Island in New Zealand. Our adventures
ranged from crab-spotting on Christmas Island to drinks in the luxury O Bar restaurant
rotating 47 floors above Sydney, Australia’s, skyline.-restaurant in
Sydney—followed several days later by a traveling Broadway show and watching thousands
of flying foxes rouse take flight for their evening feeding.
If I want
to, I always can refer to the blog and Mom’s ubiquitous Shutterfly photobooks to
remind me of our day-to-day activities. But as I sit down with the intention of
reflecting on the total experience of the trip, it’s the quieter memories that
surface…small moments and mundane activities. I find having visions of both the
extraordinary and ordinary personal traits and daily habits of this woman, Alla
Traber Campbell, who has been my role model and biggest cheerleader for
decades. The astonishment of many of our guides and drivers upon learning her
age (six weeks shy of 80) had her beaming with pride. I happily played along
during these exchanges because I was also impressed with her. She gamely scrabbled
down narrow paths cut into the limestone karst of Makassar, Indonesia, during
an afternoon of oppressive heat in order to see a somewhat disappointing cave. On
each of her solo “turn-arounds,” she defied my predictions that she would only
experience the inside of a plane or the local airport. On Lord Howe Island, she
rented a bike to explore areas close to the airport and managed to score a free
ride back to the airport from a local. On Rurutu Island, she managed to get
herself invited to a local wedding during the few hours that she had between
flights. I even convinced her to join me on an e-bike tour in Fiji that would
take us to a mud spa out of town, although that particular adventure did not
have a happy ending.
All these
memories feel sharper now and occasionally trigger a feeling of mild melancholy.
Beyond the fact that there are no future adventure trips in our future, I understand
that this type of travel probably won’t be possible for much longer. The
inevitable decline in strength and stamina with age are becoming more obvious.
How many more years until she’s no longer willing—or able—to climb up
into a rainforest canopy and walk between trees on a rope bridge? When will she
decide that the landscapes and scenery of new places are no longer worth the effort
to get to? At some point, she'll choose more comfortable and curated
experiences with Dad over the unpredictable, 3-star adventures we found tucked
into the corners of the world.
That
transition—from adventurer to elderly traveler—will be hard to witness, especially
given the extent of our adventures together over the years. She backpacked
through SE Asia with Beth and I on a strict $25/day budget in the early 2000s
for 6 weeks. I joined her on an adventure tour in Morocco in 2007 that had us
camping in the desert and seeing goats climbing trees. In 2020, she invited me
to take Dad’s place on a trip to Socotra, Yemen. While I have memories of
incredible vistas and an unforgettable 5-hour hike up to a natural infinity pool
in the Homhil protected area, I also have vivid (and hilarious) memories of
crouching behind bushes with Mom in all sorts of exotic places to answer
nature’s call—whether it was the side of the road, a trail in the Galápagos
under the mildly horrified gaze of our local guide, next to a Russian tank
(because, obviously), or discreetly squatting along the edge of a beach on
Christmas Island while hoping the local robber crabs would respect our privacy.
We’ve
been great travel companions through the years. Our silences are companionable.
Our eating schedules align. We respect each other’s sleeping rituals—she has her
eye mask and alarm clock and I have my earbuds and podcasts. She taught me how
to wash clothes in hotel sinks, to dry them by rolling them in towels, and to
never accept the first offer when negotiating a sale. Perhaps she taught me too
well, as I have a hard time accepting services that are different or less than
what was original promised.
In
Indonesia—Makassar, Sulawesi—we faced two such situations. After receiving a
mistakenly low quote for an airport taxi and being asked to pay more than
expected, we didn’t leave the hotel reception desk until free breakfast the
next morning was offered for our troubles. The next day, the private tour that
we received was not the tour that was described on the travelling booking site,
and I refused to give up my objective of receiving a partial refund. The resolution
of the dog bite incident was much less satisfactory to me. Although I demanded and
successfully received a full refund for the cost of the tour, the money couldn’t
compensate for the loss of her mobility during our final week of travel. It
also didn’t address the thousands of dollars spent on specialty wound care in
Athens, GA, when we returned home.
Remembering
those moments brings me back to the tag team crisis response we were forced to
activate three times during the trip. First, when a flight change forced Mom to
stay an extra day in Rabaul while I was still in Port Moresby, we spent a
frantic 3 hours trying to coordinate a reunion without consistent cell service
or the benefit of being on the same travel itinerary so that airline staff
would understand that changes to her flights affected mine as well. We
coordinated using borrowed phones at the airport, a fatigued sense of logic,
and plenty of patience to get our itineraries realigned—even though we were on
separate bookings. Changes in flights with significant travel implications occurred
two more times, but at least we were physically in the same place and could address
it together. On each occasion, it was such a relief that we both could take
things in stride and work patiently towards resolution. This would not be the
case had I been traveling with anyone else.
Reflecting
on the trip now, two emotions rise up most often: AWE and GRATITUDE.
I
continue to be in awe of my mother’s indomitable curiosity, her sense of
adventure, and her belief that everything will work out. And I’m deeply
grateful—to the universe, to timing, to circumstance, to my own lack of drive to
achieve gainful employment after leaving RAIS and completing my doctorate—for the
chance to take this trip with her. Unlike my siblings, I had the time and fewer
financial responsibilities at home. Both these factors were huge in allowing me
to seize the opportunity. I’m grateful that I prioritized time during our journey
to write about it through this blog, and in doing so, could bring my siblings and other loved ones
along with us in spirit. And I’m extraordinarily grateful that after 41 days of
sleeping, eating, travelling, and touring within 20 feet of her, I’m still
ready to sign up for another adventure with my mother, Alla T. Campbell, the 41st
ranked American on the Most Traveled
People list, and the second ranked woman of any nationality on the Traveler’s
Century Club list.
With
all this being said, what I really want to know is …
"Where to next, Mom?"
