42. REFLECTIONS ON A "Once in a Lifetime" EXPERIENCE-July 2025

 "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 41^st 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?"