I wanted to hear their breathing and feel their closeness one more night before everything changed back to our non-traveling life — before the movers came and filled our house with so much of the furniture and boxes of stuff that I now feel ambivalent about owning, and before my kids moved back into their own rooms and we all established our separate domains in this house that feels too big and fancy. I wanted to curl up in my sleeping bag and fantasize we were camping the way we did on the banks of the Colorado River or on the beach of New Zealand’s Abel Tasman Park.

Everyone has been asking how it feels to return home. The short answer is: weird, and tiring! I haven’t felt this conflicted and unsettled since … well, since we pulled out of our driveway to start the trip on August 15, 2009.

The penultimate stop: We drove through Yosemite on our last day and arrived home about four hours later.

At first, we were giddy with anticipation while driving back from the Eastern Sierra and seeing familiar landmarks that meant we were getting closer to home. Kyle even pointed to a freeway barrier and exclaimed, “I remember that wall!” We collectively felt the poignancy and optimism of starting a new chapter in life as Morgan heads down a different career path, I start some new projects, and the kids fix up their rooms and gear up for school.

Finally we reached our freeway exit and drove the final mile. The kids literally were shrieking with excitement and I held my breath as we braked to turn left onto our street, knowing our house would come into view and signal that we really had made it back, the round-the-world odyssey really was over. How would it look? How would I feel?

And then we made the turn, and what I saw caught me by surprise and deflated the moment in the most fitting and funny way. There at the edge of our driveway, like a monument or middle finger, stood a big ol’ porta-potty for use by workers at our neighbor’s house. How perfect: a harbinger of all the crap — of all the moving boxes, bags of mail, health insurance headaches and wood rot in the windowsills — waiting for us once we started to unload and settle in. I had to laugh.

This all happened three weeks ago. It has taken me this long to start to get my head around the transition and to return to this abandoned child of a blog.

We arrived on the Summer Solstice, when everyone was taking off for summer vacation. By contrast, we’d experienced summer all year long, having been in the Southern Hemisphere October through February, and it felt to me as though summer should be ending and we should get back to productivity. My daughter, let down by the realization that many of her friends had left town just as she was returning, unknowingly expressed my mood by what she wore her first full day back: she dressed all in black and donned an absurd Santa hat she found in a moving box, and she glumly hobbled around on crutches, having dislocated her knee the prior week, like a bird with newly clipped wings.

It felt so odd and slightly stressful to move our furniture back and confront the detritus of our past lives — the boxes and boxes of clothing and memorabilia I had forgotten about. I don’t need this I said to myself repeatedly — I don’t need the uncomfortable dress shoes I bought for a job I no longer have, the boring coffeetable books I displayed but never looked at, the 12 extra tea cups I saved for brunches I never hosted, the dusty picnic basket I put on top of the fridge for decoration even though we never made time for picnics — so I started a give-away pile that continues to grow.

And all those linens for our one bed — Morgan and I shook our heads as we unpacked giant boxes filled with the down pillow-top mattress cover, the thick damask duvet and the nine pillows. What bed needs nine pillows? We added the down pillow-top cover to the give-away pile because we’ve grown accustomed to futon-style thinner bedding while traveling, but we spread out and tucked in those expensive sheets and stacked all those velvet pillows in their place. Then Morgan put his hands on his hips, stuck out his chest and theatrically proclaimed, “I feel like a little prince!” which gave me another fit of crazy crying-laughter because this bed — this epitome of our union in comfort and luxury — no longer seemed like a cozy fit. But how long could I justify sleeping in my sleeping bag?

Everything in the house seemed to grow while we were away because our sense of size had shrunk; my bureau dresser, for example. It’s about 4 feet tall, with three columns of drawers in ornately carved mahogany. I began unpacking my things into the drawers on the right-side column because that’s what Morgan and I did whenever we’d unpack in a rental — I’d take the drawers on the right and leave him the left — and as I tried to remember how we divided the drawers in the middle column, I had a going-down-the-rabbit-hole moment of jumbled perception and jarred memory when I belatedly realized that Morgan in fact has his very own dressing area in the adjacent room with his own drawers, and this entire bureau is mine to use. I had totally forgotten this fact of how we used to live. I’m supposed to use this all myself? Why do I need all these drawers? Does this mean I can’t share space with Morgan anymore? I don’t want to unpack here, I never liked these frou-frou brass handles … all those hyper doubts and complaints sped through my mind as I unpacked two pairs of jeans and left the lower drawers empty. Only the drawer for running clothes had enough to fill it.

I was unpacking the clothes from two giant suitcases we used for storage — massive suitcases with wheeled bottoms that we bought long ago, before we realized the benefits of smaller, non-wheeled luggage. “I can’t believe we ever used to travel with those,” Morgan said. And then he looked at the one wheeled suitcase that we had taken on our trip, which was sitting near the bigger ones from storage — the black suitcase we used as a communal school supply and gear bag, which we derisively nicknamed “The Tick” because it looked so bloated and would stick to us when we wanted to get rid of it. Around the world we complained about The Tick, since it seemed so heavy and unwieldy compared to our lightweight clothing packs.

The one regular suitcase we traveled with in addition to our packs, aka "The Tick," flanked by the larger suitcases we used to use.

“Oh my god, did The Tick shrink?” Morgan asked. Indeed, it seemed like it had shrunk when we placed it next to the suitcases we used to use. Travel, I realized, truly had changed our perception of size and necessity. All my negative feelings toward this scuffed-up, black-sheep suitcase that we had lugged around the world melted into feelings of fondness and the realization that it symbolized our simpler-living, road-schooling nomadic life. I declared with sappy emotion, “I love The Tick! I want to keep it forever.”

In addition to moving back in, we faced the reality of literally plugging back in; that is, of re-establishing accounts with service providers such as electrical, trash, phone and cable that all generate bills from which we had been liberated. I cringe daily at the sound of the mailman on our porch delivering junk mail and bills.

We got a new SIM card for Morgan’s cell phone (the old one being leftover from Europe) and for over a week we shared that one phone, since I didn’t want to deal with setting up a land line and didn’t really want my own cell phone. I had this reclusive feeling of not wanting to hear a phone ring and not wanting anyone to contact me — not yet, anyway. The funny thing was, the new SIM card came with a number still registered with someone else’s name, someone named “Dorothy Bean,” which the phone company can’t seem to clear up, so all our outgoing calls show up on caller ID that way. I sort of like the element of disguise. Now I can call Morgan “Mr. Bean” and remember all the times he acted like the bumbling Brit on our travels by circling repeatedly around round-abouts while we hastily determined which exit to take.

I’m afraid I’m coming off like a complainer, and I’d like to say “yes!” when people ask, “Is it good to be back?” In many ways it is good, especially from the kids’ perspectives, since they’re happy to reconnect with friends and walk freely around their familiar neighborhood. And what a gorgeous neighborhood it is. I have renewed appreciation for how lovely these landscaped gardens and well-maintained homes are, having unpacked in so many modest abodes in areas with crumbling infrastructure. And some of the unpacking and settling back in has brought genuine joy. I was happy to  unpack my kitchen tools and restock our pantry, for example, since I’m eager to cook recipes we haven’t tasted in a year.

Reconnecting with friends and neighbors has been the best part of this transition. Several families invited us to their homes for dinners, coaxed us to return to our annual tradition of building a 4th of July parade float, and paid us the ultimate compliments when they said we seemed more mellow and happy. Then, one week after our return, seven extended family members came to stay under our roof for several days, delightfully filling up this house and making it feel more like a home again.

Morgan used our moving boxes to take the lead on building the annual neighborhood float ...

... while I worked with my sister-in-law and Colly (she's in a Wilma Flintstone costume) to put finishing touches on it.

Morgan and two neighbors show off the end result: a Flintstone-themed parade entry for the 4th of July. This is the kind of community fun we missed while traveling, and which eases the transition back home.

Round-the-world travel gave us so much, and yet we missed the connection with local community and extended family. But it still feels weird to be back, and oh how I miss discovering new places, people and perspectives through far-flung travel. I’m trying hard not to lose touch with the positive ways that travel changed our behavior and awareness. I really don’t want to stir up the manic, multitasking, materialistic, controlling, bitchy and provincial parts of my personality that long-term travel helped me tame, nor do I want our stronger family bond to weaken.

I’ll try to write about the challenge of “maintaining change” (that’s not an oxymoron, is it? I hope not) in a separate post. For now, I’m happy to report we haven’t lost that awareness or closeness, and we’re really trying to live differently than we did before the trip — though I admit, that bed and all those pillows feel pretty darn comfortable.

Related posts:

1. Good “Car-Ma” For Long Car Trips
2. “Back to School” Becomes “Leave to Learn”
3. The Sappy Departure

A great place to start the day: drinking coffee outside the ambassador’s house.

Regular readers of this blog know of the National Lampoon Vacation-esque lodging we sometimes find ourselves in — establishments such as the Blackball Hilton (dorm-style rooms with recycled hospital beds) and the Abel Tasman Barn (two toilets to share with fifty other backpackers). More recently, we became aficionados of flimsy cabins at campervan parks. We now feel as though we’ve scored some fancy digs if we stay in a place that has carpeting made for indoor use only.

Imagine how we felt, therefore, upon arriving at the place we were invited to stay in Canberra: the United States Embassy! (Cue the banjo music as the Smiths, with beach sand still in their hair, drive through the security gates in their bird-poop-covered, packed-to-the-roof dented rental…)

The new U.S. Ambassador to Australia, Jeff Bleich, and his wife, Becky, are our friends and neighbors from Piedmont, and their daughter has been close with Colly since preschool. We couldn’t wait to reconnect with familiar faces, and Colly was virtually bursting with pent-up preteen desire to socialize with an old friend.

Nonetheless, we admittedly felt a wee bit intimidated when a uniformed butler opened the door and led us into the grand entranceway of the three-story Colonial-style brick mansion, where marble busts of Ben Franklin and George Washington keep watch. But then Becky came down the red-carpeted stairway and immediately put us at ease, and we soon felt at home — or at least, as though we could relax and thoroughly appreciate the family’s company and their surroundings. While I’ve never met other ambassadors, I’d wager a bet that the warmest and most down-to-earth one lives at the U.S. Embassy in Canberra.

The Telstar Tower on Black Mountain, seen from a lakeside trail.

And what about Canberra? Rather than disclose details of our time at the Embassy, I’m here to set the record straighter (in my own small way at least) about Australia’s often-mocked capital, which many wrongly believe has the pulse of a koala. The city struck me as analogous to Sacramento, our state capital that outsiders dis for being home to legislators and bureaucrats and say that its best quality is its relationship to other places (“halfway between San Francisco and Tahoe!”).  Similarly, many assume that the only people who’d want to live in Canberra are public servants, and they mention that at least you can easily get to Sydney or Melbourne from there. In his 2000 book Down Under, Bill Bryson joked that its civic slogan could be, “Canberra: Gateway to Everywhere Else!” or, “Canberra: There’s Nothing to It!” or even, “Canberra: Why Wait for Death?”

But just as I very much like Sacramento as a leafy, livable place that hums with political movers and shakers, so too did I find Canberra delightfully green, livable and politically intriguing.

We got our first view of the city and its surrounding foothills from atop the Telstar Tower on Black Mountain, which looks like a Christmas tree topper stuck on a hill. It’s worth a visit to get a better sense of how the master-planned city was laid out nearly a century ago, after Sydney and Melbourne reached a compromise to put the capital between them (170 miles south of Sydney and 410 miles from Melbourne) and then held an international competition to choose a designer.

Viewing Canberra from the top of the tower with the Bleich family.

The meandering, irregular border of sprawling Lake Burley Griffin, named after the Chicago architect who won the design contest, contrasts nicely with the perfect geometry of streets around Parliament and the city center, which are laid out in symmetrical circles connected by streets like spokes on wheels. Not surprisingly, Morgan and I loved the lake and the marathon-length trails surrounding it!

Morgan along the shores of Lake Burley Griffin. We both liked how it’s just a short run to get back to nature in this city.

We also toured the Australian War Memorial and its museum with the Bleiches, and I was glad to see the kids genuinely impressed by the beauty of the stained-glass dome and by the sobering number of fallen soldiers’ names.

The girls view part of the War Memorial.

Kyle on the steps of the War Memorial, with the Parliament Building way in the background.

Canberra certainly has plenty of museums, monuments and government buildings worth visiting — Bryson’s line, “there’s nothing to it!” is funny yet off-base — but I want to recommend two less-obvious places to visit. First, for grown-ups, is the Mount Majura Vineyard, where we sampled some of the most complex and tasty wines I’ve had this side of the equator. What impressed me is that this relatively small winery could get so many varietals and blends so right; of the four whites and four reds I tried, none was a dud.  I also liked how it’s less than 15 minutes from the city center yet feels utterly pastoral.

At the Mount Majura winery with Jeff and Becky Bleich.

Second, for kids and grownups alike, is Questacon – The National Science and Technology Center.

Kyle gets ready to experience the free-fall exhibit at Questacon, which drops kids down a vertical slide to help them understand the feeling and science of zero gravity.

Few science and tech museums rival San Francisco’s Exploratorium, but I’d say this one does. Simply put, it was great — we had a blast and learned a lot.

I’m truly grateful to (and inspired by) our hosts in Canberra who helped us wrap up our Australian leg on a sky-high note. As recent blog posts detailed, we had a not-entirely-satisfying time on Phillip Island and along the coast. (During one low point, I gloomily contemplated my own alternative slogans for Australia, such as, “Down Under: Overpriced and Overrated!”)

Between the time we were cracking up along the coast and arriving in Canberra, we had much more fun than expected in an unassuming coastal village called Batemans Bay. We stayed at arguably the best camper park in New South Wales (Batemans Bay Big 4); discovered a, like, totally awesome surf school and spent two days surfing (Broulee Surf School); and were thrilled by the lions, tigers and red pandas at a fantastic out-of-the-way zoo (Mogo Zoo). Canberra capped off what turned out to be my favorite week in this country, and now I’d encourage anyone who heads to Sydney to visit the capital too.

I meant this post to be about Canberra but can’t help tacking on these surf pics from Broulee Beach. S’later!

Morgan catches a wave.

I feel like an old dog trying to learn a new trick.

Colly makes it look easy ...

... and so does Kyle!

Related posts:

1. Changes Ahead
2. Sydney Wet and Wild
3. Finding the Best and Worst in Daylesford

So long, Australia! This shot overlooks Canberra and Lake Burley Griffin.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about “how to plan a year-long family itinerary” as though I were some kind of expert on the topic. But far from being experts, Morgan and I are learning as we go — with mixed success. As soon as I published that post, we made the big, difficult decision to tear apart and rebuild the last leg of our itinerary.

The rebuilding part has been rather stressful and time consuming, with thousands of dollars and our last month of travel at stake. We ate up much of our limited WiFi access during the last few weeks researching where to go, how to get there, how much it’ll cost and where to stay. As is often the case with travel planning, these issues are maddeningly interrelated.

So here’s the scoop: We pulled the plug on visiting Turkey and the Greek Islands and will drive a big loop around Switzerland instead.

The new plan began to take shape as we puzzled over the Greek Islands. We were having a terrible time figuring out which island(s) to go to and how to get there — and then how we’d get to and from Turkey — without spending too much time on a boat or incurring too much extra cost by flying. And Turkey wasn’t falling into place, either. We wanted to go to both Ephesus and Istanbul, but to get from one to the other involved an extra flight or long drive that we didn’t want to pay for or do. We felt we were belatedly and awkwardly grafting an expanded Turkey itinerary onto our ill-conceived Greek plans.

I listened to an inner voice say, “Admit it, you’re trying to jam a square peg in a round hole … you’re not excited about going to someplace everyone says you should feel excited about … this has started to feel like more trouble than it’s worth.” Morgan admitted he was having the same thoughts. He also kept saying, “I want to go up to see the Matterhorn and be in the Alps … we’re going to be right there at the edge in Italy, and we’re happiest when we’re in mountains and around lakes …”

We therefore dove into a new round of research as though cramming for a geography exam. The more we did, the more excited we got about heading to Switzerland after Italy. We eventually settled on a route from Lugano to Zermatt, then Lausanne, followed by a small village near Interlaken and Lucern.

The crazy thing is we’ll still spend a couple of days in the one Greek place we’ve heard repeatedly is a dirty and crowded disappointment: Athens. And it may be that we find widespread strikes and depression once we get there as the country reckons with its austerity plan. But our tickets are set to fly out of there, and we didn’t want to cut it out because the kids — who turned into fans of Greek mythology, fueled in part by the popular Percy Jackson book series — genuinely want to see the Acropolis, and I want to help make Colly’s Ancient History textbook come to life.

Then we’ll spend our final week in a place we love: England (likely in the southeast coastal area, but those details are still TBD). We also resolved to go to Turkey when we can “do it right”; that is, when we can make it a dedicated trip, not hemmed in by our existing itinerary and the restrictions on our One World airline tickets.

Somewhere in here, perhaps, is a lesson about being flexible and open to change. Either that, or about the importance of researching and planning travel details earlier!

This also serves as a roundabout excuse for why I haven’t blogged as frequently or as well as I’d like about our recent destinations. We’re headed to Hong Kong today, where I resolve to write about our highlights from our final week in New South Wales and Canberra.

Related posts:

1. Halfway There Together: Surprises and Changes So Far
2. Some Days Are Like That, Even In Switzerland
3. Home on the Road: A Q&A With the BodesWell Bunch

On the road between Queenstown and Glenorchy (click to enlarge).

On a run with Morgan this morning, I wistfully said goodbye to New Zealand and its intoxicating, idyllic landscape. We headed out from our friends’ home near Queenstown, where we stayed for over a week, and took a trail that showcased so much of what I’ll miss about New Zealand: ragged peaks that rise up sharply to cut the sky, and blue lakes that spread out to make the mountains appear even larger. Soft pastures and tangled bushland that reflect so many shades of green, and trails that lead past communal huts and over bridges carefully covered with a no-skid surface. New Zealand apparently decided early on in its short history as a country to make hiking (or “tramping,” as it’s called here) a national priority.

This trail leads to our friends' home at Closeburn Station.

And the sheep — it wouldn’t be New Zealand without them. We inadvertently cornered a big flock against a gate and had no choice but to run right through. What a sendoff: a chorus of sheep at my feet, a group of alpacas to our left, and three fat and sassy horses to our right. This isn’t the Queenstown most people know — the Queenstown of bungy jumps, ski slopes and the famous Shotover Jet — but I highly recommend a taste of life on a station (what Kiwis call sheep or cattle ranches).

Here are a few other recommendations and final reflections from New Zealand to frame Morgan’s photographs:

As we transitioned from the South Island’s West Coast to Queenstown, ever more big and beautiful mountains and lakes kept bursting into view like the grand finale in a fireworks show.

Mount Cook, NZ's tallest mountain (3754m or 12,316ft), as seen on our drive next to the brilliantly blue Lake Tekapo.

The rivers flowing on the Southern Alps, like this one on Arthur's Pass, have the color and clarity reminiscent of a gemstone.

Before we left the West Coast, we stopped at Pancake Rocks in Punakaiki (between Westport and Greymouth). The “pancake” stacks are columns of limestone with almost perfectly thin, horizontal layers fantastically carved by the wind and sea, which rushes into the columns and spews through blowholes.

One of the Pancake Rocks blowholes that fills up and churns like a giant washer.

One of the water- and wind-sculpted figures at Pancake Rocks.

Turning east and quickly gaining altitude, we drove over Arthur’s Pass and found ourselves gazing at mountains above timberline on a road barely clinging to the shale sides and flanked by steep drop-offs. It reminded me of the San Juan Skyway in Southwestern Colorado, and it felt as though we had driven from Big Sur to the Rockies in only an hour or so.

Along Arthur’s Pass, we spent a couple of nights at Flock Hill Lodge, a beautifully landscaped retreat with comfortable cabins and a tasty restaurant on the edge of seemingly endless open space. Rock outcroppings on the green mountainsides look so magical that filmmakers decided to shoot The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe near here a few years ago. We headed out on a trail called “The Narnia Track” and saw why this area is a mecca for mountain bikers and trampers.

The view out our window at Flock Hill.

Colly and Kyle pretended they were characters from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe as we hiked toward the film location.

Kyle got a spring in his step when he found a fossil toward the end of our Flock Hill hike.

Then we bombed down to Queenstown, the home of our high school friends The Kirkpatricks (the same family we kayaked with). Entering town, I suddenly felt as though we were back in the Patagonia Lake District, but the lakes and sky reflected a brighter, clearer blue. Lake Wakatipu, shaped like a lightening bolt, zigzags through craggy glacial peaks aptly named The Remarkables. If you look in the sky almost anytime, any day, you’ll see splashes of color from adventure seekers in parachutes swooping around and wafting down.

There's always someone floating overhead above Queenstown.

Colly struck a pose on the chairlift to the luge overlooking Queenstown.

There is so much to do in Queenstown — it’s a playground of adventure sports, similar to Rotorua in the North Island, plus a winter ski destination — but we didn’t do anything notable in town except swoosh down the luge. All we really wanted to do was soak up the pleasures of country living. Ahhh … the joys of being in a real home, with a real kitchen and washing machine and two wonderful boys to play with our two kids. Who needs TV or a Wii when you’ve got “chooks” (Kiwi for “chickens”) to care for? Long-term family travel really benefits from built-in downtime like we had last week, preferably at the beautiful ranch home of a dear friend. Being on the road for months heightens appreciation for and pleasure in the opportunity to do ordinary things, such as baking pumpkin pie, playing marathon Monopoly games and finding a dentist to clean our teeth.

We had dinner and spent a night with our friends in a communally owned "hut" (a small, rustic house) near Moke Lake outside of Queenstown.

Since I’ve been going on and on about New Zealand’s natural environment, I’ve neglected to say much about the people and customs I’ll miss as well. People who call ice cream cups “pottles” and breakfast “brekkie,” who wear wellies (rubber boots) with skirts or shorts, who still dry their clothes on a clothesline, and who sometimes say “hooray” or “cheerio” for “goodbye” seem predisposed to be extra nice and welcoming. This is a country that still relates in an old-fashioned, Midwestern way: telephoning with impromptu invitations, ringing the doorbell to chat, smiling and wishing strangers “g’day.”

Another thing about New Zealand: flashy cars are few and far between. We fit in with our third-rate, 12-year-old rented station wagon. I’m actually going to miss that car, because of all the time we spent in it and the places it took us — even though it made one of my biceps ache whenever I drove because the wheels are so out of alignment that I had to grip the steering wheel to keep us going straight. We named the car Dink because its license plate letters are DNK, and we laughed about how we’ve managed to turn the DINK acronym (Double Income No Kids) on its head (double kids, no income).

Goodbye, Dink!

So cheerio, New Zealand, and thanks to our friends and hosts from the past two months. Your country is brilliant and we’ll miss it heaps.

Want to see more photos? We finally updated the gallery with additional South Island shots.

Related posts:

1. Christmas in a Manger at Nelson, New Zealand
2. The Wild, Wild West Coast
3. In the Backwoods of Blackball, Not Your Typical Hilton

We had never been to the Grand Canyon and always wanted to go — but our dream is to raft the river, hike rim to rim and camp for days. Alas, that was not meant to be. A variety of circumstances — including Kyle’s young age, Morgan’s broken toe and the park’s dog-unfriendly regulations — meant we settled for a drive-by visit. Here’s how we did the Grand Canyon in about five hours:

The Watchtower

We drove to the South Rim entrance and spent a half hour or so at Desert View, the first visitor’s center. Here, we marveled at the architecture and Hopi paintings in the 70-foot-high round Watchtower almost as much as we oohed and ahhed over our first glimpse of the canyon. The Watchtower was built of stone in 1932 and designed as a replica of a prehistoric Indian tower. We loved climbing the stairs to the top and peering out its windows.

The kids peer down from The Watchtower at the Desert View visitor center. We loved climbing to the top and studying the Hopi art.

Then we hopped back in the car and proceeded to make stops at pullouts along the road, during which Colly and Kyle would scuttle off on a footpath precariously close to the cliff’s edge. Those few forays on barely marked paths were the most awe-inspiring and gave us all a better appreciation for the canyon’s massive scale and beauty. Having visited the spectacular Black Canyon in Gunnison a few days prior, we were able to compare and contrast the two canyons’ formation and geology in a way that gave the kids a science lesson no textbook could rival.

Kyle and Colly survey the canyon from a roadside stop. The stated the obvious -- "It's so big" -- and the not-so-obvious: "It looks fake."

We encountered a wall of traffic and tourists around the main South Rim visitor center at the Mather Point area — “This sucks!” we all said in unison — and so we didn’t even attempt to find parking; instead, we headed to the Bright Angel trailhead and lodge, near the famous El Tovar hotel (which is pictured in the video clip above when the Griswolds drive away). Again, we found ourselves in a big parking lot clogged with buses, but we tried to make the best of it. Colly, Kyle and Morgan headed down the Bright Angel trail for a short out-and-back hike while I stayed up on the paved rim trail with most of the tourists and Teddy (dogs are not allowed on any of the real trails). It was great to see the kids dazzled by the surroundings, but I felt pangs of regret as I looked at the trails below and yearned to run them and descend into the canyon. Leaning against the railing of the South Rim’s paved path, the Grand Canyon stretched out like a scene from an airplane window — beautiful, but distant and untouchable. Someday, I vowed, we’ll come back and do it right.

By then, the sun quite low in the sky. Morgan and I wanted to stay through sunset, but the kids were hungry and asking about dinner. The restaurants near our motel outside the park boundaries were limited to fast food and a steakhouse called Yippee-Ei-O. I researched the dining options inside the park and realized we should have made reservations weeks ago. Surveying the hordes headed toward a cocktail lounge at Bright Angel Lodge, I figured our situation was hopeless — we’d never get a table.

Our watches said it was 5:30, so we agreed to try to eat early and then take a sunset stroll afterward. We headed to Bright Angel Lodge’s cheaper, more casual restaurant and to our surprise found it virtually empty. We ordered fajitas and beer and enjoyed a thoroughly satisfying meal while the tables around us filled up and a line grew out the door. (“Ah, we beat the rush!” we congratulated ourselves.)

Morgan and Teddy after dinner on the canyon's South Rim.

Overlooking the canyon from our table as the sunset glow began to burnish the cliffs, Morgan and I enjoyed a second beer while the kids and Teddy romped around on the lawn in front of the restaurant. Not a bad way to wrap up our quickie tour, to be sure.

It wasn’t until the next day that we realized we had crossed a time zone and gained an hour. That explains why the restaurant was almost empty — we had gone there at around 4:40 p.m. Happily, being stupid and unprepared worked out in the end.

(View the slideshow of Morgan’s landscapes — much better than my snapshots!)

The Griswold shot at the South Rim.

It was a short visit, but it was worth it!

Related posts:

1. So Long, Sedona and SoCal
2. 83 Places, 5 Continents, 10 Months
3. Magic at Mesa Verde and Along the San Juan Skyway

Are we doing the right thing? And what exactly are we doing, anyway?

When the circumstances and those questions haunt me on a night like this — when I survey our family and our belongings consolidated into a shoebox of a room in a dumpy motel, and I consider our plans (or rather, our lack of planning) in the months ahead — I take solace and find humor in the loose-knit, far-flung network of other families who also decided to uproot their lives and experience a nomadic existence. Their blogs (several of which are linked to our blogroll listed on the right) have become a welcome source of support and socialization.

Most of these families, like us, decided to hit the road to educate their kids, strengthen their connection with one other and re-evaluate their values. It’s not about wanderlust as much as it’s about wandering together and surveying the big picture. I look up from reading their stories and view my night in this forgettable motel in a new light: I am so profoundly glad that all of us are here together, sharing two queen beds that are just two feet apart. All we really need — each other, and our essential stuff — is within arm’s reach.

The Rehm family -- Jason, Angela and Bode -- of BodesWell.org traded their Alameda home (pictured in the background) for a life of travel in their 1971 van this year. (Photo by Aric Crabb, courtesy of the Contra Costa Times)

One blog I got hooked on is BodesWell.org, the story of a couple from Alameda, Angela and Jason Rehm, and their 4-year-old son, Bode, traveling the country in a 1971 VW campervan that Jason restored. On the one hand, we have a lot in common because they’re also from the East Bay, they’re close in age to Morgan and me, and they also departed in mid-August. On the other hand, they’ve chosen an entirely different — and in many ways more difficult — adventure. Keeping their van running is a never-ending challenge. As I follow their mechanical meltdowns and consider how difficult it must be to travel by car with a 4-year-old (as opposed to traveling with older kids, like Colly and Kyle, who are more self-reliant and can entertain each other), I think, How do they do it? They must be brilliant — and slightly insane.

Eager to know more about how — and why — they’re doing it, I conducted a Q&A with Angela via email:

Q: You’ve been traveling in a restored 1971 VW bus with your husband and 4-year-old son for about a month now. What’s been the best part about it?

Angela: Spending time with my family and improving our dynamics together. I stayed home with Bode before the trip, and it wasn’t always easy. I thought we may really be at odds with even more time spent together. But two great things have come from this experience so far: (1) having two parents around more often has made it easier, and Jason and I are learning from each other; and (2) Bode and I really look forward to the days we go off, just the two of us, and explore.

Why did you both decide to embark on this journey now and travel in this way, as opposed to waiting until your son is older, or choosing a more reliable mode of transportation, or choosing fewer destinations and staying put in one place longer?

My husband is a VW enthusiast and has always wanted a van. Once he began restoring one, I think he wanted to utilize it. He’d also been doing some soul searching and decided he wanted to spend some more time with his family. This trip was his idea, and I thought he was crazy at first. But the more we talked about it, the more sense it made. I was getting a little bored as a stay-at-home mom. The economy also had something to do with it. I wasn’t working, and wasn’t sure I’d be able to find a job in the next year. Why not embark on an adventure? Maybe I’ll have more options later.

Also, Bode will be starting school in a year, so we thought it was good timing before we get locked into school routines for the next 12 years. After reading your blog, I’m inspired, and hope we can continue to travel. We both love travel. The camper van provides us a mini-home, so although we’re constantly on the move, there is a sense of normalcy. Although it isn’t always easy with a kid, it sure is exciting!

What’s been most challenging?

New rules. On the road, different places have different rules. Bode is trying to test the rules. Also, when in difficult situations, we’ve broken the rules to make it easier on ourselves. Of course that comes back to bite us. For example, in trying to keep Bode still while broken down on the side of the road, we gave him some soda. He’s asked for some every day since.

Bode likes to test his limits. (Photo courtesy of the Rehms.)

Any regrets?

Not yet! I wish we had more time to create customized storage and better organize the van. There is daily chaos trying to find things and remember where we put them. We are hoping when we visit family around Thanksgiving we might have time to do this. Of course, we may have it figured out by then.

How about homesickness?

We miss our friends. Bode talks about his friends a little but he hasn’t shown signs of homesickness. We make a special effort every day to take him somewhere to play with other kids and burn off some energy. I miss having the time to check in with my girlfriends, but I’m using Facebook much more than I did before and it is a great way to keep up with everyone.

How do you think this road trip is changing you personally?

I asked Jason about this question, and he said “Less Reality TV”. It was a joke, but I think it rings true. Less distractions, more living. I’m happier, and my family is too. It certainly isn’t for everyone, but if you can find what makes you happy even if it isn’t easy, do it!

And how do you think it’s changing all of you as a family?

Our expectations of where our lives are headed have changed – in a good way. I think we’re all seeing things in a different way. Also, relying on advice and help from others has been a big wake up call about how good people really are. I hope Bode learns some great life lessons along the way, even if he doesn’t remember the specifics.

Any predictions about how things will go and how you’ll feel about the trip over the next 6 – 12 months?

I’m hoping things will continue to get easier. I’m sure it won’t all be easy, but after blowing the engine during our first month, I’m sure we can handle whatever is thrown our way. We are all excited about spending a warm winter in Mexico, learning the language and doing volunteer work.

Have you considered changing your mind and returning home?

We leased our house for a year, so there is no going back. We have friends and family all over the US and could stay with them should the going get rough. Before we embarked, we also discussed taking mini-vacations from our vacation, flying to visit people or going to Europe for a few weeks. So far so good, though. We haven’t felt the need to bail out.

What advice do you have for others considering extended travel with their spouse/partner — what are some things to consider and discuss before beginning the trip?

Make sure you travel well together. Jason and I have taken several extended trips together and have the same idea regarding what we want to do, see and accomplish.  We all have a great sense of adventure and want to get out and see the world. We work well as a team when traveling, almost more so than at home.

What advice do you have for parents considering extended car travel with a young child?

Be flexible. We don’t always get as far as we like, or do the things we would have done before kids. But, it is really great to not be in a hurry and to have these experiences together. And, don’t pack all the toys and distractions — they don’t need them when every day is different.

Do you have any motto or quote about your journey or approach to life that you want to share?

Have fun.

Related posts:

1. “Home”schooling So Far
2. “Back to School” Becomes “Leave to Learn”
3. Good “Car-Ma” For Long Car Trips

We took time to stop at parks, like this one in Fallon, NV. The kids were delighted to find rusting and not-entirely-safe playground equipment from a previous generation. Colly forgot the word for "merry-go-round," since she so rarely sees one, and said, "They have one of those tables that spins!"

The four of us plus the dog just drove 1100 miles from Northern California to Southwestern Colorado, and along the way we avoided family feuds and never resorted to Happy Meal bribery (as in, “If you can be patient until the next town, then we’ll stop at McDonald’s”). The kids agreed it was one of the “funnest” long car trips in recent memory, and they didn’t seem to mind that we had no DVDs, no video games and limited personal space in the tightly packed Subaru Outback wagon. Here’s what I learned or was reminded of regarding car travel with kids as we passed the miles:

• Take time to get there. We divided the trip into 3 days and 2 nights, even though it can be done pretty easily with just one overnight. Arriving at our midway destinations with time to spare allowed the kids to swim in the motel pool and play at local parks.
• Share the music and listen together. We all have our own IPods and could have driven with earbuds firmly implanted, in our own little worlds. Not that there’s anything wrong with that for some of the time, but we chose to listen to one IPod at a time (trading off between the kids’ playlists and ours) and played it through the car stereo for all to hear. The upside: the conversation kept going, and the kids were happy that we were willing to listen to their music.
• Let the kids pack easy reading that they truly want to read. Colly indulged in magazines like Tiger Beat and QuizFest, while Kyle devoured the Bone graphic novel series. They ended up reading magazines and comics together for literally hours, quizzing one another on topics such as “Are you a JoBro genius?” and “Who would you be at Hogwarts?”
• Let them be bored. My impulse is to hand kids things to do and offer suggestions upon hearing the first complaint.  That might be necessary with toddlers and little kids, but for school-age kids, it’s worth holding back to see what the silence and squirminess produce. Their imaginations kicked in, as when one asked the other, “Wanna play half-and-half?” “Half-and-half” is a game they made up by drawing an outline of something, such as a person or house, then folding the paper in half down the middle of the drawing and taking turns decorating half the picture without knowing how the other person was decorating the other half.
• When kids ask questions about the surroundings, answer with, “What do you think?” or “Why do you think it’s that way?” When we were on a stretch of Highway 50, for example, we pointed out a sign indicating it was part of the old Pony Express, and they both asked, “What’s the Pony Express?” (I couldn’t believe they didn’t know or had forgotten.) We had them guess as to what it might be and then stopped for lunch at a diner filled with Pony Express memorabilia so they could figure it out.
• Don’t assume kids have to have DVDs or video games to fill the time on long trips. We didn’t even pack audio books this time (though in the past we’ve enjoyed listening to audio books together).
  

  Limited laptop time: Here, the kids were messing around with the Mac's Photo Booth.

  The only electronic games the kids played, for short periods of time, were chess and Photo Booth on my laptop or on Morgan’s IPhone.

• Get in the back and play with the kids. I sometimes squeezed into the middle back seat, in between them, so the three of us could play Hangman and Thumb Wars.
• Anticipate and accept moodiness and arguments. Trying to mediate sibling rivalry is a no-win prospect — a simple “I trust you both can work it out” works almost every time — since 9 times out of 10 the fight is at least in part a competition for parental attention. When one person seems distant or grumpy, don’t try to reel them in by repeatedly asking what’s wrong or demanding to know what they’re thinking. Let them start talking if they feel like it.  I was reminded on this road trip that moods change like the landscape and are best simply observed.
• Pack a “last resort” toy or book for each kid that can be pulled out as a surprise if the going gets really rough. Anything by Klutz is a good bet. I tucked away two Klutz books in my backpack but never had to pull them out. When we got to Colorado and the car trip was over, I gave them to the kids as surprise thank-you gifts for being good travelers.

Got any other ideas for happy family car trips? Please share them in the comments below. And enjoy this sampling of the dozens of Photo Booth creations from our back seat:

Related posts:

1. What A Long, Strange Homecoming It’s Been
2. Yosemite’s Curry Village: Good Times with the Bear Necessities
3. The Sappy Departure