I had a definite sense of unease and trepidation boarding the Galway Citylink bus to Dublin Airport. Méabh and I had just farewelled close friends from home, leaving them to the remainder of their Ireland road trip, while we jet-set off to the Netherlands, and I’ll admit I had really missed having friends on this side of the world.
Getting to the Netherlands is relatively straightforward. It’s a hop, skip, and a jump from Dublin — but that doesn’t stop time from misrepresenting itself, with a seemingly easy journey stretching into a 10-hour slog.
Why The Netherlands? It’s not like I could visit the Red Light District, get wasted, or smoke a joint with a toddler in tow. No, this trip involved no screens, no salt, and no sugar, while staying with a family of four children in the Danish countryside on another Workaway — the very opposite of the fun I had several years ago in Amsterdam.
Similarly to our last Workaway in Norway, this was going to challenge my beliefs, my parenting style, and my ability to withstand instant coffee. Once again, we were thrown into a world of more grounded living, traditional gender roles, and a dislike for the country’s educational system. I don’t particularly understand homeschooling; it has never been something that has piqued my interest. I know, for a fact, I couldn’t do as good a job as our teachers. I am a parent, and I have a different role. But it all boils down to the fact that I don’t want to do it. People homeschool for so many different reasons, but with these families, it felt very much about protection. They wholeheartedly believe their children are too young.
Being fully immersed in this family’s world for two weeks sometimes made me question my own maternal bond. Should I want to spend all day at home with my child? Is she too young for school? Should I have enough kids to fill a soccer team? (Previously firm in my “one and done” choice.) Those who know me well know these thoughts aren’t even in my wheelhouse. Two weeks in the countryside had me questioning my life choices. I’d hate to see how a cult leader might infiltrate my mind.
Motherhood hey – the never-ending narrative of am I doing this right?
Don’t worry, these thoughts were fleeting, especially once I remembered that the price of eggs these days needed two parents at work.
The thing about travel is that it forces you to question your choices, whether it reaffirms them or helps you make adaptations. This is what I love about it. While Méabh tried to communicate with three non-English-speaking children (the fourth was just three months old) and I put my fence-building skills to good use, cooked without salt, and hung out at least 100 cloth nappies on the line, we both learned a lot.
So how did I survive — and actually be useful — with a toddler interrupting me at “work,” while living in a world not even in the same neighbourhood as my comfort zone? Two words: The Rookie. While this family chose to abide by a “no screens” rule, hidden in my attic upstairs, I had Netflix and my iPad to keep me company. At bedtime, once I’d read Méabh two of the three books we brought from Ireland and told her a pretend story featuring the “big bad wolf” and “big bad T-Rex” (which grew to include the big bad pig, snake, rhino, and rabbit by the end), I settled into watching John Nolan fight crime across LA in the over-dramatised version of The Rookie. This recharged me, ready for another day of my domestic duties.
We’ve now finished our Workaway, having experienced a new culture and a different way of living. The Dutch countryside is beautiful, and it’s true — they do cycle everywhere. Most houses are picture-perfect, with impeccable gardens. The Dutch are direct yet friendly. Amsterdam isn’t the Netherlands. We visited Utrecht, just thirty minutes from the bustling sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll capital, on a weekend getaway during our Workaway. It is a beautiful canal city that boasts charming cobbled streets, historic architecture, and cosy cafés around every corner — and without the smell of weed wafting around every corner.
I’ll soon be returning to The Netherlands on a solo trip to attend the world’s largest Redhead Festival in Tilburg. I’ll leave my blonde haired companion in Galway with her grandparents.
Before we return to Galway, we’re making the most of Europe’s amazing transportation network and heading across the border to Belgium. I’m looking forward to tasting the beer and eating the chocolate (never been a waffles girl), but I know I’ll be ready to return to Ireland — even if it’s just to rotate Rumpelstiltskin, Dick Whittington, and The Ugly Duckling through our bedtime lineup. After Belgium and five more nights of pretend stories, I’ll be needing my family — and some adult conversation — with my in-laws in Galway providing both.
I used to obnoxiously think missing home was a sign of “failure” when travelling. I’d created an identity that fed on adventure and new experiences — travel stories, with a side dose of insecurity, were what made me, me. Without them, I often felt like an imposter in conversations. As I’ve aged, that’s lessened, and I’ve settled into a life I’ve been quite comfortable and happy with. When my organisation I worked for proved to be a bureaucratic weasel, and Eanna’s career began, I looked for that opportunity to be “me” again — to escape. Except, of course, you can’t really escape with a 20kg toddler attached to your hip.
These Workaway experiences have shown me just how much I value the life we’ve built at home and how important my family and friends are (I can see Mum’s face light up as she reads this). Having a base in Ireland has been so important for this journey, giving us a place to return to and recharge, and reminding me of the comforts and connections that matter most. We still have a bit more to learn and explore before coming home, but I know I’ll return with a renewed sense of gratitude for what we have.
