Picking up our brand new electric car in Oslo was the start of our next adventure. I’d already flirted with the “wrong” side of the road in a manual car during my escapades down south, so I felt confident enough. That confidence quickly unravelled as the car started yelling at me for no apparent reason, and the exits in the middle of a major city suddenly felt like the maze scene from the Triwizard Cup—confusing, and mildly terrifying.
Lost in the Fjords Read More »
Leaving Ireland felt like being cast as a member on Alone. The training wheels were off, and it was just the two of us.
I’m famously stubborn when it comes to luggage. Unless absolutely necessary, I refuse to pay for a checked-in bag. This character flaw (or strength?) is truly tested in Europe, where they’ve started charging for anything that doesn’t fit below the seat. Eventually, I caved (slightly) — four weeks in unpredictable weather couldn’t fit “under the seat in front of you.” I bought one 10kg bag that was allowed in the overhead compartment, selfishly squishing Méabh’s clothes into a small backpack. At this point, it’s become a game between the airline and me — just how far will she go to not pay the extras? At home, I always win, but on this flight, I was forced to buy a $5 protein ball for the hungry hippo sitting next to me.
Chaos in the Calm — Yurt Life in Norway Read More »
We wind down the narrow, serpentine roads, hedgerows hugging each side – the west of Ireland showcasing its stunning scenery. As we pass through charming little towns, I know we’re not in Kansas anymore.
“Hey Mum, look, a castle!” says Méabh, as if from a fairytale – Ireland’s rolling green hills, stone walls, and castles seem plucked from a storybook.
Through Kinvara, Lahinch, and Lisdoonvarna (feels like a song, doesn’t it?) — all towns along the Wild Atlantic Way — we arrive safely in Doolin. Sustained by tourism and agriculture, Doolin is the gateway to the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, and the Aran Islands. Though relatively small, it doesn’t lack charm.
We meet Pat Sweeney at The Doolin Inn at 10 a.m. He later told me he was 10 minutes late the previous day because one of his cows was giving birth — not your standard tour guide. A local farmer by trade, a jovial tour guide by day.
Ditching the Crowds: Our Scenic Hike Along the Cliffs of Moher Read More »
There is something deeply humbling about watching older women plunge into the freezing waters of Black Rock in Galway Bay. They encourage one another with the same high-spirited enthusiasm you’d expect at a sporting carnival. Laughter erupts from the sea, momentarily distracting me—just long enough to forget how bloody cold it is.
The Women of Blackrock Read More »
Croagh Patrick leaves no prisoners as it throws you into an immediate ascent. At 764m, it barely exceeds the usual Sunday Lofty hike in Adelaide, but this mountain seems far more imposing. Dubbed Ireland’s holiest mountain, it draws tourists and pilgrims alike who come for the unrelenting views and its strong ties to Christianity. Ireland’s patron saint, St Patrick, was believed to have spent 40 days and 40 nights fasting, sheltering in the church at the top of Croagh Patrick before famously banishing the snakes from Ireland.
In the Emerald Isle, the sun can’t tell if it’s coming or going, making it perilous to the wild weather of the Atlantic seas. But, as my father-in-law says, “If you don’t say, ‘Fuck it, I’ll go,’ then you’ll find yourself glued to the couch watching Netflix all summer long.” So, you take the weather forecast with a pinch of salt and pack for all seasons. The weather lady promised pockets of sunshine on Friday of the bank holiday weekend—that would have to do.
Holier Than Thou: Hiking With My Father in Law Read More »
Travel in my heyday — my youth, those yonder years — was unquestionably different. Disembarking the plane signalled the start of an adventure: no time wasted. After checking into a 20-bed dormitory in the heart of town; a pub, café, or attraction would be hit within minutes.
Today, I have to consider another human — and her plush toy, Chase — both still getting used to existing in this world. Hunger, exhaustion, and the small detail of not actually understanding we’ve travelled a million miles, all play a role in our next steps.
Week 1: From Sunshine to Sniffles — The Realities of Travel Read More »
The Elevator Scare I see fear flash across my preschooler’s face as the lift doors close and she disappears from sight. Oh shit, Up! Up! Up! I frantically press the button. The doors bounce back, open to the sound of Méabh thinking her Mum had left her to travel Europe on her own. We were five minutes into
Solo Parenting at 30,000 feet Read More »
In our household, the daddy-daughter bond is impenetrable. They’re best friends. Sometimes I envy their relationship, but I know I couldn’t have filled her days with joy the same way he does.
After serving my time as a round-the-clock milkmaid, we reversed the “traditional” parenting roles—sending me back to the world of office politics while Éanna donned the apron. That is, if you need an apron to air fry chicken nuggets and play hairdresser.
Embracing unpredictability, sparse amenities, and a resilient spirit, campervanning in Iceland in the depths of winter defies conventional holiday norms. With Iceland now proving to be the muse for cinematic photography, swarms of tourists venture to the land of fire and ice, drawn to its natural beauty – most choosing the more favourable warmer days and
Van Life in the Land of Fire and Ice: A Winter Odyssey Through Iceland Read More »
We’ve three weeks to go before we dive right back into a European summer. Three weeks until life takes a slight detour off the beaten path and embraces unpredictability, challenges, and growth. And we’ve less than three weeks before Meabh says goodbye to her Daddy for what we are approximating will be a year. Reversing
Three Weeks Until Takeoff Read More »