I’ve just returned from an amazing, almost spiritual trip to Vancouver with my oldest daughter. She’s 20, but suffers from a debilitating chronic illness, and doesn’t get to do much—certainly not on her own, as the wonderful, brilliant young adult she is.
We started travelling a year ago, after she got medical clearance, to give her some much-needed adult life experience. We attended a convention for one of her favourite TV shows in Boston. We’re regular Comic-Con attendees in our own area, but the Boston trip was a big jump. Five days away from home.
It proved to be amazing. And it got me back “in the air,” so to speak. As someone who endures anxiety and mental health issues on a daily basis, flying had become one more thing to fear, especially since I hadn’t flown post-9/11. I’d allowed myself to become so limited. But as a mother to a child who’s permanently limited by what her body allows her to do, I resigned myself to being strong and giving her the gift of travel.
This trip to Vancouver, however, was more or less a “pipe dream” for my daughter. It was another convention she’d been wanting to attend for many years. But between our budget and her health, she’d assumed it wouldn’t happen. When we did briefly discuss it, I also felt it wasn’t something we’d actually accomplish.
However, last year, after our Boston experience and the excitement that surrounded it, we jumped on a train and attended yet another convention in Montreal. Both of us were bitten by the travel bug, for different reasons. And so it began, unbeknownst to us at the time, our path to Vancouver.
Making plans
I will admit I was very leery, early on. It was one thing to leave my two younger kids with my husband, who has a more regulated work schedule than I do and has to book vacation time off. Logistics were something we had to manage tightly. And there was the mental aspect to consider, at least for me. Boston had been difficult, even though I enjoyed it tremendously, as I was away from my kids of both the human and fur variety for five days.
The planning that went into the trip was intense and often tiring. My daughter requires wheelchair assistance throughout the airport, so I turn into a pack-mule who carries mostly everything, on top of constantly making sure all goes as planned. My OCD gets a fabulous workout, believe me! Still, a trip across our beautiful country was an incredibly daunting idea.
Somehow, the budget fell into place rather easily, which was something I hadn’t imagined. I managed a few business deals near the end of the year (I’m in real estate) and they timed out perfectly.
The plan had been to visit Vancouver for the weekend of the convention only, but as we talked, I worried that a flight across the country would be a lot for my daughter to manage, both physically and mentally. We would need some kind of downtime. Before I knew it, though, the best plan came together so authentically that I’m still in awe.
Nanaimo
I was born in Nanaimo, British Columbia, on the east side of the beautiful Vancouver islands, on the West Coast of the Pacific Ocean. Heaven, as I call it. I hadn’t been back to visit, not once, in more than 40 years!
I’d debated and moaned about missing my birthplace, and wished and hoped to return. My aunt, who still lives there, has been to see all of us in Ontario, many times over.
Yet, I just never managed to get back. Who knows why? Flying fears, budget restraints, leaving the kids. All of it and none of it, I suppose. Just excuses.
My daughter and I discussed the idea of staying a full week, and spending the days prior to her event at my aunt’s home in Nanaimo, which would give us time to unwind and relax. This would also allow my daughter to see where I came from, and why I was a water-loving, spirited soul who craves the outdoors and all things “ocean.”
Secretly, I instinctively felt it was time to go back. Reconnect. I’ve been so down these last few years, dealing with being in midlife-crisis mode. I felt such a pull, it was remarkable.
That pull, and my instincts, were correct. We experienced the most amazing trip. Yes, there were tedious moments, as is the case with any sort of travel, especially when you have accessibility requirements. But we got through them, and went on to enjoy a week in a place that easily resembles heaven on Earth.
Letting the soul exhale
Once we made it to Nanaimo and settled in, I immediately felt my own soul exhale. My daughter seemed to settle in, too, although much of the first part of our trip was spent literally doing nothing but sightseeing and sitting around, reminiscing about old family tales and laughing at the years that had passed. But even with that perceived boredom, she seemed to quietly take it all in and have fun.
It was pure joy. As someone who endures anxiety on a daily basis, I rarely get the opportunity to say that. I took each moment in. I was vividly present for every dewy raindrop that fell, for every bit of cool ocean air I inhaled, and every immensely towering treetop I gazed upon.
I inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed organic coffee at each busy, environmentally-friendly cafe we lounged in, and I smiled at folks who smiled so easily my way—why wouldn’t they, when living in such a place of serenity? It was all so beautifully overwhelming.
As with all good things, our time in Nanaimo, my picturesque birthplace, ended. We said emotional goodbyes to our family members, who’d taken time out of their day-to-day lives to host our visit and chauffeur us everywhere, and boarded a ferry back to the mainland of Vancouver. The ferry ride was bittersweet, and thankfully faster, heading back. Watching seals pop their heads out of the water was truly a sight for the heart.
Final destination
Once docked, we endured yet another frighteningly frenzied cab ride, and soon we were in downtown Vancouver, checking into the grand hotel that housed the convention my daughter was attending. For the weekend, we enjoyed chatting with actors from the show, making new friends and just taking in the West Coast vibe in the big, busy city.
On the final day, however, while my daughter continued with that fun, I ducked out and took it all in—alone. The daily rain and cloudiness had paused, seemingly for me, as I walked and found a Starbucks a few blocks from the hotel. I grabbed a large dark roast and continued walking down to the harbourfront, where the seaplane terminal was, as well as the convention centre, all within the bustling entertainment district.
I sat and just enjoyed every amazing, glorious second. I played tourist like it was my job! I watched and filmed the harbour seaplanes—or air-taxies, as they call them—taking off and landing, carrying folks to various areas of the West Coast islands. I people-watched assorted happy groups of relaxed tourists, as well as relaxed locals walking about, all of us breathing in the fresh air while basking in the mountain views and sunshine.
Somehow, the tall corporate buildings and hotels nearby blended in perfectly with the harbourfront scenery. Everything was perfect, and I was content. Not something I feel very often, if at all. But here I was, back, and my soul knew it.
A night flight
Soon enough, we were once again plopped into the back of a cab, whizzing through the streets alongside other fast-moving vehicles, on our way to the airport to catch our flight home. A night flight. It was a peaceful, relaxing journey, and we soon landed safely. Somehow, through the haze of changing time zones, we managed to find our car and drive home.
A house of tired people awaited us, all still awake, waiting—at 3 a.m.! It was wonderful to be back, but something inside me told me I would return again, sooner than later. I wasn’t sure why I’d put it off for so long, but I was sure that doing so wouldn’t happen again.
Part of me is still there, and if I’m honest with myself, it always has been and always will be. After all, we never forget where we came from. We can’t.
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image 1: April Almeida; image 2: April Almeida; image 3: Wikimedia Commons
