OE for three

Our year around the world

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Tom on being home:

We've made it. Exactly 365 days after Harriet, Baxter and Iset off on a long adventure around the globe, we flew back into Wellington on a spectacular autumn day. The waters around Kapiti Island were flat and green.

"We used to drive down that road!" Baxter shouted as we flew alongside the Hutt Rd. ("Er, not really," I thought.)

The poor little guy, delirious with tiredness, pumped on hazy memories of life before the big trip, sprinted up the airport gangway towards three waiting grandparents. And then, five metres short, he stumbled over onto the carpet in front of them. They scooped him up.

We celebrated the return with lunch at Maranui. Baxter rode the camel ride over and over, demanding 50-cent pieces from the grandparents to keep it going. We ate fish tortillas and avocado-and-tomato on toast - as good as ever.

Then we returned to the scene of our final party before we shot off - Harriet's mum's house in Lyall Bay. Memories of grandparental dancing and wine corks popping a year agowere vivid. Our stuff was still crammed under beds and in chests of drawers around the house.

Baxter went off with Harriet to pick up two little cousins from school in Island Bay. One eyed him up a little bit stunned; the other threw her arms around him. He was ecstatic.

I had two hours on my own for the first time in months. I did some washing, had a sleep and then stood staring out the window for a few minutes, wondering what to do.

First impressions of re-entry: green, light, sea, all over the show. Good coffee again. Guys saying "mate" and "magic" and "noworries" into their phones - actually talking like that.

Wellington the same - well, nearly the same. Like one of Baxter's games of "spot the difference". New pub here, earthquake work there.

We've made a few resolutions about our return home. Don't overdo the endless travel talk - hard when all our stories from the past year happened in other countries. Try to remember how good it's been whenever we've switched off our screens for a while. Unburden the flagging credit card - finishing our trip in America had its costs.

And then there's the rest, too: find Baxter a crèche or a kindy, catch up with everyone we left behind, and find a house to live in, preferably one with insulation and room for four.

No hurry on all of that, though. For now, it's enough just to watch Baxter take possession of his grandparents' houses and fridges again, and to breathe in that familiar salty air.

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HOME

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An OE for four

Harriet's pregnant, which is great. Lots of fun to imagine: new life, tiny feet, no sleep, etc, etc. Still, it's also a bit of a challenge when you're trying to conduct a family world tour.

We made the discovery at the beginning of two months in central America. My sister was on the plane from New Zealand, ready to join us for a six-week sprint through the string of little countries on the tail of North America: Mexico's Chiapas region, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama.

Maybe we can still do it like that, we said. Then we took a couple of four-hour trips in fancy air-conditioned buses, on smoothly-paved highways - and realised we couldn't. For the first time all year, Harriet's stomach gave way, her face turned pale, and she spent the whole time vomiting into her mouth while staring fixedly out the window.

So we booked a couple of strategic flights over some especially volcanic lands and hopped down as far as Nicaragua, where, funnily enough, the slow, breezy rides on retired American school-buses were much more manageable than Mexico's luxury-class behemoths.

The stomach still intervened occasionally: on a taxi ride out of some Panamanian rainforest, Harriet had to lean across a Dutch mother-and-daughter pair to upchuck all over the pristine wilderness. Actually, that bout of carsickness turned into something more worrying - 12 hours of serial vomiting that saw us racing to the nearest hospital the next day. (Luckily, it stopped as suddenly as it had come).

And there have been other challenges, too. It's apparently not so easy to haul bags when your body's producing another human being, or to wake up every morning in a delightful wifely mood, singing cheery songs, or even to pretend to be enjoying your provider's cooking. "How's this?" I asked Harriet last night after slaving over a ratatouille. "Tastes rotten," she managed between gulps. To her credit, she laughed at her own ridiculousness. (The food was fine - excellent, even; the poor girl's sinuses have been corrupted).

Baxter and I bear all this as stoically as we can. We make breakfast, we do the washing, we quarantine ourselves in certain parts of whatever hotel room or homestead we're staying in, and we dream up cool new names for the baby (Him: "Christmas89", "Meat Sausage" and "Baxter II"; Me: "Stonewall", "Calamity" and "Martin Luther Fitzsimons"... we've been in the South).

But in all seriousness, Harriet's done marvellously well. One of the challenges of travelling around is that, sometimes, you just can't opt out, can't lie down, can't phone in sick, pretty much no matter how you're feeling. Once you're out on that hot Mexican street, with the smell of tacos frying up beside you, and people on megaphones shouting about the unbelievable prices of their Christmas decorations, and a filmy haze rising up around some stone colonial cathedral in front of you, maybe from smog or maybe taco smoke or maybe just the heat, and Baxter's asleep on your shoulder because he's run out of steam, well, there's nothing for it. You just have to keep going till you get home and can finally have a beer. Except, of course, you can't have a beer either.

Harriet's done all that and more. She's tramped through rainforests, and taken Baxter to visit baby monkeys. She's kayaked into Nicaraguan island wetlands and survived boat-trips on rusting barges. She's faced down the snows of New York, and grits and sausage gravy in Kentucky, and the prices of vegetables in Whole Foods stores in California. She's even been our sole driver in America since I lost my licence a few days before picking up our rental car.

I'm very proud of her. She's clocked it. What a lucky foetus.

Above is Tom on the Brooklyn Bridge. 

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Knocked up

So I'm pregnant. We found out on the side of a mountain in Mexico. I had an inkling during the five-hour bus ride to the old silver-mining town we were staying in. I'd felt queasy and could only look out the window. This gave me plenty of time to think...

Babies in my family have a habit of turning up at unusual and inconvenient times. I interrupted my own parents' world tour in 1983. My sister appeared a few short months after I was born. My son announced himself just before we were due to set off for our long-awaited OE in 2009. One of my uncles was conceived when my grandmother was well over 40 and her other four had practically left home.

So yes, it seems we're highly fertile at the worst of times. For us, that meant three-quarters of the way through our family's year around the world. 

We were about to head into Central America. Our plans included overnight bus rides through Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador. Instead, Tom had to rearrange everything while I spent a few weeks lying on sofas, craving pancakes and going to sleep at 6pm. Long bus rides were out. I flew when the family took a killer seven-hour trip across the windiest road in North America and Baxter vomited on his aunty. I think it would be fair to say we were all feeling a little lost.

But it got better. We left a big swathe of the planned trip out and spent more time in swimming pools. Within a few weeks we were cycling along the coast of Costa Rica spotting sloths with four-year-old Baxter.

So this is good news. I think we're excited. We've just hit 16 weeks and I bought my first pair of maternity jeans at Macy's in San Francisco yesterday.

Baxter has named the baby Quesadilla after all the tortillas he scoffed in Mexico. He's decided it's a sister, though he reckons he would prefer a brother.

He's seen her too. We had a scan in Panama, a bizarre experience where the obstetrician spoke rapid Spanish, cooed at Baxter and Quesadilla, took thousands of pictures and didn't once move to do anything like take my blood pressure or touch my stomach. They were lovely pictures though. And the heart was there, beating away. That's quite a moment.

We had another strange Panamanian check-up in rural Boquete. The doctor was armed only with a stethoscope. He told me to drink juice and eat chicken every day. He pointed at the silver stretch marks left over from Baxter telling me I wasn't fit enough and was too fat. Apparently his wife, who'd borne him four children, had better abs than me - though she'd also recently undergone a tummy tuck.

I'm still a little scared. My last pregnancy was a nightmare and with this in mind, it seems wildly irresponsible to have carried this vulnerable little thing through countries where the roads are twisted, the towns isolated and the local GPs don't have any gear. But I've taken vitamins and I've gone to bed early. I haven't been working so I haven't been stressed. I've been walking every day. I've breathed in fresh air from Panamanian forests and swum in the aquamarine waters of the Caribbean. I've eaten mountains of fresh fruit and vegetables and we've comforted ourselves with the knowledge that women have done this billions and billions of times across this wide world, including where we are and where we've been.

Now we've made it to the US where good medical care seems close at hand. There may be a few less veges but it's just two weeks till we touch down. It'll be nice to land in Wellington with the next stage of our lives already blooming.

(Photo is me in Mexico. I'm pregnant. Those jeans were brand new. I had to send them home.)

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Bush walk in Boquete, Panama. 

This is a beautiful place. 

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Sun showers in Boquete, Panama.

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It's been so cold. It's been so cold our fingers have frozen so we can't really write or update the blog take photos or any of that business. It's been so cold we've bought thousands of layers of strange woolen garments and Harriet has taken to wearing school shoes. It's been so cold Baxter has refused to walk to the park or get out of the car. 

It's been so cold we've become incredibly lazy. Sorry. Some reading for you below and some pics from sunnier clims will pop up soon. 

The snow storm by Harriet

Roadtrippin' across the States by Tom

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New York winter

In December, we had a few days below zero in Stockholm. We borrowed winter clothes, including an entire ski outfit for Baxter, we drank hot glugg, a Swedish fortified wine, and we took shelter in heated shops, museums and apartments.

Even with all that, Baxter ended up bawling in the middle of an old-time Swedish village-cum-zoo. I was pretty close to joining him. Our toes ached. Our mouths were dry. Our noses dripped. The only thing that cheered him up was the sight, a few minutes later, of a moose peeing.

So it was with some trepidation that we flew into iced-over New York City last week. At a stopover in Atlanta, the TV newsreader said Central Park was under eight inches of snow. 2000 flights had been grounded the previous day. The city was low on salt for its roads. And we had one-and-a-half pairs of holey pants between us.

The sight of the city beneath us deepened all those fears - every surface was white, save for the roads. It was terrifying. It was also crazily, distractingly beautiful. The sun was out as we came down; the skyscrapers on Manhattan Island glinted. We saw the masts on the Hudson, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east… more HERE

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THE FURY OF A FOUR-YEAR-OLD

It was a mellow beachy night in Mexico.

An inhuman sound rent the air: "Hissssss!"

I flinched and covered my ears, but they couldn't keep out the response from another wild beast.

"Roarrrrrr!" went the reply.

I turned to the playground. It was Baxter, our four-year-old boy. He had his nose two inches away from a seven-year-old boy's. Both faces were scrunched into expressions of pure rage… more HERE

AND

SUPERMARKET WARS

Just the thought of hauling your child through the supermarket sends shivers down your spine? Yeah, me too. That's why I've successfully avoided it for the past three years. But now I'm travelling with the brute 24/7 and there's not much choice - he has to come too. Horror...more HERE

Latest two posts above. We make it sound like Baxter's some kind of handful… oh, he is, but he's pretty good a lot of the time too! We've just landed in New York City. We've been greeted by snow and ice. Camera will be out lots more in the next few days so expect more. xx

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COUNTDOWN

Mum, please stock up the fridge. The countdown is on. In just six weeks the three of us will be walking up the ramp at Wellington Airport and into the (undoubtedly) southerly breeze that'll tell us we've made it.

We're coming home. I can just about taste that first flat white from here.

Some said it would never happen. That we'd fall in love with some place or other and dig in. But, the world is not quite like that these days (visas), and to be honest, nowhere had quite enough to take us away from our families. If you'd told me two years ago, I probably would have kicked you in the leg. But I've changed. We've probably all changed a little. A year away from everyday life does that to you.… more HERE

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KIDS AND ADULTS

Is it fair to judge a person on how they react to your child? I've been thinking about this a bit lately.

In our travels, we find ourselves alongside a lot of new people, and we give Baxter a pretty free rein to do his own exploring and interacting, so we end up seeing the whole range of responses to a four-year-old on the global rampage… more HERE

Pic is Nik and Baxter making gingerbread biscuits in Sweden

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Nicaragua and Costa Rica

We had a few weeks circling Nicaragua and Costa Rica. They are both pretty special places. Nicaragua was the real surprise: great food, lovely people and a lake that was like something out of a myth. Costa Rica gave us a beach hit. We also had a lot of fun riding round on bikes sloth and toucan spotting. 

We did the whole thing using public transport, or riding "chicken buses" as the gringos appear to say. So cheap, so interesting, so slow. We're in Panama now polishing off this part of the holiday. We hit the US in about a week. We'll write more later, but here are some pics for now. 

xx

Pics: 1. Tom entering Lake Nicaragua from the shores of Ometepe Island; 2. buildings on the streets of Granada, Nicaragua; 3. baseball in Granada; 4. Baxter on the bus in Nicaragua; 5. Concepcion, one of the two volcanos on Ometepe; 6. Baxter in steam half way up Rincon de la Vieja volcano in Liberia, Costa Rica; 7. Jojo on the bus; 8. one of the playas (beaches) in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica; 9. Jojo in favourite location on the deck at our hostel in Puerto Viejo (amazing); 10. cathedral in Granada, Nicaragua. 

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HIS OWN MAN 

We've always looked for the ways Baxter, our four-year-old, resembles other people. In particular, he's a bit of a mini-me. He's an extrovert, he likes meeting new people, he doesn't like going to bed,he's got a serious case of the FOMO (fear of missing out). He's always looked more like me too. Big, brown eyes. Scruffy, straight hair. A small mouth.

But lately, especially since he turned the corner past four, he's become less and less like a little copy of me, and more and more like his own person. He's developed interests we can't really pin to anyone. He has a way with people that is not like his dad's or mine. His facial expressions and the way he moves are original. He even has these little phrases and a way of talking that feel like they've come from thin air… more HERE

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Ridicumoose answers some questions:

Tell me about where we are at the moment.

Costa Rica. What's it like?

Lots of playgrounds, but we haven't seen any.

What have you seen?

Animals.

What kinds?

I'm trying to think of one. Parrots. Toucans. Deer.

What else do you think we saw?

Cat. A big spotty cat.  Where was that? At the jaguar place.

What else did you see there?

Monkeys. They jumped on me. And squirrel. Stick. An eagle and she tried to get like this [hands together], then it went two minutes and then it went whoosh and ate it quick. It just ate some, like, pink. It just went gulp! It takes two minutes and it went so fast, ate it, fly away. Fly, ate it, fly. What questions did you ask at the jaguar place?

We saw some owls that had beards. I asked why did they have beards? And a hiding one. A hiding owl.

What's your favourite animal in Costa Rica?

The monkeys, because they jumped on me. I was so excited. But the lady told me to not be excited, but I did, because they were so cute.

What else have we been doing?

Swimming. I like swimming.

What do you do when you go swimming?

Float, but I didn't float yesterday because I didn't have my ring.

What's your ring?

[Baxter types] gbgbbbvm cxnbbabw hctf4edvhvgjyrvnigfy7u8g6fyhzdxxcdxxrvxef65wdg6tcvgfxdctrscredcrd. A ring. That goes around my body. It's a circle.

How have you been going on the buses? I vomited in the van to Puerto Escondido. I vomited. Not good.

What do you remember about Wellington?

Just that.

Just what?

Just that. Say just that.

What else could we tell people about?

Hmmmmm. [Baxter types]. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

How was Christmas? What did I get for my presents? Dad?

Um, a digger?

No, for Christmas. Oh, that was for birthday.

I got some candies.

Candies? What candies?

M&Ms.

Do you say candies now?

Yeah. I say candies.  Not lollies?

I say lollies as well.

What's your favourite lolly?

M&Ms. Did Father Christmas come?

Yes.

Did you see him?

No, I didn't see him. He only comes quick.

Have you got any jokes?

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Lettuce.

Letttuce who?

Lettuce glad I'm not a banana. Hahahaha!

Don't stand on my toes.

Why?

It's too sore for me. What can we see out the window?

We're in Costa Rica. Costa Rica. I can see bamboo. [Takes keyboard] jytfvhmigu,ngutr5t6tyf

What kinds of foods are you eating these days?

Meat.

Anything else? Nope.

What do you drink mostly these days?

Limonada. And lemonade.

What's your worst thing that you have to do these days?

Hit. Hitting. That's my worst thing.

I meant like what's the worst thing you have to do?

DEFFVMKfg76rbsxd6dy5rvf. Vomit. That's the end, Dad.

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This was yesterday. We've made it to the Caribbean. It's quite nice.

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THE HEFFALUMP

There comes a time in every small person's life when they can't be carried any more. At four years, 110cm tall and 18kg in weight, that time has come for Baxter. It's not going down particularly well, but the dude needs to face it: he's huge.

And not just huge according to me, but also clinically - somehow he's leapt to the 91st percentile for height and the 75th for weight. This is from the guy that swam down in the third percentile for a few months just shy of his first birthday. We got sent to a dietician who prescribed butter and biscuits.

You can see it, too, this huge-ness - his feet, his arms, his head, especially his head, they're all taking up a lot of space. He can't share a bed with us any more; the three of us on two bus seats (hello dwindling travel budget) is getting absurd…more HERE

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SOUTHERN FRANCE WITH A SPEED LIMIT

Here's how it works. We drive our khaki-green 1974 vintage Kombi at a speed of no more than 75kmh, mostly more like 60kmh, around the rural highways of southern France.

Every half an hour, we stop to let the ancient engine cool down. Beside us are Cezanne's mountains, laidback and lined, and corridors of plane trees, and the distinctive watery light of Provence, and a jumble of brown and orange leaves, falling as we drive.

"Autumn, sunset and Avignon form three harmonies," Victor Hugo apparently once said to his wife. Well, we don't quite make it to Avignon - we never make it very far at all - but the idea goes for the whole region.

At dusk, maps in hand, we turn onto a gravel road, draw up to the homestead of an independent French vintner and ask if we can park under a tree in a corner of her property.

In the morning, we go and taste her wines and buy a bottle - sometimes it's marvellous, a couple of times it's rubbish, most of the time I don't really know. But for a week of my year-long stumble around the world with Harriet and 3-year-old Baxter, this is our life - like something out of a postcard, clearly, but also like something out of crisis-level travel fantasy: I'll leave my job in Wellington and go and drive a vintage campervan around the south of France.

And yet. Fantasies do have their way of unpicking themselves…. more HERE

This is a piece on our Kombi adventure that appeared in NZ's Sunday Star Times.