"And a one, and a two, and a 1,2,3!" the little girl from Argentina yells as she and our two boys take off sprinting to jump as far into the pool as their little legs can carry them. It's impressively far, but these are no average children. They're #roadbabies. "You're lucky with the three girls," I tell her dad, a bearded hippie driving his family around in a 1960s Mercedes bus. "No," he furls his brow, shakes his head and looks at me like I just don't know. Over the next few days, I watch our boys, his three girls, a couple of kids from Quebec all play together. He's right, the girls are as wild as the boys. There's fighting and tea parties, sword battled and tag, laughing and screaming. "For me," he says, while we talk about where we'll go next and life in the road in general, "this is not one trip. This is a life." He talks about how they have only paid to camp twice in a year, how usually he sits outside of his bus and drinks a beer with a table full of jewelry his wife makes. "If someone buys it, that's okay. We don't need the money, it's more of a way to meet all types of people." Later that night, their middle daughter and our middle son share a bowl of lime flavored peanuts and do a puzzle together. She speaks English very well, while the Canadians only speak French and the other two Argentinian sisters speak Spanish. No one seems to find a reason why this should prevent them from playing every game under the Cancún sun. It's a beautiful thing. #viajandoenfamilia #familiesontheroad (at Cancún, Mexico)
