Multi-generational travel has taken off since the pandemic. Photo / Getty Images
Multi-generational travel has taken off since the pandemic. Photo / Getty Images
Multi-generational travel has taken off since the pandemic, but do adult children have the patience to holiday with their elders? Jessica Wynne Lockhart puts it to the test.
Light plays across the water’s surface as I make my way down to the pool at the Reef House in Palm Cove,about 30 minutes north of Cairns. A spa appointment followed by a cocktail-making class regrettably meant that I missed out on the daily 3pm poolside sorbet. My mum, however, is wasting no time settling right in. I find her on a lounger, chatting to a glamorous-looking woman in her 50s.
“I’ve been here for five days,” the woman gushes. “I just love it here; I don’t want to leave.”
The swimming pool at Reef House in Palm Cove, TNQ. Photo / Supplied
Her words nearly mirror those spoken by Daphne in the opening scene of The White Lotus, an HBO murder mystery hinged on the happenings at a luxurious seaside resort. Moments later, the character goes for one last swim, only to discover a dead body floating in the water.
Our vacation really isn’t that different, I think. Just like on White Lotus, we’re staying at a resort beside the ocean, where our every whim is taken care of. And just like on White Lotus, I suspect there will only be one mystery remaining by the end of the week: Will the body they fish out of the water be mine — or my mum’s?
The idea to take a holiday to tropical north Queensland was my 70-year-old mother’s. A wildlife enthusiast, she’s always dreamt of snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef. So, when she announced she was planning a trip to Australia, I knew I had to take her there. She’s in good health now, but nothing is forever. The pandemic was a reminder of that, and after more than two years of separation — she in Canada, me in New Zealand — we’re making up for lost time.
Travel writer, Jessica Wynne Lockhart stayed at the Reef House in Palm Cove with her mother. Photo / Supplied
According to experts, this is largely what’s propelling one of travel’s biggest trends: intergenerational travel. Globally, tour operators and travel agents alike are reporting an increase in the number of adult children choosing to travel with their ageing parents.
But just because the phrase “are we there yet?” is eliminated from the equation, doesn’t mean family holidays are suddenly stress-free. The line between caring and controlling — for both parties — is a fine one. Just Google “travel with adult children” and you’ll churn out endless articles on how to navigate the confusing boundaries of parent-child relationships as we age.
That’s certainly the case for my mum and me. We enjoy each other’s company, but it’s hard not to fall into familiar roles when flippant words can result in downright murderous moods. Ultimately, you can check into an adults-only resort, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to feel like a child again.
The next day, we board a boat to the outer reef and I slip into my stinger suit. Beside me, my mum scrutinises the contours of my body.
“You should get that checked out,” she says, jabbing at a freckle that’s been on my cheek since roughly 1999.
I cringe — not at the poke, but rather at my own knee-jerk reaction. I’m immediately on the defensive. In one corner, there’s my inner child, who perceives it as one of the dozens of transgressions she’s committed; a criticism designed to annoy. In the other corner, my adult self knows she’s just expressing care and concern.
Leaving my two selves to duke it out, I watch my mum put on her fins and mask. She’s not the strongest of swimmers, so the day before, we’d gone for a trial run at Low Isles, a closer-to-shore site. It hadn’t gone well; she’d struggled to breathe and had to call it quits. Today, I can tell she’s nervous. We’re out on the open ocean this time — but we both know it’s now or maybe never.
She gingerly enters the water and suddenly, our roles are reversed. My heart swells with pride as she points with childlike excitement at a giant clam below, its iridescent eyes shining back at her.
When I can tell she’s growing tired, I link my arm through hers. Arm-in-arm, I shuttle her around the reef; her own personal ocean concierge. She spent her whole life taking care of me. Now, it’s my turn. We just have to figure out how to do it in a way that allows each of us to maintain a sense of adulthood and autonomy.
On our final night at the Reef House, my mum and I sit down to dinner, and reflect on the week that’s gone by.
“What was the highlight of your trip?” I ask, as she digs into her tiger prawn dumplings, and we stare out to the sea.
I expect her to tell me it was seeing a sea snake on the Great Barrier Reef, having morning tea on the century-old Kuranda Scenic Railway, or soaring across the rainforest canopy on the SkyRail. She’s not prone to sentimentality, so her answer takes me by surprise.
