Taking a break from the mundane

The perfect vacation involves parking yourself in one spot and allowing for wonder and exploration. Pic/Rosalyn D’Mello

On day one of our beach vacation, I found myself having to break down the concept to our toddler, who was missing Tramin and was already craving the comfort of his routine. I told him we were taking a break from our usual lives. Papa and Mama needed time off from doing household chores like planning meals, groceries, washing dishes, making the beds, dropping him off at the day care, and picking him up. By this point, there was already a rhythmic lilt to my voice, an intentional intonation I like to rely on when I recite lists because I can see how it captures his interest and attention. It occurred to me that the concept of a vacation was strange indeed for a toddler, especially one growing up in a privileged landscape. He didn't need a break from his mundane because he simply loves how his day is organised. He loves every aspect of it, even having to sleep at night, once he gets over his resistance, when he realises he gets to be with me and listen to stories and songs and ‘talk'.

I love our mundane, too, but the month of May was not without its challenges. Normally, my teaching hours at the University are spread over numerous Fridays. But since I wanted to wait at least six weeks after giving birth to teach, I had to compress the 18 hours over multiple Fridays and Saturdays. Since I use public transport, getting to and from the University with my newborn was a logistical struggle. From Monday to Thursday, I would be busy working my regular job, then, instead of time off, I would have to teach, so I had just Sunday to myself. In between all of this, I got assigned a date for the B2 level bilingual exam, so all my free time was spent trying to learn more Italian.

By now, I've made my peace with failing the exam. The point of applying to take it was to motivate myself to speak more Italian. On this trip to coastal Italy, I find I'm doing exactly that, so even though I may fail the test, the goal has been achieved. It's the only thing I'm consciously doing on this holiday. Everything else is leisure. It's not always relaxing with two kids, but it's a welcome break from housework and regular work, a chance to be a mother and an explorer, not a mother and multitasker.

We chose a location that was accessible by public transport because we're not fans of driving long distances, especially in our crammed car. We took the Frecciarossa to Verona, then another Frecciarossa to Padova, and from there, a bus to Sottomarina, which turned out to be a party bus full of teenagers - it was a Saturday morning. By Tuesday morning, the beach felt quieter, the shoreline less populated, emptied of the grasses that had been swept ashore. The water was crystal clear. The stretch of beach we occupy is adjacent to the istrian-rock composed sea wall that forms a border between the Venetian lagoon and the Adriatic sea. The water is shallow for miles, making the beach perfect for kids.

This trip is radically different from our vacation last year in Corfu. Primarily because we are now a family of four, no longer just three. It's strange because our toddler has to wait to spend time with me. We anticipate the opportune moments when the baby is asleep so my partner can take over and I can be silly in the water with our firstborn. I envy the people I see reading books by the pool, or by the shore, tanning themselves on sunbeds. But the feeling doesn't last too long. I learned some time ago that the key to travelling with kids on vacation is learning to manage your expectations. Keep those in check and you can have a phenomenal time. While having to care for kids can sometimes mean you can't choose your experience or curate your leisure, it also makes you vulnerable to instances of beauty and wonder that may otherwise have slipped your attention. This morning, at 4 am, for instance, as I woke up to feed our three-month-old, I gazed at the view from our balcony of ships docked at the lagoon and suddenly spotted the moon, almost full or full-seeming, bathed in an ethereal fluorescent glow.

For my siblings and I, vacationing was not a normal childhood experience. Our parents didn't have the luxury of time off from work, nor did we have the funds for anything even moderately extravagant. We've all had to work hard to earn this luxury for ourselves. While many from my generation prefer to saturate their travel itineraries, I've decided that the perfect vacation involves parking yourself in one spot and allowing for wonder and exploration. Allowing for slowness, and for the body to retune itself so it can be porous again and attentive to sensuality.

I'm lucky, though, that returning to normal life includes going back to an insanely beautiful region. ‘I forgot Tramin,' our toddler exclaimed a day ago in a tone that conveyed dismay. I suppose a great measure of how happy you are with your life is the way you feel about returning to it after a vacation.

Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She posts @rosad1985 on Instagram
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