BABY STEPS TO HAPPINESS
In place of exotic travels, single mother Lottie Moggach discovered the freedoms of a simpler holiday
While my childhood wasn’t the full Hideous Kinky, our family holidays – to Egypt, India, Morocco – tended not to have a plastic beaker in sight. So, when I had my son, and a year later separated from my partner, I felt I could indulge my mother-child travel fantasies. But as Kit grew mobile and vocal, a person in his own right rather than an extension of me, my excitement was doused by the practicalities. Even city breaks were a struggle. Amsterdam was, surprisingly, the biggest failure of the lot. The 17th-century pavements weren’t designed for buggies, and the place seemingly full of handsome couples having dinner with their curtains open to show off their stylish, sorted lives. It wasn’t that I envied their coupledom – I was happy to be on my own – but rather I felt sensitive to an exclusive air that I hadn’t detected before. We came home early.
My friends with children told me I was mad to keep trying these jaunts. I admitted defeat, and booked one of their suggestions: a place in the Costa Blanca mountains called Caserio del Mirador, geared towards young families.
Pre-child, I’d never stayed in one spot for a whole week. I’d get too restless, and I can’t get a tan, so see no point in basking in the sun. But the house looked fairly close to the coast; I figured we could always escape and explore.
But as we wound up the narrow road, me killing the gears, my car-sick son quiet in the back, it occurred to me that bailing out wouldn’t be that easy. When we pulled up at the house, I took a moment to appreciate the amazing views before glancing with apprehension at the row of car-seat-equipped hire cars in the driveway. I had an image of making small talk about children over endless communal meals – a week-long NCT class.
However, that first evening, the only people we saw were Sarah and Johnny, the owners, who showed us to our apartment. Kit asleep, I dined on the terrace by the pool, watching the sunset, and thought this might just be okay.
Our routine on the first day would be replicated across the week. Breakfast delivered to our room, some dabbling in the pool, a bounce on the trampoline, wandering over to say hello to the chickens, reading, an afternoon nap. And it was nice to watch Kit tentatively interact with the other children, and for me to chat to people I’d never otherwise have met. In the evening, Sarah hosted a kids’ tea, and then parents disappeared to put them to bed, later to return to the communal table, clutching baby monitors, for the grown-up version. On that second night, I joined them. We even managed to chat about things other than children.
By day three the thought of escape had evaporated. Kit was as chilled out as an 18-month-old can be, exploring the child-safe terrain of this new little world, and I was as relaxed as someone on holiday with an 18-month-old can be. I had time to appreciate his tiny achievements and emerging personality – his scooter skills, his fearlessness in the pool, his love of books. And finally, I understood that travel happiness might now come in a different package.
Because Kit was happy, and I wasn’t struggling up cobbled streets with a pushchair or anticipating irritation from the people at the next table, I had space to think. I came up with an idea for a novel about a woman who moves to Spain to start a new life. The setting is based on the spectacular view from Caserio del Mirador.
Now, I’ve accepted a good trip is an easy trip. Not, of course, that it’s impossible to be intrepid with children – as I write, my brother and his wife are climbing Machu Picchu with their daughters. I admire them, and haven’t given up on the idea of big adventures. But for us, for now, our horizons are staying small. Next stop: Center Parcs. Under The Sun by Lottie Moggach (Picador, £12.99; out 13th July)
Finally, I understood that travel HAPPINESS might now come in a different PACKAGE