travel essay - Pitstops for Kids

Facing serious concerns when traveling with kids: how to get past the ‘fear factor’

April 1, 2015 By Amy Hagstrom

Any parent traveling with kids off the beaten path has fielded questions from nay-sayers:

“Are you sure it’s safe to travel to Mexico?”

“You’re taking your kids how far along what trail?”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Solo, you say?”

As a parent who makes her living encouraging people to travel with their kids, I bristle at these fear-based inquiries. They are not grounded in research, but are rather knee-jerk, emotional responses to individualized worries. The good news: traveling parents need not listen to them.

However, we all know that as beautiful as the world is, terrible things do happen. They happen at home, they happen at school and work, and yes, they happen to families when they’re on vacation. Even though I believe strongly in the power and wisdom and sheer, live-altering joy of travel, my heart and stomach lurch just as quickly as any other mother’s when I read or see reports of tragedy while traveling.

There are risks we all assume when we step outside our front door, whether to go to the grocery store or another continent. Airplanes do crash. Cars do, too. Terrorists attack. Civil unrest, political strife, and diseases are sadly, alive and well on our planet, and awful things do happen. Which risks to assume and which to avoid can only be made on a personal level.

It can be hard to make these decisions with healthy perspective when tragedy strikes close to home. I can clearly remember learning of the death of a child on an amusement park ride days before visiting the same park with my own family, and of an accident on a cruise ship just before embarking. Most recently, I was made aware of this news story, in which 15-year-old Tyler Madoff was accidentally killed at sea during a Bold Earth trip.

A Pit Stops for Kids reader brought it to my attention, with the question, ‘why didn’t this story get more attention? What can we do to travel safely with our kids?’

My own 15-year-old son had just returned from a very smilier trip, an adventure service trip to Costa Rica, and the terrifying thought, familiar to all parents, passed through my mind: it could have been him. It sent a shudder right through me, and for weeks, I struggled with how to address this question and the larger issue of keeping our kids safe while traveling.

How do you accept tragedy, and keep exploring?

First, my heart and thoughts go out to Tyler Madoff’s parents, and all others who have experienced such a tragedy. And then, I do my best to separate logical safety concerns from generalized fear. Some accidents are just that…freak occurrences no one could avoid…abroad or at home. Was this the case in Tyler Madoff’s situation? I can’t be sure without knowing more details…more safety considerations may have been prudent, but the travel operation in question does have a good reputation. Things simply do happen which are out of our control. But what about the rest of the time? What about all the travel decisions we make or place in others’ hands which could factor into the overall safety of our trip?

My reader offered some guidelines, parent-to-parent, that she hoped would help. I saw wisdom in them, and would like to list them here, expanding where I feel I can offer insight. There are simple measures parents can take to make sure children are in the safest care.

1. Research destinations before you book a trip. There are no shortage of travel websites and handbooks. A few useful sites are TripAdvisor and Fodors, Camp Ratingz and Choice Camps. Checking out the travel company’s Facebook profile (and any related groups) is always helpful as well.

Certainly, it’s worth taking the time to check up on a tour operation or destination via social media. Poll your own friends or followers, or send a general inquiry into the Twittersphere. While reviews on sites such as TripAdvisor should not always be taken at face value, reading through at least a dozen reviews should give parents a general sense of guest satisfaction. Of course, the absolute best recommendations come from people you know. In the case of international travel, always—always—be up-to-date on the political temperature of a foreign country. Check travel advisories via your home government pages. If in doubt whether a fear is legitimate or not, talk to people who have traveled to your destination within the last few months, not people who have ‘heard’ something is unsafe via a friend of a friend or Fox news (sorry, I couldn’t resist).

2. Ask the right questions. Before booking a travel tour, ask what isn’t included in the cost, and why. Is there travel insurance, or should you purchase that on your own? What kind of risk management policies are in place? What are the training qualifications of the tour guides?

It’s surprising to me how often this last question is not asked by parents, especially when leaving children in the care of others.

I am a generally trusting person, but trusting a care giver or tour operation based on trust of a brand is simply not enough. Yes, reputable destinations and resorts will absolutely strive to have the highest standards and using a brand you already trust is a great start, but ultimately, the responsibility is the parents’ to check credentials and qualifications.

3. Make sure your kids are prepared! If your child knows what to do in case of emergency, you’ll feel a lot more confident. CPR training, swim lessons, or simply informing them where to go or to whom they should speak if they feel like they’re in danger can go a long way when they’re on their own, as this Daily Beast article displays.

I love this tip. While parents need to be empowered, kids do too. Because we spend a lot of time in the outdoors, and I have outdoor safety training, my kids are very up-to-date on wilderness safety. They know what to do if lost, when encountering wildlife, and if they need basic first aid. We’ve started to ski more aggressively in the backcountry, which means I’ve been researching avalanche safety courses we can take together. We will not be exploring in snow country until this is done.

When it comes to international travel, my kids know how to contact us and family at home in other countries, and we always go over safety rules and back-up plans before entering crowded areas.

Basically, all the suggestions above follow one key guideline. Use common sense. Take reasonable precautions. Keep valuables in a safe place, have copies of important documents at all times, and use reliable, reputable transportation and services while traveling. Follow signage and heed posted warnings, and don’t take unnecessary risks.

Will you be embarking on an excursion to a particular tidal pool, bay, trail, or landmark? Do your own research about this place, instead of relying 100% on guides.

I’m not suggesting going it alone…we believe strongly in hiring local experts…but don’t follow blindly.

Your safety, and the safety of your children, is ultimately your responsibility, in so far as this is possible to control. The example that comes to mind is the dangerous yet exhilarating Angel’s Landing knife-edge trail in Zion National Park. People die there annually, mostly due to not listening to their own internal guidelines, knowing their own abilities, and trusting blindly that if there’s a trail maintained by a government agency, it’s for them. Not always. Again, even in our lawsuit happy world, I believe parents are ultimately responsible for their own wellbeing and their children’s wellbeing.

As for the risks you cannot control, you’re every bit at the whim of fate while in your own home as while traveling. Explore this beautiful world, share its people and sights with your children, and enjoy life!

Many thanks to reader Sue J. for taking the time to email her concerns to Pit Stops for Kids. Photo credit: Amy Whitley, Flickr/xlibber, and Brisbane City Council.

Why I travel with kids

July 8, 2011 By Amy Hagstrom

With fair regularity, I get asked why I travel so much with my kids. Isn’t it exhausting? Will they even remember it? How do you make the time to get away? I could give the stock answers, and I sometimes do: I travel with my kids because I want them to have first-hand knowledge of their country and world. I travel with them because I hope that in so doing, I will create life-long learners of them. I travel with them because I enjoy it, and yes, I travel with them because I can.

But the more I journey with my children, the more I realize that travel isn’t just about the big picture. (Ironic, no?) For us, it’s about those singular moments that shine in the spaces between the major stops on the itinerary: the surprise glimpse of a sailboat from the window of the train, the unexpected enjoyment of the emptiness of a cathedral on the historical tour, the temporary camaraderie between the siblings stuck together in the back seat. It’s the anecdotes that become family lore: the missed turn on the interstate that leads to the missed flight (and longest stint in an airport ever), the rodeo that turns Toby into a hero when he announces he’s ‘an American’ to a crowd of cheering cowboys, the subway conductor who delays his train to give us directions to Penn Station. (Most of our anecdotes include navigational error.)

subway-nyc

The secret (which isn’t a secret at all) is that these moments can’t happen without the big events that frame them. Had we not planned a trip to New York City and put everyone on a cross-continental plane, I’d never have seen Calvin enter Central Park on a muggy June evening and confidently join a pick-up game of soccer, or Toby volunteer as a sidekick in a street performer’s act in the Battery. Had we not mapped out a five-state road trip to four national parks, I’d have missed Nate’s sheer joy upon zip-lining through Montana’s Big Sky wilderness and Toby’s scream of delight upon seeing a bear with her cub. (He scared them both.)

These moments are captured and surrendered in the space of minutes and hours, and some will be remembered and some will not. But as a traveling parent, I have to believe that the lasting impression created by these moments will be much more wide-sweeping. I have to believe that the confidence born of knowing their place in the world (which is everywhere, anywhere, and anything in-between) will enable them to always say I am capable. I am compassionate. I have as much to learn and as many experiences to have as there are places in this world, and I know not one definition of beauty, of history, and of humanity, but many.

Standing Alone

February 11, 2011 By Amy Hagstrom

Inspired by our travels to Arches National Park.

The only downfall of Moab, Utah? In summer, it tops 100 degrees by 11 am.

But during our visit, we got a fairly early start and hit Arches National Park before ten. I’d never been here before, and I can say with solemn reverence that it was nothing short of stunning. I’m not usually the type to ohh and aww over geological wonders (I’d much rather learn about the people of a place, for instance, than how old its rocks are), but Arches certainly accommodated me in keeping with my recent travel theme of perspective and scope.

Walking through its canyons (or scrambling up them, as the case may have been as I chased after errant children), I was once again made painfully aware of my insignificance. Just as I had felt inside the vast caverns of Great Basin a week prior, staring at stalagmites millions of years in the making (quick, are those the ones hanging down or the ones pointing up?) Moab’s arches reminded me that the universe does not care that I, a random human being, chose the 23rd of July, 2009 to tread upon these particular coordinates of earth. Or any other, for that matter. The arches were there countless years before me, and will likely be there countless after me.

I think, if only for my own benefit, that I need to repeat that: does not care. That’s hard for us to grasp, isn’t it? I think this may be why time as a concept feels so elusive to us, and distance, for that matter: earlier in this road trip, I could barely wrap my mind around The Loneliest Highway in America, let alone the distance between a single star above my tent’s canvas and the path of its light to our planet. Our entire perspective is limited to such a tiny pin drop of experience.

We’re so self involved, the human race.

So in keeping with that theme as well, I can only offer these words. Of mine. And these photos. Of my family. On this date. In this place. Where, for the briefest of moments (brief to the universe, anyway…long as only a car trip with a four-year-old can be to me), my microscopic blink of an existence made contact with the impossibly long span of earth’s history, touching ground upon the smooth desert sandstone of dusty Moab.

Hidden

February 11, 2011 By Amy Hagstrom

(Inspired by our travels to Death Valley National Park.)

The first thing anyone notices (or at least the first thing I always notice) about Death Valley is its unapologetic inhospitality. You drive over the rise of the highway from Beatty, Nevada and a vast, cracked valley of barren land stretches out before you, and you cannot help but think of empty hands extended. Of cupped palms dry of water. Of stark denial.

If you’ve read up on the valley, you next think of the doomed Manley wagon train who gave the valley its name in 1849, and you can imagine the depth of their despair at this first glimpse of everything they did not want to find.

But then you look again.

And as you explore the park, you find creases in the cracked land. You find hot springs, and sand dunes, and washes twisting up canyon walls. You stand looking out over the desolate valley, and suddenly, you can see the way the sun sets the Paramint Mountains to shades of amber, then rose. You notice the ribbons of color in the boulders framing your hikes. You listen to the silence.

These gifts of the park are subtle, and–I won’t lie–subtle isn’t usually my ‘thing’. But I think that’s why I like Death Valley so much (well, that and the weather). It isn’t like Yosemite, with its Half Dome that universally impresses. It’s not like Yellowstone, with its gushing parlor games. There’s not one feature of the huge park (biggest in size in the continental U.S.) which I can honestly say draws a consistent ‘wow’. To appreciate Death Valley, you have to be observant. You have to be still. You have to look closely.

Last spring, we began our first full day in the national park hiking up Golden Canyon and continuing on past Manley Peak to Zabriskie Point. The three mile trek includes some pretty arduous climbs, but the first mile is a gentle affair twisting up a washed out road through the canyon. It’s shaded, and pretty, and if you time your hike right, the morning sun casts the canyon walls to striking shades of gold (hence its name).

Every few yards, a cracked chasm in the rock framing the road leads up the canyon side, and the boys followed each of these paths like dogs on a scent, zig-zagging their way up the wash. Some chasms they could walk into, but others required some scrambling as they climbed up, pulling themselves into the crevice by their arms. Then they could follow its winding path (formed in the soft rock bed by infrequent flash floods) up and up and up, until one of us called them back. They looked like little ants traversing an ant farm.

Higher up, the trail got tough, and the sun blazed down, and Toby struggled with the terrain. I walked with him steadily, holding his hand, until we were directly under the huge rock fortress that is Manley Peak. For a brief moment as we were passing under, its shadow fell over us, and he stopped, staring up. Even he knew that for anything at all to block out the sun in Death Valley–even a massive stone ediface–is rare.

Over the top, there were more hills, up and down and up and down through the rippling borax and salt deposits that make up the land here. I transferred Toby to Charlie’s shoulders. The sun was back in full force.

The morning lengthened. Toby found a lizard and stopped to study it for ten minutes. Nate found the entrance to an old opal mine, intrigued as only a ten-year-old boy (and his thirty-something father and uncle) could be by the extensive danger signs planted all around it.

Zabriskie Point was hot and windy, but the view was spectacular. We could see all the way to the Badlands to the left and kne that our home for the week–Furnace Creek Ranch–lay somewhere straight out ahead. The sky was a rich blue above us.

“Awesome,” someone said, and then we all stared out over the desert anew, and I was so, so grateful that my family and I, mountain and tree lovers from the pacific northwest, could take this in, uncover all there is on offer, and adjust our definition of beauty to include it.

(Then we tried to take a family photo, and mostly failed, but that happens no matter where you go.)