New travel traditions: It’s time to rethink how we holiday

UCD Arts Block, late 1980s: bad coffee consumed (free from the Chaplain’s Office), life plans made (some fulfilled, others not so much) and life-long friendships started (ultimately more important than the life plans, and much more successful). Years later, Pat, Mags and I, three kids each, have created a whole new set of friendships in the next generation.

It started when Mags, the only Dubliner of the trio, moved to Sligo. While we were all juggling careers, children and everything else, the only way Pat and I could manage to see Mags in her new country life was to pack our kids up for a few days in a Sligo hotel. All nine children were under five at the time, five boys and four girls, getting together for the first time. It was a wildly successful trip: the three Sligo girls loved showing their house, local playgrounds and the beauty of Sligo to our Dublin gang. It wasn’t until the following year when we planned the trip again that the Sligo girls realised that they were missing out - the others got to stay in a hotel, swim in the hotel pool, eat in a hotel (pancakes for breakfast!) – so Mags duly booked a room in the hotel near their home and “The Sligo Trip” was born.

The nine kids now range in age from 14 to 19 but The Sligo Trip continues to be a highlight of the year, albeit in various Irish locations. While they were small, a Kids Club in the hotel was all-important. We would spend the days sightseeing, splashing at beaches in all weathers and generally trying to entertain (wear-out) the kids.

Sightseeing was usually less successful than more active pursuits – Athlone Castle for example failed to impress the nine younger ones (though it did us three), but sliding, tobogganing or rolling down the high sand-dunes at Strandhill beach was a highlight in the Sligo years.

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The nights were for us three. Irish hotel Kids Clubs tend to start their evening programmes around 6pm, with a kid’s dinner and then maybe some games, followed by a movie, after which our time was up.

After a busy day, it was lovely to have a nice dinner in the hotel though often interrupted by calls or visits. On one of the later trips, the two oldest (12 year-old boys) left the club to find us in the restaurant to complain that a vote had been taken for the movie amongst all the kids and "Frozen" (the Disney movie, complete with princesses, singing and a love story) had won – they were horrified Even more so because we thought it was hilarious. But they gamely returned, mollified by promises of treats the next day and being allowed to sit at the back to play on devices.

They became quite adept at making the most of Kids Clubs. As an obvious big group of friends, they stood out amongst the other kids, generally siblings on family trips. Early on in some hotel or other, they “adopted” a small boy, mostly because he had a cool name (Jake Johnson) and he became the “pet” of that trip. In subsequent years, they would often adopt a younger child into the gang, and would generally refer to him/her as “Jake”.

While all of this activity was going on, the nine were creating their own traditions, their own ways of being connected, so that if they didn’t see each other for a whole year as sometimes happened, they could start off a potentially awkward initial meet-up by reminiscing until they were back to where they had been, a gang again.

Unlikely as it sounds, pancakes became an important bonding device. From when they were young, the ability to have pancakes as the hotel breakfast was lauded as a highlight of the trip, so when a hotel didn’t serve them, they took action. In one hotel, one of Pat’s boys asked the server if they could make pancakes one morning as an exception. They kindly did, then were expected to serve nine portions of pancakes every morning (I’m sure they were glad to see us leave).

In another, Mag’s youngest daughter turned her big blue eyes on the server and earnestly explained that it was a vital part of the trip and it wouldn’t be the same without pancakes. Best of all was one hotel which had a pancake machine as part of the buffet. Imagine the excitement: you just press a button and it produces a freshly-made pancake - or six, seven or eight if you keep pressing that button (the Hodson Bay, Athlone, since you ask).

Eventually we had no need of Kids Clubs so our hotel selection criteria changed. It’s now best to stay in a town – it means we have easy access to restaurants, now that we no longer have to stay in the hotel for dinner, and the nine can go out too. One great stay was a hotel with a cinema a few minutes walk away plus fast-food restaurants nearby. Another had a leisure centre with bowling next door (nine happy preteens/teens) and a great tapas restaurant in the town (three happy adults). We still do activities together during the day, but everyone has more freedom in the evenings.

From early on, there was an unspoken agreement that any parent would correct any kid who was out of line – necessary with so many to watch. We all fell into roles; I was (and still try to be) the no-junk food enforcer, while Pat will sneak crisps into the supermarket shopping we do for our picnic lunch when I’m not looking. Mags once punished my younger boy for throwing the others’ clothes out a hotel window, by making him sing Amhrán na bhFiann for everyone later that day – recorded to be used against him at a later date no doubt.

It’s lovely to see them all grow up. Now, when we go out for dinner, we have to swing by Mag’s room so her girls can check out what we are wearing and make “suggestions” on improvements. I love the red ankle boots that they insisted I buy in Carlow, rather than the safer black ones I was looking at.

What's even better is how they all get on and mix well as a group. It doesn't fall along gender lines, rather on personality types. So my older, quieter son walks and talks with Mag's oldest, contemplative daughter. Pat's oldest son waivers between hanging out with the second oldest boys and keeping a sweet, attentive eye on his youngest brother. My second son and Pat's second son spend their time conspiring to push every boundary we give them. My youngest and Mags youngest (both girls) like to get to know the hotel and all the staff. They will often take it on themselves to hand over an un-asked for written assessment of the hotel before they leave, delighted one time when the glowing report was posted on the hotel's Facebook page. Pat's youngest son often stands apart, coolly watching the goings-on of the group. Mag's middle daughter, often too mature for the two middle boys, casts a caustic eye and ear on our behaviour and chat and lets us know her thoughts on same (and is usually right).

Sometimes it’s the smallest things: there is a long-standing tradition amongst the nine of stealing the tea-tray biscuits from each other’s rooms, which morphed into (Hotel Staff, look away now…) stealing the biscuits from hotel-room service trolleys in the hotel corridors, competing to have the biggest stash.

Sometimes it’s the biggest things: one morning at breakfast, the three of us bleary eyed from a last drink in the bar, Mags told us about her night. While Pat and I were sleeping off our wine, she was sitting up with her daughter, who has a debilitating condition, for most of the night. Consulting with her husband, assessing whether she needed to get her to a local hospital and getting little sleep, she and her daughter were still up the following morning to have breakfast with the rest of us.

It’s good to be reminded of how lucky we all are – and how lucky to have our ever-evolving friendship.

We look forward to, and also dread, the day the nine announce that they will start doing a weekend away without us... Thankfully that day isn’t here yet. Our next Sligo Trip is planned for October, where the nine are talking about glamping while the three elders stay in a hotel nearby.