The podcast series is called “Grounded Nomads” and it is part of the Nomadtopia Podcast, which interviews nomads of all types to get insight into all the different ways you can create a location-independent lifestyle. I was actually interviewed on this podcast a few years back.

The “Grounded Nomads” series is all about how different nomads have been dealing with the current global pandemic, and all the travel uncertainty that has come with it – which is a particular type of challenge for us nomads! My episode covers our decision to rent a house in Osoyoos, British Columbia, how we are settling into our lives here, our plans for the future, and how the Covid-19 uncertainty has impacted our life and travel outlook.

You can check out the podcast on iTunes, Spotify, and Stitcher. Hope you enjoy!

What happened to so drastically change our plans?  The global pandemic happened, that’s what!

The last I wrote, our family was in southern California trying to make sense of our world’s new Covid-19 reality after having spent almost a week in the desert without internet or phone signal.  My parents – who’d been with us for several weeks – decided to drive back with haste to New Brunswick.  But with an early April trip to France planned and paid for, we weren’t quite sure what our future held.

Apparently it held a 2500km road trip to Canada.

It was a disorienting few days after my parents’ departure.  In town, grocery stores were creepily barren, shops were installing unfamiliar protocols, like 6-feet distances in lineups marked with taped Xs on the ground, and limiting the number of clients in any store at a time.  After a couple days spent laundering every piece of fabric we owned, filling our gas and water tanks, and stocking up on food, we returned to the campground where we had been two days prior with my parents, only to find it now closed due to new Covid-measures put in place by the governor of California.

With no fixed refuge, only a 3-day capacity of fresh water, and no idea whether laundromats and grocery stores would remain open, I felt exposed and vulnerable.  In our bus-life situation, it seemed we were even more dependent on society than “regular” folks.  We didn’t even know where we were going to sleep that night!

It was time to make a plan.

Bruno got on the phone with his father and brother to get updated on the current situation in France.  It appeared the government was tightening quarantine measures, now requiring anyone outside the home to have a detailed legal document as to why they were out.  Whereas a few days before you could be within 500m of your home without said document, you could now no longer loiter anywhere – not even the beach, which is within 200m of our home!

Meanwhile, I learned that our April 6^th flights to France had just been cancelled.  We could still purchase new flights to Paris for late March – and we almost did – but we hit a snag at the Paris airport.  All trains were full for days, and that very day they had closed car-rental agencies from the airport.  If we flew to Paris, we would be stuck at Charles de Gaules airport!

We all really wanted to go to France.  Bruno’s parents are elderly, and his mom is literally only holding on to see Phoenix.  We also felt that, if we needed to be stuck anywhere long-term, it ought to be in France, where we actually have a house.  But the night before, my mind had raced, thinking about all the different scenarios where we’d actually be endangering Bruno’s parents (who are in their 80s with pre-existing health conditions) by going to France – whether it be bringing the virus from the airplane or airport, or just catching it on a quick grocery trip once there.  We knew we’d have to isolate ourselves from them for the first two weeks, but I realized that in order to keep them truly safe, we’d have to keep our distance until this whole pandemic ended.  We couldn’t imagine being so close to Bruno’s parents, and yet so far – and Phoenix would never have comprehended it.

It felt strange to accept, but it seemed the best way to show love for Bruno’s parents was to stay far, far away from France.

Once we realized and accepted that reality, I actually felt relief.  It felt like the right choice.  But now we needed to decide what to do instead.  Our US visa was about to run out so we couldn’t stay in California.  We briefly considered Mexico because of the weather and distance, but ultimately decided that Canada was a better choice.  If this pandemic lasts awhile, I felt more comfortable being in my own country (not to mention not wanting to be a burden on Mexico’s limited resources).

My parents invited us to stay with them in New Brunswick.  And while that was a tempting offer, it was just too far (6000km!).  British Columbia was the closest Canadian border to us, and it just so happens to be the warmest spot in Canada.  I spent an entire day on Air BnB, researching rental homes and contacting owners for special last-minute offers.  Eventually I secured a little bungalow in Osoyoos, BC for a “reasonable” rate.

We didn’t have time for this new reality to set in, to feel whether or not this was the right move, before we were off.  We spent one day cleaning the house, prepping the bus, and mad-cooking for a long road trip, and then we hit the road!

For the next eight days (including one rest day on Lake Shasta), we journeyed north, through California (which felt endless), Oregon and Washington.  A few days ago, we arrived at the Canadian border after 2500km and over 40 hours of driving.  Bruno was quite skeptical that they would let him cross into Canada because of the strict pandemic border protocol.  Thankfully, he was welcomed in quickly and easily, and a few minutes later we arrived at our little rental house.

The moment we parked our bus into the perfectly-sized driveway and stepped into the house, I knew coming to British Columbia had been the right decision.  The house was clean, comfortable and just the right size for us.  There was a little backyard, a park and green space at the end of the street, and all the modern luxuries that we nomads appreciate – from the bathtub and giant fridge to the laundry and washing machines. 

I am feeling incredibly grateful for so many things right now.  Grateful, first and foremost, that we had the savings to rent a home for 6 weeks, pay for the gas to get here, and stock up on a month of food before arriving.  I know there are so, SO many people without savings who are struggling so much right now.  I am grateful that we made it safely to Canada – that Bruno drove us carefully and diligently to our new home, that Phoenix was a patient and happy little passenger, and that the engine light that went off mid-way through our trip didn’t impede our arrival (phew!).  I am grateful to be from a country with hospitals and resources, wide-open people-free spaces, and a government who has had the foresight to keep its people safe.

And I am grateful that, despite the confusion and panic I felt during our final week in California, it appears our family made the right decision to come to British Columbia.  I can feel that rightness deep within my bones, and I think we will be well here for the next 6 weeks.

I’m going to take this opportunity to announce something that I have been feeling coming for a few months.  I’m going to stop blogging on Wandering Footsteps.  It has been an incredibly difficult decision, mostly because I have blogged regularly for almost fifteen years, which feels monumental somehow.  I know there are a few lovely devoted followers who will be disappointed, and future me (or future Phoenix) may regret this decision.  But, as we settle into our new [temporary] home and the world painfully morphs into a new one, it feels like the right time to call it quits.  I’m not sure yet whether this is a temporary or permanent break, but for now, at least, I’m going to focus on my family, my own self-care, and fostering the stillness, space and peace I’ve been craving.

Sounds like a perfect recipe for the legally-binding (and punishable with a one-million dollar fine) 14-day quarantine we were served at the border!

Wishing you all well during this brave new world that is now being created.  Much love, and thank you so much for having followed our family’s journey all these years.

A few days ago, our family spent almost a week desert camping, away from phone signals and internet service. We’d been soaking in hot springs, hiking through the desert, and splashing around in the torrid rain storms. Life was simple. And then…

We emerged into COVID-19 madness.

I imagine that, for most, this whole Coronavirus thing has felt somewhat surreal. For us, who’d been blissfully unaware of the developments, it has felt downright otherworldly as we scramble to find our bearings in this new reality.

Personally, I have spent the last few days hovering somewhere between panic-buying (we were late starting) and despair. See, we have tickets to France, and are due to leave on April 6^th for our long-awaited two-month trip. April 6^th also coincides with the last day of our US visa, so even if we cannot fly to France (which seems likely) we have to leave the United States. To go where, I haven’t the faintest idea…

When I sat down today to compile the photos of our last few weeks in Southern California, it was the first moment of OK-ness I’ve felt in days. Right now, I feel grateful for the time we have just spent, in a beautiful part of the world, with family. I’m going to focus on that gratitude now, and hopefully bring you a little reprieve from the Corona-madness.

Ok, here goes:

They just can’t seem to keep away from one another. Twenty-six days after parting ways with his grandparents in Mexico, Phoenix was reunited with them – now in the south-easternmost tip of California!

Our first couple of weeks back together were filled primarily with being together. My parents had had a few fun adventures in Mexico (most notably an epic train ride in the Copper Canyon), so we exchanged travel tales and compared notes as to how much growing up Phoenix had done in those almost-four weeks.

The campground we found ourselves in had a wonderful, heated pool, so we spent a fair few afternoons there enjoying good-old reliable desert sun. Phoenix, once cautious in the water, began launching himself off the pool steps under the water, where we’d catch him a second or two later and bring him up for air. It was a fun game, and we all looked on proudly. One afternoon, we hung out at the pool with little Milo, a twenty-month old from Quebec with a giant set of play-dough and a naughty personality. It’s always fun when Phoenix gets to play with another toddler!

One afternoon, all five of us took our bicycles to the bike path along Yuma’s slice of the Colorado River. On one end of the path was one of the best playgrounds I have ever seen, and on the other end was a giant train engine. Several trains passed by our campground each day, and one of Phoenix’ favorite activities was running to watch the train pass by, so needless to say he had a great time!

When we finally managed to peel ourselves away from our Yuma campground, we headed toward White Sand Dunes Recreational Park, spending two nights boondocking on either side. “Boondocking” means camping on a piece of land without facilities – no water or electricity, and no sites for dumping waste water (that’s why it’s also called “dry camping”). To boondock, you need to be self-sufficient energy and water-wise, something that my parents’ RV was not ready for until literally a day before this experience. They did a lot of work the weeks prior to make this happen – buying and setting up batteries to power their lights and plugs, and installing an extra canister of propane to power their fridge.

While our Big Blue Bus has a much better set up for this type of camping – with our solar panels, batteries and fridge – I am happy to report that my parents survived their two nights boondocking – and I even think they enjoyed it. Can you blame them, when your spot for the night backs onto rugged mountains with a distant view of sand dunes and an old mine to explore before heading off to bed with nothing but an almost-full moon to light the sky? It was the quietest night my parents had ever spent in their RV – and it was free!

We didn’t end up staying in the sand dunes, themselves, because it was the weekend and the place was absolutely chock-a-block with dune buggies and quads plying the dunes. It was actually dangerous to walk out onto the dunes because, man, those people are adrenaline junkies! (Rich ones, at that – some of their buggies were worth the price of a house!) Though the dunes reminded me visually of those we had visited with my parents a few years before in Morocco, the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different. I think I prefer the Bedouin/camel vibe, personally, but each to their own.

Our next stop was Agua Caliente Hot Springs, adjacent to the Anza-Borrega Desert State Park, and not far from San Diego. We had reserved five nights because it’s a popular place at a popular time (we have been encountering this problem a lot in the United States since arriving at the beginning of February), and unfortunately we booked during a very off-week, weather-wise. The day we arrived was cold and extremely windy – windy as I’ve only ever known in the desert – and half of our full days at the park were rain like I’ve never seen in a desert. There was so much rain that the ground couldn’t soak it up, and there was mud and dirt making waterfalls and rivers down the sloping grounds of the campground. The desert sure is a place of extreme weather!

Though we tried keeping Phoenix indoors when the rain began (with my dad and I visiting the indoor hot springs swimming pool a couple times), we eventually gave up. It was the first time Phoenix has truly played in the rain and, armed with his raincoat and rain boots, he loved it! He and Papa went on a long exploration of the campground on the hunt for frogs (they didn’t find any), and one afternoon, Phoenix played outside with a German girl a few months older than him while we chatted with her parents.

We did take advantage of a sunny afternoon to go on a nice desert hike through a wash and up a mountain. It was probably the longest hike we have done with Phoenix as a toddler, and it went so well! He spent part of it in a baby carrier, but he actually hiked a chunk of it, too, balancing on top of rocks, walking with a walking stick made-to-order by his grandfather, and climbing up a few surprisingly steep hills.

That hike sort of epitomizes our family’s experience of Southern California’s desert. As you begin the hike, you’re not especially taken with the landscape. It’s not obviously beautiful, as a seascape is, for example. It’s stark, dull-colored, without obvious signs of life. But as you walk further, quieting down your mind, looking more deeply and silently at your surroundings as your feet fall into step with the rhythm of the place, you see something more. A pop of pink at the head of a modest cactus; the distant howl of a band of coyotes; evidence of a bulging, powerful river in a small palm tree oasis at the end of the wash.

That’s the thing about the desert, I think. You have to work a little bit more to love it. To slow down, to really see. To appreciate the little flower buds among the thorns; the rabbits and road runners; the harshness of the environment. If you do, you may just be offered a special reward.

It’s a few days later that I’m editing and posting this blog. Our family has spent the last several days in Lake Cahuilla Recreational Park as we gathered our thoughts and changed our plans in the wake of COVID-19. It was a good place to regroup – quiet, un-busy, out in nature, and filled with that special grounding desert beauty that calms the nerves and the heart.

My parents left us a few hours ago to drive back to Canada. They will cross the border as quickly as possible (well, as quickly as almost 6000km takes!) Our little family, on the other hand, isn’t at all sure what the next few weeks will bring. So I think we’re going to go hide out in another nature-filled desert spot for a little while, until we receive clarity on our own next steps.

Sending you all my best wishes for health and peace in these trying times. xx

After spending over a year in Mexico, we knew, then, that Arizona would be our first American stop. And, even though we hadn’t been in almost three years, being in Arizona has felt like a homecoming of sorts.

I remember the saguaro cacti; the dry desert air.; and the smell and sight of early spring in the colorful buds bursting from drab foliage. I recognize Tucson landmarks I had driven – or biked – past as I shopped for bus parts and hardware for our bus conversion. I remember the Tucson Mountain Park, where Bruno and I had sought refuge when we’d needed a few days respite from the endless search for our new home-on-wheels.

Our trip this time has, mercifully, involved more pleasure than work. We arrived to Tucson from Nogales, Mexico to the arrival of my best travel buddy, Sahnah. It was unseasonably cold (read: below freezing at night), but Sahnah happily camped in the tent we set up beside our bus (and just as happily drank morning tea and evening wine inside our bus at our kitchen table!). It was her first time in the Sonoran Desert, so we took her on a stroll around the Gilbert Ray Campground to acquaint her with the saguaro, ocotillo, and cholla cacti surrounding us. The next afternoon, we hiked up into the mountains for yet another close encounter with the unique desert foliage.

It was great to have some girls’ time too. Sahnah had rented a car so the two of us drove into downtown Tucson and I showed her around (because, yes, I know Tucson surprisingly well!) We went to a yoga class, had a delicious vegan Mexican meal (Tucson is renowned for excellent Mexican fare), and wandered down the thrift shops, funky boutiques and cafes in the student area of town. We stumbled upon an open-air African market, a little farmer’s market, and visited the infamous Congress Hotel, where I had danced to Latin music into the wee hours of the night with my Air BnB host a few years earlier.

Another day, all four of us returned to Tucson for Ethiopian food and a wander through the historic Pueblo Viejo (“old village”) where artfully restored adobe homes brighten up the desert landscape with splashes of color. We all agreed that Tucson is a charming and very livable town, at least in winter, and I was really happy to share a city I genuinely love with an old friend – and to reminisce in the season of life Bruno and I were in the last time we were here.

Another day, all four of us returned to Tucson for Ethiopian food and a wander through the historic Pueblo Viejo (“old village”) where artfully restored adobe homes brighten up the desert landscape with splashes of color. We all agreed that Tucson is a charming and very livable town, at least in winter, and I was really happy to share a city I genuinely love with an old friend – and to reminisce in the season of life Bruno and I were in the last time we were here.

With Sahnah’s departure, we had one more round of guests – the parents of my friend, Erin, who live in northern Arizona, and who had been such gracious hosts to us three years earlier. They’d taken us on a day trip to Sedona and the surrounding area, as well as being our personal postal service for many bus-conversion items we had needed. Our Big Blue Bus is actually registered to Sharon and Glenn’s Arizona address, and they were the first people we spent time with just after Phoenix’s conception (though we didn’t know it yet!) This time, too, Sharon and Glenn came bearing many parcels I had ordered to their home (thank you, Sharon!) – including Phoenix’s first balance bicycle, which he tested out that afternoon in the campground. What a proud moment – and another big milestone that happened in Arizona!

After guests and a few days of errands in town, our little family of three headed to Organ Pipe Cactus Monument for another close-up with the Sonoran Desert. This park has the largest concentration of organ pipe cacti (the name is self-explanatory). We did several hikes – including a glorious solo hike for myself and Bruno, respectively – and Phoenix learned the names for many of the desert plants. We caught the flowering of the ocotillo, which gave a little red pop to the dull browns and greens of the landscape. Though our search for coyotes was in vain, Phoenix had a lot of fun howling to the moon. This was a special week for me, because, after a stressful road trip from Mexico, hosting a pile of guests and doing a week of errands in Tucson, I desperately needed to re-calibrate my nervous system – and there is almost no better place to do that than in the Sonoran Desert, where silence and austerity are matched only by endless skies and sweeping sunsets.

Our last Arizona stop was Yuma, where we met up with my parents again! After having spent five weeks RVing along the coast of Mexico with them, we had parted ways for about a month, so they could remain in Mexico for a bit more sight-seeing (and a bit more warmth). Our reunion has been a happy one, and we have spent the last week enjoying each other’s company in a little RV park with a heated pool and multiple trains and airplanes a day – essentially Phoenix’s dream place.

Our return to Arizona has brought one journey full-circle – one that began with a brand new bus, a seed of a baby, and so many hopes and dreams stirring within our hearts. Today, as we head into southern California for new adventures, I willingly send the threads of our family’s story out so that our hopes and dreams and wonders may be picked up and carried onward by the desert wind.

To read more about our previous Arizona-related travel tales:

A Shuttle Bus’ New Life – the Story of our Big Blue Bus

Starting our Bus Conversion in Arizona

At Home in Tucson – 7 weeks living in Tucson

The Search for our Next Home-on-Wheels

Our Visits to Arizona’s National Parks

Check out our latest vlog HERE!

Now, though, with only 100km to go before we reach the Nogales border with Arizona – which we will cross tomorrow morning – we are having second thoughts about leaving Mexico.

This past week, with the country stretching further north than we had realized and time running out before a reunion with a friend, we’ve made a bee-line toward that long-dreamed-of US border. With each kilometer driven, as the temperature slowly fell and our beloved coconut trees became more and more absent, a sort of nostalgia for Mexico set in.

It’s true that we’ve been here over a year now, and its Spanish-language, ubiquitous avocados, and affordable camping have become comfortable and homey. It’s true, too, that we are total wussies when it comes to cold weather.

But I actually think the main reason for our sudden fondness for Mexico is that we just spent five glorious weeks on its Pacific Coast with my parents.

My folks had left their RV last spring near Mexico City, so when they flew back to Mexico this December, they picked it up and drove to meet us on the coast. They arrived just in time for the holidays – and boy, there were a lot of them! There was Christmas and New Year’s, of course, but there was also Bruno’s birthday and Phoenix’ second birthday. Though Mexico itself wasn’t the focus of these special occasions, I can say that it was a pretty picturesque backdrop to it all. To be able to dine outside with sunsets over the ocean; to open gifts outside on Christmas morning, birds chirping over the lagoon behind our campsite; to ring in the New Year as we watched Chinese lanterns float over the Pacific – it added a further element of festivity to our special days.

Actually, the Pacific Coast of Mexico added a festive element to all days, really. Coconut-eating feasts after Phoenix’ nap followed by countless afternoons on the beach and family sunset-watching rituals, our days on the coast felt like that perfect mix of routine and special occasion. Phoenix became so accustomed to watching the sun set over the ocean and rise on the other side that he has officially mastered the cycle of the sun (and repeats it to us essentially every morning)! The amount of adorable photos we have of him gazing at the setting sun is something I’ll treasure forever.

When our family first arrived on Mexico’s Pacific Coast in November, Phoenix was quite weary of the sea. I couldn’t blame him – the waves and current really were rather treacherous. This past summer, which we spent on beaches in Canada, Greece, and France, he was equally skeptical of the sand, needing to be sat on a towel and fussing anytime his hands got filled with sand. After our 2.5 months on the coast of Mexico, though, not only was he asking us to bury him up to his neck in sand – and spending endless hours happily playing in the sand (a mama’s dream come true) – but he so thoroughly conquered his fear of the ocean that we have rolls of film of him giggling and jumping over waves, running in and out of the sea until he’d fall into bed at night, exhausted.

I think it was Phoenix’ thorough love of the beach that has made Bruno and I wonder, driving further north toward the US border, if we’d made the right choice. How would we keep him occupied without a beach nearby? Certainly there’s no chance he will be as enchanted with a desert or a hike up a mountain?!?

If we are feeling sad to take Phoenix away from his beloved beach, I am feeling equally sad to leave my parents (or Phoenix’ “Grand-maman” and “Grumps”, as they are called). My parents are big beach people, so our afternoons along the ocean were extra special. Not only were they happy whiling away their hours by the water, but they were getting to enjoy it with their own daughter, and their only grandson. It so filled up my heart to know that my parents got so much bonding time with Phoenix. Every morning, Phoenix could barely finish breakfast, he was so excited to get to their RV for a visit. In the late mornings, the three of them would often go for a little exploratory walk together around the campground. The afternoons were spent at the beach – whether or not Bruno and I were there! I’ve said it before, but I seriously believe that the ideal ratio of adult to young child is four-to-one, and Bruno and I happily took advantage of some much-appreciated extra free time!

I am so, SO grateful for the time our little family spent with my parents. I’m grateful we managed to meet up for the second year in a row in Mexico. And, truth be told, I’m grateful that the Mexican coast was such a welcoming host to us for those five weeks. I think Mexico might be one of those countries that manages to surprise you, just when you think you’ve got it all figured out.

Alas, the decision has been made, and tomorrow we drive into the United States. As with any new country, our family will have to find new routines and ways of living and traveling in our bus that suit our new environment. It will be an adjustment – especially not to have a beach just around the corner!

But when I recall the blog post I wrote a couple months ago after first arriving to the coast of Mexico – which complained about incredible heat and the disruption of our previously-established routine – I’m forced to admit that, in all likelihood, once the dust settles in the southwest of the United States, we will find a joyful rhythm there, too.

Onward, ho!

Ever wondered what living in a bus (or other tiny home) is REALLY like with a toddler? In this video, we tell all – how we organize our small space to accommodate all the STUFF that comes with toddler life; the toddler gear we use; and what a typical day looks like for our two-year old. We also give an honest answer is to what it’s truly like living in such a small space as a family, and how WE make it work!

Watch the vlog here! Thank you, as always, for your support!

One of them is about the sea turtles of Mexico. It goes something like this:

On his last trip around the world, Bruno found himself on the Pacific Coast of Mexico with a few friends, bush camping on a beach. They had rigged an outdoor freshwater shower with a tube from a nearby water source, allowing them to spend a few weeks there rescuing baby sea turtles. With the help of locals, the group of friends scoured the beach for newly-hatched baby sea turtles and protected them from the nearby dogs and birds as the babies scurried to the ocean. The children in their group didn’t even want to eat lunch because, during that time, the birds were feasting on baby turtles; the adults in the group even helped mama sea turtles up the steep beach in the middle of the day so they could lay their eggs; at some points, the group simply grabbed giant handfuls of baby turtles and released them into the water.

The experience had been profound for Bruno and his friends, which obviously explains why this story has become such a mythical family tale. It’s probably why I’d searched so enthusiastically (albeit in vain) for sea turtles in Oman and Turkey several years ago. It’s also why, as our family of three finally approached the locale of Bruno’s Mexican turtle tale, my quest to experience sea turtles firsthand reemerged.

Michoacan is one of the best places in the world to see sea turtles. The state has stood up to big tourism, with essentially no resort towns along their 200km stretch of pristine turtle-laying beaches. This is important because for sea turtles, when it’s time for them to lay their eggs, mama turtles return to their birth-beach thirty years prior. What they often find are resorts, cities, or industry – in other words, too much light pollution, noise and development for the turtles to calmly and safely birth, a ritual they’ve been accomplishing for millennia.

Our first turtle stop along Michoacan’s coast is Maruata. We head to an eco-center run by the local indigenous population, which, from Bruno’s tale, had been doing a far better job than the government at protecting the sea turtle population. In this instance, the eco-center is quite simply a group of run-down palapas under coconut trees, covering a dirty, litter-strewn tract of sand. On the other hand, the beach, which is more of a cove book-ended with smooth, flamingo-hued rock, is absolutely stunning. And, there are tons of sea turtle nests and tracks.

As I learned back in Oman in 2015, sea turtle tracks look like tire tracks, and their nests like big holes in the sand that a child could make with a decent set of sand toys. If you don’t know what you’re actually seeing, the marks of an active turtle-nesting beach could easily be overlooked.

In Maruata, there are more turtle tracks and nests than I’ve ever seen.

That night, after the sun goes down and I put Phoenix to bed, I set a towel down on the beach and sit. Honestly, I’m not expecting much. I’d done a nighttime sea turtle vigil before, and hadn’t seen a thing. To me, spotting sea turtles laying their eggs is no easy feat.

That’s why, thirty minutes in, I need to squint and strain when I see it. There’s a half-moon lighting up a clear night sky, and it’s enough for me to notice movement off to my right. It’s a sea turtle, slowly plodding up the beach toward the palapas! I freeze in place, afraid to scare her away, but when I finally see the sand flying that is a sign she’s digging her nest, I sneak up to tell Bruno to bring his camera!

We spend the next two hours on that beach. One by one, sea turtles emerge from the sea, heaving themselves up the beach, rhythmically flapping their flippers down into the sand until their holes are a meter deep, and grunting their eggs out. As a mother, my heart goes out to them so hard – I can feel them struggling to call forth the energy necessary for this all-important task, and following the same instincts that guided them back to their birth beach in the first place. As I watch their bodies convulse to get each egg out, I feel spiritually connected to them, and I affirm within myself, You can do it, mama. Honestly, birth is the most magical rite to experience.

Eventually, a local man approaches. With my sub-par Spanish, I understand that he works for the turtles, monitoring the beach at night. After the turtles lay their eggs, he says, they dig up the eggs and bring them to one centrally-located safe beach where they are protected until they hatch. I am heartened by this, because Bruno had had to chase several stray dogs away as the turtles trodded up the beach. I had been contemplating the idea of sleeping on the nest of the first turtle, but when three more emerged, the issue had arisen as to which nest I’d choose. Instead, I head off to bed trusting those eggs are in the safe hands of the locals, happily drunk on the incredible miracle I’ve just witnessed.

The next morning, the first thing I do is race down to see the nests in the daylight. To my horror, soft, still-warm egg shells are strewn about the sand, dog prints littered among them. My grief is mixed with incredulity and confusion – why were these eggs not protected?

The thing is, those eggs are precious. Besides being the precursor to adorable turtle life, sea turtles quite simply have it tough. Besides dogs and other hole-digging predators, baby sea turtles are on a literal race for survival the moment they are born. Birds circle the skies, waiting to pluck up newly-emerged turtles by the thousands. If the baby sea turtle actually makes it the few hundred feet down to the water, fish await there, mouths wide open. It is said that only one in a thousand baby sea turtles reaches adulthood. I think sea turtles have the worst odds of any wild animal there is.

Nature had adjusted for these cruel odds by giving turtles incredible egg-laying potential. They lay around 100 eggs in each nest (or “clutch”), and can lay up to nine clutches in a season. The math demonstrates that the survival of the species was a given – until man showed up, that is. Between beach development, commercial and net fishing, plastic pollution (sea turtles mistake plastic bags, for example, as their favorite jellyfish food, swallow them and choke to death), sea turtles had almost gone extinct. It is only with recent efforts, which start with protecting the precious eggs, that turtles have made a phenomenal recovery worldwide.

Standing on the beach, my heart breaking over each life that was squandered before it even had a chance, I decide I don’t want to witness this again, so we move up the coast a bit, to El Faro. There are some turtle tracks here too, but fewer, as it’s a more developed beach. Bruno doesn’t think we will see any turtle action here, but I decide to do another night vigil.

It’s cloudy tonight, so I can’t see as much. After about 90 minutes, I’m ready to head in when I see a bright light in the distance. It’s a flashlight on the beach. I race to it, and arrive just in time to see three local tourists trying to release a baby sea turtle into the ocean. The baby is confused because of the bright light, and keeps racing toward it rather than the sea, but eventually the tourists turn off the flashlight and the baby runs into the wave and is off.

Apparently the tourists had been having their evening barbecue under the palapa when three baby turtles emerged from the nest beside them. The tourists had carried them down to the water’s edge, and that’s what I’d caught the tail end of. I sent a silent prayer to the universe that these three lucky early birds would make it past the fish unaware.

The next morning I awake to 70 super itchy bites all over my skin from having sat out at the beach the previous night. Sand flies, or worse. Grossed out, we decide to move on. Bruno had saved the GPS points from his epic turtle-rescuing mission twelve years before, so we decide to visit. At first, he can’t find the right path, but eventually we find our way down a dirt road, through a papaya and hibiscus farm, down to the beach. He immediately recognizes the little lagoon where they friends had swum, the abandoned stone construction at the clearing where they’d parked their two vehicles, and the fresh water source they had rigged their outdoor shower to.

Suddenly, a man appears – the owner of the land – and Bruno asks him if he remembers them. At first, he doesn’t, but eventually the memory reappears, and the two men smile and hug and shake hands. I take photos of this happy reunion. The man (who had a really long name that I can’t remember) asks us several times to come stay on his land again, but when he visits our bus he sees that we would never make it down that narrow 4×4 track. Too bad, because there are so many turtle nests on this beach that we would have been sure to spot something. Plus, I think it would have been really special for Bruno to stay here again, now with his little family.

Instead, we just wander around. We walk on the beach, and spot vultures and dogs waiting off in the distance. The beach is so littered with soft sea turtle shells that it almost looks white. I run after two dogs, who are busy digging up a nest, the birds waiting patiently above for the dogs to do the dirty work. Phoenix and I rebury several warm eggs as deep as we can, all the while knowing it’s in vain. Those dogs are better diggers than we are.

The man tells us that the villagers have already saved enough eggs for the season that they leave the rest to the birds and dogs. I realize that must have been the case in Maruata, too. And, though I still find it sad, I have to concede that these locals obviously know what they’re doing, because, judging from the number of egg shells here, their turtle populations look healthy.

We drive off with a mix of so many emotions – wonder, satisfaction, anticipation, disappointment and heartbreak. Bruno has returned to old stomping grounds, and I have seen both nesting turtles and a baby turtle scurrying to the sea. But I’m still feeling the profound pain of all those unborn turtles, and the harrowing feat they live with in their first minutes of life. Plus, compared to Bruno’s epic experience twelve years ago, mine pales, of course. It’s too early to try to rescue newly-hatched baby turtles, and we have a Christmas date with my parents further north.

I thought I might stumble across another turtle-nesting beach in Mexico. I thought, perhaps, our turtle adventure would continue. That’s why I held off writing this story. I was waiting for a true conclusion.

But, as seems to be the case when I write about sea turtles, our story ends here, for now. It’s now late January, and though we’ve been to many beaches in the last 6 weeks, we haven’t spotted another sign of turtles. Turtle-hatching season is almost over, and in a few days, we’ll be in the southwest United States. I think our search for sea turtles has come to yet another close. It might be for the best – I may be too sensitive to see the heartbreak of watching baby sea turtles get eaten by birds.

But then again, if I can help save baby sea turtles – even one – then I think Mexico’s turtle coast may have to, once again, be in our future plans.

If you enjoyed this story, please do consider checking out the piece I wrote about my search for sea turtles in Oman, featured in Green Global Travels. I think it’s one of my better pieces of writing. Here’s the link.

This episode shows takes you through a RELAXING day in our life living in a bus with a toddler and traveling through coastal Mexico. Not all our days are like this – we have work days, laundry days, driving days, tourism days, etc. But this is definitely my favorite kind of day – relaxing and enjoying the outdoors by the beach with my family!

Hope you enjoy the episode, which includes a bonus yoga sequence I learned a few months back and is now an integral part of my morning routine!

Here’s the episode!

And P.S. Just for the record, it took me 34 hours to upload this video to YouTube! The other side of travel in Mexico.

So the fact that today marks not only a new year but a new decade has me absolutely abuzz with possibility. Does anyone else out there feel excited to welcome in the new?!?

Bruno, Phoenix and I are celebrating this new year (and decade) with two very special people – my parents! Just like last year, they have come south for the winter and will be RVing in Mexico with us! They joined us just before Christmas in San Patricio de Melaque, an absolute paradise on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. We are so grateful to have family with us in Mexico for the holidays and beyond!

As I described in last year’s Year In Review, 2018 was the year of the Phoenix; as in, it was the year our baby boy Phoenix was born, and the year that our lives revolved around said baby. If I can describe this year in one word, I’d say that 2019 was the year of the see-saw. This year our life has see-sawed between periods of extreme sedentarianism (is that a word?) and extreme nomadism (a.k.a. manic travel). Let me elaborate.

Our year began with a fast-paced road trip through central Mexico with my extended family. Then, craving a break from bus life, we rented the villa of my dreams in the city of eternal spring, Cuernavaca. What was supposed to be a four-week stay turned into seven. Then, we headed on a 6-week international trip which included a road-trip through Florida (meeting up with five sets of loved ones) and a trip to France. When we returned to Mexico – once again tired – we returned to a city and campground we’d stumbled upon earlier in the year, and ended up spending 5 weeks in Cholula. Refreshed and grounded, we headed, yet again, abroad – this time for the mother-of-all-trips. We visited New Brunswick, Toronto, Athens, two Greek Islands, two spots in France, and New York City, staying in a total of nine different accommodations in just as many weeks! Absolutely exhausted after that trip, we returned to Cholula for another month of sedentary living before embarking on a road trip to the coast of Mexico.

You see? Total see-saw. And you know what? I think I actually like it this way! I mean, yes, we did more international travel than either Bruno or I care to do, but I liked that each trip was interspersed with periods of rest, routine, and recuperation. This see-sawing spoke to both parts of me – the ultimate nomad and the ultimate homebody.

In my 2018 Year in Review, I shared that the biggest lesson I’d learned was that I didn’t have life all figured out. That a tiny baby had become both my mirror and my greatest teacher, reflecting back to me my deepest flaws and most-needed areas of improvement. I shared that, with 2019 on the horizon, I was ready to face myself and shed layers of skin that no longer served me.

2019 has definitely been about that for me. I have read books, taken online classes, listened to podcasts, and filled an entire journal with all the things I’ve learned and reflected upon this year. While I may very much still be a work-in-progress, I take pleasure in re-reading my commitment last year because I can confidently say that I have honoured it. For me personally, 2019 has been the year of personal growth. I haven’t been this spiritually inspired since my college philosophy days, and I feel like I am doing the exact work I am meant to be doing right now.

I am so grateful to be where I am here, at the end of 2019. Our family is slowly but surely finding the right balance of travel and slowness in our nomad lifestyle, and I am digging deeper and deeper into who I truly am. I am grateful that Phoenix illuminated this path for me last year, and just as grateful that Bruno’s co-parenting has allowed me the space to delve deeper into this spiritual quest. 2018 was such a challenging year, so it’s fascinating to me that I can feel so grounded and at peace now. What a difference a year makes.

I suppose I can leave you, dear reader, with this little piece of wisdom, then. If you are concluding your 2019 on a negative foot; if your year involved challenge after challenge; if your decade is ending with a sour taste in your mouth, take comfort in this: what a difference a year can make.

As per tradition, I leave you with our year’s highlights, challenges, and lessons learned:

Highlights of 2019

1. Renting the amazing paradise villa in Cuernavaca, Mexico
2. Falling in love with the city of Cholula, Mexico, and getting to indulge in some sedentary living (which included a lot of yoga!)
3. Ticking Greece off my bucket list with an epic trip there for my best friend’s wedding
4. Our road trip through Florida
5. Exploring coastal Mexico after a year in the mountains

And, actually, the biggest highlight of all: Watching Phoenix grow into the most amazing little toddler, and experiencing my own growth as a mom. Bruno’s looking pretty comfortable and happy in his role as papa, too!

Biggest 2019 Challenge: Sleeping in 9 different accommodations around the world in 9 weeks! (How does the Bucket List Family do it?!?)

Biggest Lesson Learned: Don’t book crazy trips like that! In other words, even if a multi-destination trip seems fun on paper, as new parents with a toddler, it’s best to keep it simple. We shall be putting this lesson into practice in 2020, for sure!

Alright, friends, that’s it from me! Hope you all have had relaxing and loving holidays, and wishing you all a blessed new decade! Here’s to 2020!