When I relocated to Europe four years ago to pursue my master’s degree, I did so with a clear and unwavering belief that the move would be temporary—a brief interlude before returning to my life in Canada. I imagined completing my studies, collecting my belongings, and seamlessly slipping back into my familiar routines. In fact, I was so confident in this plan that I merely sublet my Canadian apartment to a close friend instead of giving it up entirely. Even now, the bulk of my possessions—my favorite furniture, cherished home items, and several boxes of seasonal clothing—remain safely stored in the cool basement of that very building, preserved like relics of a previous chapter.
Yet, as life so often reminds us, expectations can quickly give way to the unforeseen. During my final semester in Germany, destiny intervened in the form of a German man who would ultimately change my course in ways I could never have predicted. What was meant to be a short stay abroad became a permanent one, and since then I’ve found myself happily settled in a quiet, picturesque town nestled deep within the heart of the country. The simplicity and charm of life here bring me genuine joy. However, the greatest difficulty—one that lingers despite contentment—is the emotional distance from those dearest to me. Nearly all of my friends and family remain in Canada, including my mother, who has always been my closest confidante.
My mother and I share a bond so distinct and affectionate that acquaintances often liken us to the iconic mother-daughter duo from the “Gilmore Girls.” Before my move, we lived only a short walk apart, and our daily lives intertwined effortlessly. We would stroll through our neighborhood, catch up over steaming lattes multiple times a week, and unwind each evening with our favorite television shows, laughing until our sides hurt. When I left for Europe, that seamless intimacy was abruptly replaced by a nine-hour time difference, making even spontaneous phone calls a scheduling challenge. Our inability to meet for a simple Sunday coffee or enjoy a casual walk together was jarring—a sobering adjustment that neither of us found easy.
To bridge the growing emotional gap and soothe the ache of separation, my mother and I devised a shared remedy: travel. Instead of allowing distance to weaken our connection, we decided to transform it into an opportunity for adventure and reconnection. Every year, we would meet in a new location, somewhere we both longed to see, and dedicate that time entirely to each other—no social obligations, no family gatherings, no external distractions. Though I still return to Canada each winter and occasionally in summer, these dedicated trips became something sacred—our personal way of reclaiming the closeness we once took for granted.
My mother, now retired and financially comfortable, generously offered to cover most of the expenses in the early years. I have always considered myself extraordinarily fortunate not only for her generosity but for her companionship. We have discovered that we are particularly well-suited travel partners: we share a similar rhythm and preferences when on the road. Our perfect day unfolds gradually—beginning with an unhurried morning coffee, crescendoing with a sparkling glass of prosecco in the late afternoon, and ending over tea as we delight in conversation and reflection. Unsurprisingly, our joint travels have revealed how much alike we truly are.
Since establishing our annual tradition, we have explored a growing list of destinations across Europe. For our inaugural journey in 2022, we finally accomplished something we had long discussed: walking the Camino Portugués pilgrimage route together, trekking from Porto, Portugal, all the way to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The idea had been on our shared wish list for years, ever since my mother hiked other segments of the Camino and enthusiastically recounted her experiences. Because I was living in Spain at the time, starting in nearby Portugal seemed the most natural choice. The journey, filled with laughter, blisters, and reflection, solidified our new ritual.
In 2023, our travels took us to Strasbourg, France, a city that feels almost suspended between two cultures—French and German—embodied in its beautiful canals, half-timbered houses, and quiet courtyards. There, we spent our days meandering through cobblestone streets, marveling at centuries-old cathedrals, exploring elegant royal manors, and sampling a generous array of Alsatian wines that quickly became another shared delight. Each experience brought us closer, reminding us that physical distance need not define emotional connection.
The following year, in 2024, we reunited in Bradford-on-Avon, a quintessentially English town nestled near Bath. Its storybook charm instantly captivated us both; the ivy-covered stone cottages and sunlit riverbanks seemed pulled straight from the pages of “Pride and Prejudice.” Of all our trips, we both agreed this one was our favorite—perhaps because it struck the perfect balance of comfort, beauty, and nostalgia. We spent evenings in the cozy pub just down the road from our Airbnb, indulging in what we unanimously deemed the finest Aperol Spritz we had ever tasted.
This past spring marked not only four years since I first moved away but also my mother’s seventieth birthday—an occasion that carried deep emotional weight for us both. For the first time, rather than being treated, I had the joy and honor of treating her. We met in Edinburgh, Scotland, for six days of exploration that felt celebratory from start to finish. Together, we hiked to the summit of Arthur’s Seat, toured the majestic Royal Yacht Britannia, and immersed ourselves in the literary magic of a “Harry Potter” walking tour, a whimsical nod to another of our shared fandoms. The trip was more than a celebration; it was a living testament to our enduring bond.
Though our annual journeys have provided extraordinary memories and strengthened our relationship, a small part of me still longs for the simplicity of proximity—for the comfort of living just down the street from my mother again. Despite video calls and shared photo albums, nothing quite compares to the warmth of spontaneous in-person moments. I often imagine returning to Canada in the near future, to once again be surrounded by my friends, family, and the familiar pulse of home. After all, my mother is growing older, though she defies her years with an energy and sharpness of mind that would put most fifty-year-olds to shame.
For now, our yearly mother-daughter adventures have become our lifeline—an extraordinary blend of travel, discovery, and emotional renewal. Even though our shared time has become less frequent, the depth and quality of those moments far surpass what we once took for granted in our daily routines. It may not resemble our old Sunday Starbucks ritual, but in many ways, sipping prosecco in Porto or enjoying a leisurely brunch in Edinburgh offers something even richer: proof that love, when nurtured with intention, can thrive beautifully across any distance.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/mother-daughter-travel-helps-us-connect-annual-trips-2025-10
