As the rickety caravan swayed side-by-side and the rain poured down on our roof and into the back of our capsule, we couldn’t help but laugh.
With the ocean at our doorstep, a caravan on the edge of the world (or so it felt), was the perfect place to bond. It was a bit bonkers we knew, but the absurdity of it made it wonderful.
We were travelling up the Wild Atlantic Way in Ireland, 2500km of coast road that went up through the entire west of the country.
This was a route we decided to explore as a staycation, spending two weeks taking in our home country. Our shaky caravan was in a place called Allihies, a picturesque haven in Cork away from main tourist routes.
Located on the western tip of the Béara Peninsula and stretched between Cod’s Head to the North West and Dursey Island to the South West, it’s the furthest village in Ireland from the capital, Dublin.
Mom and I felt like giddy schoolchildren as we cooked atop the gas stove in the pitch black.
As contrasting types of travellers, we work well together. While Mom is outgoing and more extroverted when it comes to travelling, I’m more introverted and analytical. Thus we’re both able to take a step back and take in the situation (even if it sometimes involves us getting annoyed with each other!).
Even though we were exhausted, dishevelled and pretty hungry, our laughs at the madness of it all rang through the derelict caravan park.
There was something just wonderful about being in the middle of nowhere with no electricity and spending time together cooking – doing something that we both loved.
In the morning and with little sleep, we opened the caravan door to the Atlantic bursting into song.
Quite simply: heaven.