Blue Ribbon Vacation
- Jena
- Aug 11
- 12 min read
Updated: Aug 12
This summer, my teenage son and I took a road trip through Ireland and Scotland. We found location sites from Star Wars films and the Andor series from Disney+, hiked a mountain in the Isle of Skye in the pouring rain, and billy-goat scrambled up the rocky Scottish Highland cliffs to meet a flock of sheep. I drove white-knuckled on almost 1,000 miles of one-laned roads to make the most of our limited time together.
My first time to Europe, our days were packed with unforgettable memories and adventure. Yet, we came home exhausted.
Vacations aren’t supposed to be a competition. There’s no one waiting at home with a prize—no blue ribbon—at the end.
I’ve shared my experience with several moms this summer and their response has been the same with each reflection; it feels different right now. The stakes are much higher. Our time together as a family is more limited. Our time off work is harder to take, if we can take it at all. And the cost…even local travel is super expensive.
Since when did “vacationing” get so hardcore? What are we trying to prove? And to whom?
--
I can’t find reverse.
Clutch. Breaks. Use my left hand to slide the gearbox into the “R” position, in the upper left corner, just left of first gear. Little bit of gas. And…nope. Still in first gear. We inched another two feet forward as I coaxed the Volkswagen out of the rental car slot at the Dublin Airport.
My son, K, and I had gotten a taxi from our hotel to the rental car terminal, and I studied the driver’s technique all the way in. It wasn’t rocket science, driving in the U.K. Something along the lines of “go fast and swerve,” but remember to always swerve left. Do not swerve right or you might flatten like a pancake.
“Got any tips?” I asked the taxi driver as he switched gears at a yellow light. He grunted. “This is a bus lane. Don’t drive here. The Ms are easy. The exits are well-marked. When you get to Kelly, the roads are narrow, and the cliffs are steep. Don’t fall off the left side. And don’t swerve to the middle. You’ll collide. And bam.” He made the universal swishing gesture of inevitability with his hand, and raised his eyebrows in the rearview mirror.
I expected this part would be the hardest, navigating out of the airport and around the city before we hit the open country roads. I’d given some thought to jet lag and roundabouts and pedestrians and petrol. But it hadn’t occurred to me I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to drive our car out of the parking lot.
I’d grown up driving manual transmission vehicles. My first driving lessons at age 13 were on my great grandfather’s ’71 Ford where the parts were so worn, I had to grip the steering wheel with both hands for leverage before I could press hard enough on the brake pedal to slow the big white beast. I graduated to a two-toned “used to be red” souped up ’79 Mazda RX7. It had a rotary engine that would stall in the South Texas humidity, so I bought a portable butane hair dryer to dry the engine each morning before school. If the hair dryer failed, I’d pop the car into neutral, give it a shove down our driveway, and jump into the driver’s seat to pop the clutch, and then slam it into reverse, as it hit Cuates Street with a bounce and a thud.
But something wasn’t clicking in Dublin.
After my fifth attempt to muscle the gear stick into reverse, I’d inched the car forward all the way to the front of the “return” sign. I looked at K and sighed. I’d already given him advanced notice. Getting out of the airport and onto the highway might be hard. I might not be able to talk until we got on the road. If I’m not ready to talk, it’s not you. It’s just that I have to concentrate, and not drive on the wrong side, not slip into a concrete gutter and shred the tires, and not get lost. Okay?
“You’ve got this, Mom.”
I grunted and found the emergency break and hopped out of the car to track down the Enterprise agent.
“Can you help me figure out reverse? Because if you can’t, I think I need to switch to a manual vehicle. I can’t get out of the parking lot.”
“You can drive manual, yeah? I mean, that’s what you requested, right?”
“Well…yes. I grew up driving manual. But…it’s been a while, I guess.”
She cocked her head and smiled. She slid into the VW, and popped her left hand with perfectly manicured nails down on the gearstick. “You just push down, here. That’s the trick. Just push down on the gearstick, and then up and to the left. Got it?”
She looked over at K and he nodded. She looked up and me, and I nodded. And then she winked.
“Reliving your youth, eh?”
I didn’t love that one. I shook my head no.
As I pulled out of the airport, K waited to speak. The GPS detailed an almost four-hour drive from Dublin to Killarney. It would be the first official day of our road trip across Ireland’s and Scotland’s motorways and single-lane tracks. We’d begin with castles, stake out scenes with Luke from The Last Jedi, eat fish and chips in seaside towns, and hang out with more sheep than people. We had fresh grocery-store baguettes and salami and cheese in a small cooler, and for now and for always, many sleeves of Oreos.
“Can I talk now?”
“Yeah, Buddy. I’m sorry. That was stressful. What’s on your mind?”
“You’re doing great.”
“Thank you. How are you doing?”
“Good.”
He was quiet for a minute. And then…
“Why do you think they put reverse at the top in this car?
What do you think makes Ireland’s green different from other greens?
If I was a video game designer, what type of game should I design?
Why do some cities have more trash on the streets, and some don’t?
Why do you think they don’t have root beer here?
Do you think the Garda have guns?
Why do the Garda need to speak two languages? Does it matter which languages?
If you could ask me anything about any Star Wars vehicle, what would it be?”
On one single-lane track in Ireland, I pulled over to the left and waited for oncoming traffic to cross a short bridge. I watched as three or four cars pulled up to wait behind me, and noticed the driver directly behind me was quite close. She looked older, like someone’s granny.
The shoulder where I was waiting was on an incline, and I didn’t have the right mix of gas/clutch/brakes. When it was my turn to go, I started to slide backward, toward granny’s front bumper.
In the “olden days” when I learned to drive stick, I had an emergency hand brake in the middle of the console. When I hit a stoplight or traffic on a hill, I could pause, one foot on the brake, one on the clutch, with the emergency brake engaged. I’d learned the magic formula to get a foot on gas, and release the hand brake slowly enough that it would prevent me from rolling backward or killing the engine. These new-fangled cars have a tiny parking brake button. What in the hell are you supposed to do with that?
When I tried to stop my backward roll, I popped the clutch and the car stalled and died. Granny got so frustrated with me that she laid on the horn, and threw both hands in the air with two exasperated flicks.
I rolled my windows down and waved her, and the line of traffic forward. Go around, lady! Can’t you see I am reliving my youth unsuccessfully over here?
Americans Go Hard
In the Edinburgh airport, there was a long delay for the rental car. Eventually, we made friends with a London-based couple headed out to their nephew’s wedding on Scotland’s East Coast. The man was a gynecologist, almost ready to retire. The woman had finished her career in finance. They’d been in London for more than 20 years, but the man was born in Scotland. He pulled out his phone and opened Google maps, pointing and zooming in on locations he’d loved as a child.
They asked about where we’d been and where we were headed. The man was skeptical.
“That’s a whole lot of country you’re covering in just two weeks. You don’t want to take some time and visit? The seaside towns are lovely.”
“Yeah. I’ve never been to Europe before. I don’t want to waste a minute.”
“Huh. You Americans go hard, don’t ya?” said the woman.
--
She was right.
Maybe I had made this trip harder than it had to be. What if we skipped all the cities, museums, and most of the castles? What if I’d rented two flats out in the boonies of each country, and we’d day-tripped from there? What if we had spent all our time in Scotland at the sheep farm and drove only to the co-op for groceries and the highland cow-park for hot chocolate and pastries? That would be lovely, right?
Who am I trying to impress with these grand plans? Not my kid. He doesn’t care.
Who do I think will sit in judgement of my toughness, or score my “sense of adventure” chops?
Not my former conservation colleagues. We pass high fives on socials and in brief texts. Our support of and admiration for each other is genuine and endless. We’ve seen what each other can do.
So, it’s just me I’m trying to impress? I’m the judge?
After all this time, what part of me thinks I’ve still got something to prove?
Field Notes
I might be stubborn, wildly optimistic, and slow to processes, but I am not inflexible. I did make a few game-time decisions on our trip that made me proud. Twice, I cut out a planned destination—one in Ireland and one in Scotland—so we could take more time to enjoy and explore at our own pace. Here are a few highlights.
Ireland
We landed in Dublin, Ireland in the early morning after a full night of travel. Our hotel wasn’t ready for us, so we sat in St. Steven’s Green Park for several hours watching the birds and folks with dogs. We found a little shop with coffee and a donut, and noted how odd it was that no one was sitting on the grass. We wandered into Christ Church Cathedral, which has stood its ground welcoming “people of all faiths and none,” for more than 1,000 years.
We witnessed the peace prayer at Noon, and lit candles for those we’ve lost and those we love. The stained glass was stunning, as was the crypt’s famous mummified cat and rat. Story goes the cat was chasing a rat into the pipe of an organ, and they both got stuck.
The Garda Síochána Museum, located in Dublin Castle, details the history of the Republic of Ireland's national police force. Here we learned that Garda did once need to be fluent in two languages, including English and Irish, but don’t anymore.
Chester Beatty Museum, Dublin with its collection of art and world faith artifacts. It, too, had a beautiful green you aren’t allowed to sit on. What gives with the no touch grass, Dublin?
We had a few days of waking before 5:00 a.m., and we walked the Dublin streets before the morning commuters made their way onto any roads.
We toured the Book of Kells at Trinity College, and spied the manuscript of the four Gospels of the New Testament, created by Celtic monks around 800 AD. We toured an ancient library and watched recreations of “Shakefpear” give a lecture with his eyebrows twitching.
In Kerry County, Killarney National Park spans 10,000 hectares of lakes, mountains, mossy woods, and waterfalls. We toured Ross Castle, hiked the meadows and Torc falls, and rode horseback across the park with Killarney Riding Stables. I was too nervous to leave my backpack with our most treasured travel belongings behind, so I had a refined "backpack lady" look throughout our entire adventure. My horse LOVED to stop for grass. K’s was sweet and gentle.
Some of the most surprising and stunning sites were on back roads, and nearly deserted. We found an old stone fort (Could we have built this? We think maybe.) guarded by cows, and memories of the 16th century Ballycarbery Castle (Nope. Out of our skillset).
K’s favorite was the boat trip to Skellig Michael, the “star” of Ireland's Wild Atlantic Way. Settled by monks well over 1,000 years ago, Skellig Michael is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its sister island, Little Skellig, hosts puffins from March until August, and the second largest colony of gannets in the world. The final scene of Star Wars: The Force Awakens was filmed on Skellig Michael, as were the scenes where Luke Skywalker hides out in Star Wars: Episode VIII - The Last Jedi.
For those who are interested in booking a tour, stay flexible. Our boat ride was pushed back by several hours due to high seas. We tried to secure a landing tour to walk Skellig Michael, but those had been sold out for months. Even if you score a spot, landings are iffy based on the rough seas.
Scotland
Okay, if we’re judging Ireland vs. Scotland, Scotland wins. There. I said it. It was my favorite. Finally, we hit a place with more sheep than people.
Isle of Skye
We stayed in a sheep barn near Sconser along the Scottish Isle of Skye. Granted, it was the fancy side of the barn. But it was definitely a barn. We could hear the waterfalls from the property, and the rain falling softly on the pasture. The apartments overlooked Loch Ainort and the mountains Glas Bheinn Mhòr, Belig, Garbh-bheinn and Marsco.
The apartments were remote, surrounded by wetlands and herons. It was about a six-hour drive from Edinburgh, and for the last few miles, the roads were graveled, potholed, lined with barbed wire and sheep. In short—they were absolutely perfect.
One evening, we heard a distinct and very close “bah.” There was a mama and her baby sheep passing by our front door. Mama paused long enough for us to snap a photo, but the setting on my dad’s old Canon was set at a speed so slow that the fleeing lamb was blurred.
Did you know the babies wag their little tails when they nurse? They do. K and I discovered this in Ireland when we watched two lambs playing near the stone fort. They stopped goofing around for a moment, and we watched them exchange a “game on” look. They charged their mom, scampering 20 meters across the field, and simultaneously rammed into her udders from opposite sides. They knocked into her so hard, both K and I gasped an “oh!” She never raised her head. Never stopped grazing. We watched as she steadied herself and the babies wagged in sweet contentment.
Favorite Hike: The Old Man of Storr on the Trotternish Ridge. It poured and the wind blew so hard my glasses almost whipped off my face. The site gets more than 200,000 visitors each year; even in the fog, the landscape is stunning. While most folks turned back after the famous outcroppings, we pushed a bit farther and higher. The payoff was worth it. We were alone on the edge of the mountain, able to celebrate the beauty and magic of millions of years of geology and wild history in every direction. K made the mistake of tucking his rain pants into his boots, and at one point, emptied at least a cup of water out of each.
I drove the Quiraing Pass, which is a windy, single-lane cross of the Trotternish Range. It was too windy, rainy, and foggy to see much beyond the immediate hillsides. This is one of the locations I wished we’d been able to explore off-season, as there were more vehicles trying to pass than there were experienced drivers.
The landscape of the Fairy Pools along the northern slopes of the magnificent Black Cuillin range has an Anchorage, Alaska or Northern Canada Rockies feel. Spoiler note here for those who have spent time in the American West: this hike was extremely crowded for a series of waterfalls that were pretty, but not necessarily remarkable. My suggestion is to go at off-peak times, or (maybe?) skip this one for a lesser-known hike.
For our final Star Wars-themed stop, we headed south past Glencoe to hike the Cruachan Power Station, Dam, and Reservoir overlooking Loch Awe and Ben Cruachan. In the Disney+ series Andor, the dam's surrounding areas are featured as the planet Aldhani in season one, episode six "The Eye.” Park in the carpark of the Visitor’s Center for free, and head up. The hike to the dam is steep, muddy, and super fun. We were incredibly lucky; we saw only two other people during our entire trek. We had the dam to ourselves, and shared a sleeve of Oreos at the top as we watched the sheep and debated which pieces of the dam had been real, and which were changed up by the producers with CGI.
