How many of us have heard of “Travel Therapy?” Is it a thing? Does it work?
I’m part of an online group facilitated by my cousin, Dr Margaret “Triphi” Wallace, a liscenced and certified pyschologist, counsellor, hypnotherapist, author and teacher. Dr Wallace has, among other things, has spoken professionally and extensively about the things people can do to take them through the healing process whenever they encounter pain and loss. She has also been very open about the traumas she herself has undergone, the recent losses of close family members in quick succession and how she has had to come to terms with the occurences. She speaks about movement into spaces and places. In an interview with her in The Garden in May, she did not fail to emphasise the importance of Travel Therapy. A getting away, not from one’s issues, but into another space that has the potential of bringing some measure of awareness, review, grounding and balance. Dr Triphi has had her share of Travel Therapy that she has widely documented on social media and recommends it in large measure.
Imagine therefore, my own travel plans for 2022! This was particularly since within the last year, correction, the last three years, some strong challenges, some of which were excarcerbated by Covid-19, the need to “exhale” and others as a result of pressing family factors had done a number on me. I wasn’t actively thinking, “Travel Therapy,” although I guess it was at the back of my mind. All I knew was that I needed to be away and for most of my vacation days.
Among my plans were being a support for my sister, getting some well-deserved down time, being able to afford some honour to the Windrush Generation of West Indians in the United Kingdom, by visiting the recently erected monument at Waterloo Station, catching up with childhood cousins and “peut-etre une visite a Paris!”
Well, I got the rest that I planned on having. While I got around, the concentration was indeed on rest. I had craved a defrosting from built up ice that had been threatening to snow-bound me in a tiny hut of negative stress with an insufficientt amount of resolution firewood at my disposal. And it isn’t to say that I relinquishedconcern for the affairs around. It was that I had begun to realise that I had the opportunity to bundle up and ring for reinforcements who had the right equipment to clear the ice, provide more firewood and remind me that the ice would melt in time. There was no need to be constantly on alarm mode. I was on vacation and needed to relax. So yes, Travel Therapy is a thing and it works.
Juxtaposed with my rest and relaxation from Travel Therapy though,was another dimension of being away. I was able to be physically present with my Babe as I refer to her from time to time, my little sister, Ramona. From way back when we were children, I felt that I needed to be protective of her. That was not always an easy feat since she was bent on doing what she wanted to most of the times. But I felt a sense of duty and tried hard, failing at times to complete my feat, but succeeding at other times. I have endearing memories of making my attempts. One such was on our first trip overseas to Barbados in 1973, I believe. She had tied my ribbon to a chair and being the crybaby I was, I of course cried, complained to our brother about it, then felt badly afterwards for getting her in trouble. Another telling memory was in 1982, as we traversed the ocean in a cargo boat to get to Antigua. We were the only children on board and my sister cried most of the way. I felt so sorry that she felt afraid and tried my best to comfort my 14yr old little sister, even as I an extremely shy 17yr old girl was trying to herself remain brave on a little boat with all strangers, mostly men , rough seafarers and one or two female hucksters, themselves trying to catch a little sleep, minding their business which was not my sister and me.
So being around her when in her own life there are some rough waters she’s attempting to manoeuvre, I felt glad to be in her neck of the woods. Travel Therapy in this way therefore can also mean getting away to be a special way. And although she’s encountering sharp turns and dicey twists, my sister remains a gracious host. It felt really good being with her as we took off to Rodez in the south of France. We weren’t “en Paris”walking under bright,dazzling lights and near cafes feeling lovestruck. We weren’t “pres de la Tour Eiffel” or “L’arc de Triomphe.” We were just two sisters each needing Travel Therapy buying baguettes , eggs and turkey to fix our meals, checking out a museum where we chatted to our tour guide Isabelle and sold our countries Antigua and Dominica to a potential tourist.
While we ran through the rain, to get back to our “boudoir” I couldn’t help but remembering when we bathed in the rain as children. Gosh when we shared our bed, that too evoked memories of us as little girls and I recall that my sister always left her feet exposed, although she covered the other parts of her body. And then we had to find a middle ground about lights being on. I could not sleep in utter darkness, and she could not sleep with lights on. We settled for keeping on the light in the foyer. It was dark enough for her and light enough for me. Travel Therapy was engendering a feel for balance and compromise. Even as we were leaving and hadn’t in the morning had a taxi to the airport, voila, La Police! Trusting my knowledge of and ability to conduct some practical conversation in French, we got the duty officer in charge to call a taxi to take us to the airport. Our day and a half trip was a good experience that travelling does not always mean dazzle and fast paced movements. Come on, even choosing bagel sandwiches made us laugh. Having to choose one named Gaston or even Josephine? Travel Therapy is a thing and is the new thrust.
Then of course, there were my childhood cousins, Marcus and Rebecca! We grew up together and share many memories, both pleasant and unpleasant. Their mom, Aunt Stephanie was my mom’s sister and she was a darling. She looked out for mom when my dad was threatening her and we often stayed with her and her family. I even asked them jokingly, because they couldn’t have known, “why did your father marry my parents?” My travels to London isn’t complete if I don’t stay with my cousins. We talk late into the nights on all sorts of topics. We reminisce about simpler, innocent, mischievous and fun times we enjoyed together as children. That in itself is a grounding excercise necessary for re-tuning. Even their treat to a Live Musical of Bob Marley’s life and times was itself a learning experience of review. It took me to my 16yr old self when migration had its harshness. Christmas of 1981 was a lonely one, as was settling into Antigua State College in 1983 at 18yrs, still so naive, shy and introverted and coming in a month later than other students, having a different accent and experiencing the cold, harsh wind of not one single familiar face. Their overnight reconnection at my sister’s house was also a thing to remember. Travel Therapy was in full swing as cousins bounced off ideas unto each other and basically hunkered down in comraderie as if it were the night of Hurricane David at a shelter. Travel Therapy works. It can point to support systems when too many pebbles are being pelted at you.
Oh! Speaking of support! Remember I said that a visit to Waterloo Station was a must-do for me? Well Marcus ensured that he pre-scouted the precise location of the monument since he himself was unaware of its existence. Once I commuted there, I waited for him, and we took our pics. We even got a volunteer to take one of us together. I was over the moon about honouring those West Indian men and women whose trek to the Motherland had left many of them disenfranchised. I needed to stand beside the monument in honour of migrants as a migrant myself from La Belle Dominique to Antigua almost four decades ago. While their travails far outweigh mine, I understand the struggle to be recognised and the move toward gaining recognition and being accepted. Travel Therapy works and brings one to the understanding that troubles are everywhere and that triumph always comes.
Triumph, pleasure, joy! All three came in celebrating with a young adult I birthed. Although my daughter, Roselle and her friends had their own travel moments, we all found time to interact together. Here was I a proud mom, spending some happy times with my first-born, my daughter, who sometimes thinks she is my mom. She is one of the reasons, along with her brothers, I am super proud to be a mother. She looks out for me like she’s the hen with the brood. It felt good as my sister and I tagged along four younger adults who did not have to be in our company but who respected and welcomed us. Twenty-three years difference between her and I and I am satisfied that my impact on her, my child-rearing efforts has given way to an intelligent, confident, independent, productive, kind, young, but who would put you in your place young adult. Travel Therapy is a thing that works for any age group.
Now, as I prepare to end my time away and head back home, tomorrow, August 20, I am satisfied that the new thrust, Travel Therapy is a thing and it works. I know that despite what may be waiting on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean for me, I am more settled and composed to deal with it. Viola Davis’ and Garcelle Beauvais’ books have added to the settling and I remain inspired by my cuz, Dr Triphi.
Oh by the way, my sister Ramona is again headed on her other leg of her Travel Therapy. See! It’s the new thrust! It’s a thing and it works. You ought to get moving.
Garden Conversations with Roze 