For Moki... before we knew her

We decided to sell our camper van by the end of the month. It was old, it was falling apart and besides, our circumstances changed.

Knowing that this was our last campervan trip made travelling far less enjoyable. There was a lot of pressure to get the best out of it and that unavoidably made us unhappy at the end of the each passing day. Every evening at dinner we discussed the events of that day, taking turns at repeatedly trying to convince each other that it was important just to relax and enjoy ourselves and that we shouldn't expect too much. We were trying hard to make ourselves believe that sitting on a sunny terrace of a touristy cafe bar can be as fulfilling as getting drunk with locals in dark bars, the way we used to.

It was still difficult to wrap our minds around the fact that our world has changed and that it was about to change a lot more. We rarely brought it up, but we both feared that the adventurous, spontaneous travellers in us are being replaced by boring tourists, discussing whether we should have an ice-cream before or after the museum.

We chose France for our last trip. It was safe and familiar and civilised and that seemed appropriate. I felt guilty, of course. I felt I was being boring and it was my fault that our potentially exciting last trip was turning into... this. I tried to improve things at least a bit by suggesting or agreeing to risky activities which we might still be able to enjoy, such as riding our bikes to the next town or finding a car wash big enough to fit our van. A few times I even suggested staying out late because „it might be fun!“ but I always felt relieved when that suggestion was disregarded. There was nothing I wanted more than to cuddle up in bed and fall asleep at nine in the evening.

On Tuesday, the 17th of April 2012, we left the camp site behind us early in the morning and have been driving down a long, straight country road for a while. I was looking through the window at the tall trees closing in above us. There was nothing other than more road and more trees ahead of us, but that felt good. I felt at peace and content. The atmosphere between us changed in the last few days. We were learning to embrace the change – we were sleeping in camp sites with warm showers instead of camping wild, we were going to bed early and getting up early feeling refreshed instead of hung over, we were spending time focused on each other, instead of trying to find people to hang out with... we were starting to enjoy the slower pace of travelling. We were half way through our trip and our only goal for the day was to find chocolate croissants which I was craving.

All of a sudden, I felt something. It was a strange feeling, not similar to anything felt before. Popcorn popping? Little fish swimming? I wasn't able to describe it but I felt it deep inside me and I knew it was you. There, again. It popped? Or tickled? Or moved? You moved. I put my hand on my belly and looked over at your Dada, his eyes focused on the road, humming along with the music on the radio. Feeling me watching him, he looked back at me and smiled. I wanted to tell him that I felt you move, that suddenly everything feels more real and makes more sense, but I stopped myself as I was about to open my mouth. I'll wait until we pull over. I wanted you just to myself for a bit first.

„Isn't this nice?“ said your Dada with a happy grin on his face.
„More than nice," I thought as I smiled back.