It's one thing to go away for a weekend with a 10-month-old, quite another to head off to Australia for a month. BEN LERWILLand his wife weren't quite sure what to expect
WE WERE somewhere above Indonesia when Joseph decided he was bored with plane travel. Being the clear-minded sort, he made this known by throwing a rice cake into the aisle and screaming at the overhead compartments for half an hour. He calmed down as we crossed Northern Territory – engrossed in Fluffy Chick and Friends – raised the volume again above Queensland, then finished with a last, triumphant 20-minute yell as we descended into Sydney.
“So how long are you in Australia for?” asked the woman in the next row as we disembarked. “A month,” we said. “Good luck,” she replied with a smile and a tone of something like pity.
To be fair, no one had said that taking a 10-month-old to Australia would be easy. As a first trip overseas it certainly hadn’t stood out as the simplest, or cheapest, option. But when the chance had arisen – a family celebration in Sydney, complete with the promise of blue skies and time off work – we had barely hesitated before saying yes.
Travelling 17,000km to stay a week or two would have been exhausting, so we made plans to remain a month. When the day of departure came around, however, we weren’t feeling quite so gung-ho. Helen and I had been in Australia on working visas 10 years earlier, but we two were now three, arriving with nappy mats rather than backpacks.
Joseph had just reached an age at which he found it unthinkable to stay still or quiet for longer than, oh, 15 seconds. We were, in truth, a bit unsure what to expect.
And by the time we touched down – a dog-tired trio covered in milk, banana rusk and spilt white wine – it was fairly clear that, as a travel experience, it was going to be something new for all of us.
The journey via Hong Kong, late tantrums aside, had actually been less stressful than anticipated. Having spent a few hours perfecting the art of flirting with air hostesses, our small companion had passed much of the time sleeping in the wall-fixed bassinet – there’s a word I didn’t know a year ago – or crawling up and down the service corridor, befriending the loo queues. And somehow, twentysomething hours on, here we all were, brandishing passports and blinking into the New South Wales sunrise.
For the sake of our collective sanity we had already decided we wouldn’t stray too far, in Australian terms, from Sydney. We spent the first week with other family members in a rented waterside house near Jervis Bay, a few hours south of the city.
In hindsight it was the best thing we could have done. Not only did Joseph have an uncle and two grandparents on hand as willing entertainers, but the setting was ideal, being untouristy, unrushed and largely unspoilt. It was calm enough to iron out jet lag within a couple of days, while gum-tree-shaded trails proved perfect for short walks with the buggy.
There were kookaburras, pelicans and kangaroos, and if the crate of beer disappeared from the fridge more quickly than might have been expected, blame the dreamy creek view from the veranda.
The next stage of the holiday wasn’t quite so soothing. Having fallen for the camper-van lifestyle in a big way a decade earlier, we’d boldly booked a motorhome for 10 days. Newly mobile, we travelled as far as the escarpments of Hunter Valley.
You’ll be shocked to hear this, but it turns out that confining yourself to a van with an excitable baby isn’t as relaxing as you’d think. Initial sleeping arrangements – Joseph in his travel cot, parents in the “shelf” bed upstairs – were ditched after just one painfully strung-out night. From then on it was all three of us in the same bed, the disadvantage of which was that once he’d fallen asleep our downtime was restricted to either sitting outside under mosquito attack or unwinding in the driver’s cabin, knees against the dashboard.
When we retired for the night, shaping ourselves carefully around our softly snoring bedmate, it became the custom to be woken at 6am to the sound of a young pair of lungs trying to out-screech the cockatoos.
The period had high points, too, not least an improbably successful Blue Mountains hike, and the deep, cinematic scenery was always calming, but I’m only faintly ashamed to say that when the opportunity came to curtail our time in the van we took it, instead renting a simple beach house in Port Stephens.
Here we could sleep and eat without having to elbow each other’s heads at every turn, and felt refreshed enough to initiate Joseph into the wonders of rock pooling, ocean paddling and beach picnicking. We were doing it, we kept telling ourselves. We were in Australia, we were having a lot of fun in a sun-creamy, high-chairy kind of way, and we were all okay. It was a happy time.
A laid-back week in Sydney finished the month. The city has a sense of space and breezy goodwill that makes it ideal for ankle-biters. He had a ball, whether rolling around in the botanic garden, travelling on open-topped buses or staring goggle-eyed at turtles at the aquarium.
We’d found warm treatment everywhere in Australia – from waiters and campsite owners to check-out staff and ferry conductors – and, perhaps surprisingly, this was doubly true in the city. The universal response to seeing a 10-month-old hooning around in a nappy seemed to be to smile and strike up conversation, which helped.
And what of the man himself? He arrived with two teeth, left with four. He sampled rainforests and markets, coastal paths and duck ponds. He paddled knee-high in the Pacific, made new friends daily and seemed to have grown in confidence by the holiday’s end. And his parents? We’d do it all again in a shot. Although you might not want to sit next to us on the plane.
How to stay sane on a long-haul flight
- Worry about the baby rather than your fellow passengers. If you're more concerned about upsetting the people around you, you're in for a long journey.
- Pack plenty of snacks and toys – a rusk works well as something for your baby to suck on during take-off and landing. Stock up on wet wipes and nappies. Take more than you think you'll need, as well as changes of clothes (for all of you).
- Keep the cabin crew on side, because there's no more welcome sight than a smiling flight attendant leaping to your aid after accidents.
- Don't fret about the jet lag. It might take a few days to fully adjust, but young babies are remarkably adaptable.
Baby-friendly places to stay and go
Where we stayed
Myola Waterfront Jetty House.59 Catherine Street, Callala Beach, myola waterfront.com.au.
Calming location, and an outdoor veranda big enough to cater for all those crawling needs.
Where we ate
Cafe Sydney. Customs House, 31 Alfred Street, Circular Quay, Sydney, 00-61- 2-92518683, cafesydney.com. A celebratory “proper” meal with great views, great food and a baby-friendly set-up? Not just a dream.
Where we went
Shoal Bay, Port Stephens. visitnsw.com/town/Shoal_Bay.aspx. Sheltered by photogenic hills, this spot is ideal for paddling and picnics.
Sydney Aquarium.Aquarium Pier, Darling Harbour, Sydney, 00-61-2- 82517800, sydneyaquarium. myfun.com.au. Dugongs, sharks and turtles swimming in well-lit tanks. It's like the best kids' TV ever.
Royal Botanic Gardens.Mrs Macquaries Road, Sydney, 00-61-2-92318111, weekends 00-61-2-92318125, rbgsyd.nsw.gov.au. Lots of space, lots of shade and a fantastic setting. It's free, too.
Go there
Etihad (etihadairways.com) flies to Sydney from Dublin via Abu Dhabi, with connecting flights from Galway and Sligo.
