Travelling with kids: not driven to distraction in New Zealand

It's taken a trip to a country that's thousands of miles from home and driving for hours at a stretch isn't all that bad.

A driving holiday in New Zealand taught us that being cooped up in a car for hours at a stretch isn’t all that bad.

Within the first hour of picking up our rental car in Auckland, both my daughters vomited. We’re at the beginning of a 10-day holiday. The plan is to drive to Christchurch and then Queenstown, before looping back up to Auckland. Except that the car is now smelling to high heaven.

We stop off at a grocery store and buy cleaning supplies, wondering if we’re doing the right thing by driving so many miles with two active young ­children.

Then comes the first surprise of our trip. “We’ll help you clean up,” says my elder daughter, Ranju. After steadying ourselves, we decide to take up her offer. And so it begins, this bonding trip taking us so far from home.

A driving holiday requires proper planning. We have to make sure that there are tasty snacks and drinks, particularly in those long sections where there’s no rest area for miles. We bring along games and listen to audiobooks. What’s surprising is how much we discover about each other. There’s something about a moving vehicle and beautiful scenery that brings out the poet and philosopher in travellers. So it is with our family.

Our younger daughter, Malu, has always been interested in geography. The vast expanses of New Zealand give full play to her imagination. Except with a twist.

Rather than asking questions, as children do, Malu ends up answering questions. She has studied quite a lot about the land and its geology. She can point out specific rocks and tell us about the age of the country. For any parent, discovering the depth of your child’s knowledge is a particular pleasure. It often doesn’t happen at home, when one is caught up in the routine of homework and extra-curricular activities. It’s taken a trip to a country that’s thousands of miles from home and driving for hours at a stretch to bring out the teacher in our 12-year-old.

It’s a little different with Ranju, 18. She’s a practical sort and helps her father changing the oil, filling up petrol and examining the spare tyre. Ever the diplomat, she even mediates a quarrel between my husband and I while Malu sleeps. We’re shocked to discover that not only have we failed in our resolve never to fight in front of the kids, but that our child is mature enough to mediate our petty quarrel – and that she’s good at it.

(We had little choice, we tell ourselves later. How long could one bottle up simmering resentments while cooped up in a ­vehicle?)

Ten days later, we return the car to the rental agency, hoping that it doesn’t still smell of vomit. We giggle and chuckle among ourselves as we stand in line to hand over the papers. We’ve explored a beautiful land and had some wonderful experiences. Best of all, we have got to know each other in a way that we wouldn’t ever have at home. That alone made the holiday worth it.