Reduced itineraries define senior travel. Millennials and Gen Z accompanying their parents tend to forget this simple guiding principle in exciting world cities. It’s even worse when the transport system, as in Paris, radiates toward every city corner. More to see, says the bouncy millennial. The senior hears “more steps to put in,” therefore more chances to catch a cold or the seasonal flu that roiled through Italy towards new year that she didn’t know about.
The elements trigger the ruminations familiar to those who have witnessed the health travails of their senior peers. They become doubly sinister — the bite of winter, the catch of cobblestone pavements, and secondhand smoke, which gathered and spewed from one in three cafés and bistros in Italy and France.
My mother had her mask on throughout Torino, Firenze, Venezia, Rome, and ultimately, Paris — she’s the health conscious sort. She was swathed in Uniqlo thermals; I had a coat and the shirt off my back. My friends pointed out we could pass for travelers in different countries in our photos together.
They were on point with the contrast: underneath the winter layers (or lack thereof), I am a bachelorette with nomadic inclinations, clothed in my (pretentions of) invincibility and adaptability. My mother has no intention of settling elsewhere than our sedentary routines in Manila, where responsibility and the schedules of her only granddaughter (not by me) moved us. No famous Impressionist’s exhibit could tear her from her video calls at an appointed hour with her beloved apo, whom she tutors after school. She did just that remotely in the mornings, while I thought of pâtisserie runs and sneaking in at free museums.
The card-carrying traveler
This fundamental difference puts us at a far apart pace both in commuting and leisurely walks. We worried in opposite directions, so we did not flâneur or scramble after trains side by side. Mine was always a hurried canter after train schedules, check-out times, the remains of lunch service before most of the restaurants shut down for siesta in most Italian cities, appointments with friends. I pause and look back on her to catch up. Hers was a languid, measured gait, careful not to trip on cold pavements, slip on steps, and “be a burden” with foreshadowed (and never actualized) accidents.
We of course acted in unison, a true mother-daughter Thelma and Louise with frequent role reversals and bickering. I found myself leading her and making itinerary decisions, from train and airbnb bookings to securing etravel QR codes.
The full trust placed upon me, despite my very adult more than forty years, is a novelty in our lifetime relationship. She is still head of the household at home and had girl-bossed throughout her professional life. I remarked that she might be a wee bit under my mercy elsewhere, or at least her documents were, like an executive utterly unarmed without the factotum.
“It’s alright if the assistant is 100 per cent reliable,” she declared her vote of confidence. We were quits then: I had also occasionally relied on her pensioner’s multi-purpose ID card which could be swiped for shopping and other cashless transactions. That card works perfectly abroad, by the way, and has become the marvel of cashiers who have never seen an ID and debit card banged up, even in the “first world”.
If anything, that card could also be testament to the Philippines’ extra deference to seniors. Sure, France and Italy have their welfare and social security systems (both universal, if to be believed). However, the average ages in both countries (41.8 and 48–49, respectively) assure that seniors are still out and about in late working age, running businesses and after trains. My senior Filipina mom has slowed down and wants to nurse a latte macchiato in the proverbial Italian bar. And as we say these days, dasurv! Photos by Frances May Ramos
