Is there such a thing as a travel gene?

Where do our passions come from? How are they developed and nurtured? Are they lifelong or just for a season? These are the questions I ponder as I think about my long-time passion for all things travel.

I love to travel and I come by it honestly. My family is a bunch of travelling fools. In fact, my mom and dad are heading to Mexico on Friday for a little sand, surf and sunburn! Lucky.

I grew up in a home that loved to take holidays and see the sites. I remember one time when my mom told me, in the context of family vacations, that she and dad chose to spend their resources on making memories rather than material possessions. At the time, my 12-year-old self had a difficult time accepting this idea, especially when that coveted Esprit t-shirt was at the top of my wish list. But even when I had to sacrifice those "must-haves" I always enjoyed our family holidays, knowing that a memory would last much longer than a silly shirt. When I say I grew up with a family that loved to travel I don't mean to imply that we were doing any serious world travelling. But every summer, without fail, we would pack up the car and head off for a week-long camping trip. We were expert tenters, setting up camp at Cypress Hills in southern Saskatchewan, Waskesiu in northern Saskatchewan, and shivering through a few chilly nights in the Rocky Mountains of Banff National Park. British Columbia, Toronto, Montana, Arizona, and Mexico all made it on the list of "big” family holidays.

My interest in travel started very early. As a small girl, my mom would lay with me at night, "tickle" (aka rub) my back and entertain me with countless stories about her three-month backpacking trip to Europe the year before she married my dad. My mom and a girlfriend went with a Contiki tour group, comprised of Americans, Australians, Canadians, and a handful of other nationalities, for a two-month bus trip through various European countries. Her and her friend spent an additional month in the U.K. on their own. I don't know if it was the stacks of photographs or the baby-blue souvenir t-shirt with the phrase "43 Wanderers 1979 - I Busted Europe's Borders Aboard a Bus" that fascinated me more, but I knew one thing: I was going to Europe someday.

Years later, I would follow in my mom's footsteps and embark on my own European journey (more on that in a later entry). My mom is definitely the number one influence when it comes to my desire to see the world. Her stories and experiences took my young mind to an enchanted world of unknowns that I was dying to see for myself. I loved how strangely different and foreign it all was. I loved how it was a part of her, how the memories lit her face and bubbled out of her as she reminisced.

I don't know if my mom shared her travel stories with my little brother too, but he also inherited the travel gene. Jay is a free spirit and has taken advantage of his youthful, carefree years to do some extensive travelling of his own. He spent a winter in Australia and New Zealand where he first learned how to surf, took a shorter trip to Spain, and left behind a second Canadian winter for the beaches of Costa Rica. He absolutely fell in love with Costa Rica and has dreams of owning property there someday. So far he hasn't quite talked us into the family-run surf camp he envisions, but he did help us choose the most perfect spot for our own Costa Rica trip two years ago.

My dad’s idea of travelling is hitting the open road. With those glorious 1970s ‘staches and shoulder-length hair, dad and his buddies saw much of North America from behind the handles of their motorbikes. Dad was (and still is) king of road trips, covering miles and miles of pavement with nothing but the wind at his back. And 30 years later, he’s still pursuing his own passion for travel and motor biking. Last year he and a friend from his younger, biker gang days hit the road to visit us in Fresno.

Not only was I raised with travel nuts, I am equally blessed to have found a partner who also shares this desire and who has joined me on some pretty amazing trips! It might not be so obvious, but I’m convinced that Jeremy has a little gypsy in him. He claims that his joy of travelling is all my doing. I beg to differ. I met Jeremy when he was living in Canada after spending five months in Bolivia on a mission trip and another three months travelling through Canada and the U.S. I don't think you can deny that this boy is an adventurous traveler.

I know that a passion can originate in a myriad of ways. Every passion has a different story. Some are carved out over a lifetime. Others are instantaneous, born from a single experience. For me, travel has been a lifelong love. Influenced and shared by the people I love most.