Our white-water raft, navigating Class V rapids below Victoria Falls, had just flipped on the Zambezi in Zimbabwe. While the rest of us were thrashing through the rapids, struggling to stay afloat, the image permanently seared into my brain is my father climbing on top of the overturned raft.
The current had stripped his swimsuit to the ankles. His pale Kentucky backside shone like a lighthouse beacon above the rapids. At the time, I was only concerned with survival. Today, it’s one of my fondest memories of him.
For nearly twenty years, my parents and I travelled the world together. Our tradition began in my mid-20s when they were in their 50s. Once or twice a year we would pick somewhere interesting on the map and explore it – Central America, Rajasthan, Kenya. We planned our trips a year in advance, blocking the time off before work or anything else could claim it. We were committed to making these journeys happen.
Usually I was the one pitching the trip ideas – and my parents were game for almost anything. We gravitated toward offbeat destinations and remote corners of the map, often stitching together several countries and as many authentic experiences as we could squeeze into a single trip.
We had only one rule: go someplace new.
That rule worked beautifully. It also got us into a fair amount of trouble.
Miller Misadventures
Over the years our trips spanned four continents and more than 40 countries. Enough things went wrong regularly that we eventually started noticing we Millers are magnets for mishap.
Take the night in Cairo when my father confidently handed our car keys to a man posing as a hotel valet. The thief disappeared with impressive efficiency. The only thing he left behind were skid marks about ten meters long.
Or the road trip across Cuba where we spent most of the day searching for the national highway –despite the growing suspicion that we had already crossed it several times.
At the time, these moments were stressful. Occasionally terrifying. But they elevated the family dynamic to next level.
We still laugh about Cairo. We may have lost our luggage that night. But we gained something far more valuable.
When the roles start to change
Something fascinating happens when you travel as an adult with your parents. At home, parents tend to run the show. They set the rules. But drop everyone into a chaotic foreign environment and suddenly everyone improvises.
These shared adventures reshaped us as a family. Something about navigating foreign roads, missed turns, and unexpected mishaps tightens the bonds in ways ordinary life rarely does. The laughter, the occasional panic, the stories that followed – those moments became core to our family.
The window you don’t see closing
Eventually the rhythm of our adventures began to change. The trips grew a little less ambitious and a little closer to home. Time and health quietly begin to redraw the edges of the map. And then one day you realise something surprising: The last trip has already happened.
My father passed away in March at the age of 83.
Looking back now, that time spent traveling with my parents is the richest investment I ever made. Now all I have left of him are memories. Fortunately, many of the best ones are scattered across the world.
Even the image of that Zambezi rafting disaster now feels like the perfect metaphor for the way he approached life: Curious. Fearless. And always ready for the next adventure.
Adventurer Todd Miller has explored more than 120 countries. He authored the best-seller ENRICH: Create Wealth in Time, Money, and Meaning. www.ToddMiller.asia.