Exploring the Celtic Fringe: A Mother-Daughter Adventure

10 May 2023

Writer Suzanne Joinson takes us along on a journey through the beaches of Wales and cabins of Galway, explored through the eyes of her neurodiverse daughter.

Adventures in Wales

My daughter’s record for skimming stones on the shimmering surface of the Mawddach Estuary is currently seven bounces. Welsh slate is perfect for this. John Ruskin described this valley in Wales as one of the most beautiful in the world. I don’t know about that, but it’s certainly a contender. The cottage we’re staying in is more than 300 years old, and we can see Snowdonia’s stately mountain Cadair Idris from every window. The weather is moody, but when the clouds break, the light coming down the valley is tremendous.

When she isn’t skimming stones, Scout collects and arranges them in her own private and mysterious system. At low tide, she rushes around the sandbank, carefully laying out driftwood washed up from Barmouth. She organizes the stones into circles and lines, creating a map in the sand. We’ve been visiting this place since before we knew she was autistic. Her language developed slowly, but I wasn’t too worried. I thought she’d get there in her own time (and she did). For us, autism is part of Scout’s human condition rather than a ‘disorder’. That said, I don’t underestimate the challenges that lie ahead of her. She is 12 now, and I’ve seen her hovering on the edge of groups, unclear on how everyone else understands the rules.

Searching for Welsh Gold

“Shall we look for gold?” she says. Next to the cottage is a chapel used by sailors when the valley was a center of shipbuilding. On a path up the steep bank is the residue of goldmines. An old history of elusive Welsh gold is linked to this area, Bontddu, and the nearest town, Dolgellau. We get our special sticks and go hunting for the mythical yellow gold of Dolgellau. Rare and precious, it is often used for wedding rings by the Royal Family.

Understanding Neurodiversity in Travel

The stereotype of going away with a neurodiverse child is that it is difficult. This isn’t exactly the case with Scout. As long as she’s with us, she’s happy to explore. Moreover, she likes a plan, and last-minute changes can upset her, but otherwise, she’s a positive traveler. There is a burgeoning section of the travel industry that is aware of the nuances of holidays and autism. This includes providing sensory-friendly options and ensuring venues cater to specific needs. These aspects help, but as we know, autism is a spectrum and there is no single syndrome. However, commonalities exist: an autistic child often feels out of place or adrift in the world and struggles with filtering out stimuli.

The Comfort of Familiarity

What Scout enjoys most is returning to a place. The fusion of familiarity with new and different works well. She runs around the cottage checking cupboards and drawers, discovering the same items she recalls from previous visits. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t ready for adventure and new experiences. Consequently, I have developed a system: we have a collection of special places we love, and then, when ready, we push out into somewhere new.

We regularly go to a cabin on a mountain called Devilsmother in Galway, Ireland, not far from Achill and the Wild Atlantic Way. Here, we spot orcas, seals, and mountain goats who lived up in trees. We also frequently return to Brittany, with its craggy cliffs and nautical-themed experiences. This way, we extend Scout’s map outward, but in a manageable way. It is only now, while hunting for Welsh gold, that I realize we’ve been drawn to the Celtic fringe; somehow, these landscapes resonate with us.

The Emotional Impact of Travel

A recent study found that meaningful places generate significant emotional responses in individuals, particularly in the context of autism. The report highlighted that special places offer a “stable force” through the comfort of being with loved ones, the freedom to explore, and the blend of familiarity with nostalgia. For those on the autism spectrum, the world can often feel unstable, and helpful landmarks shift constantly.

Finding Joy in Nature

Wherever we go, Scout finds stones and arranges them in her unique system. I wonder if, to her, the everyday sometimes feels like traveling in a foreign land. If so, these stones might act like helpful anchors. By the end of our afternoon, we are both grubby, happy, and exhausted, with bits of moss in our hair. Scout’s face glows with joy. “Why do you like it here in Wales so much?” I ask. “Because I can be myself,” she replies. “Cozy as a mouse, then I can fly and swim in the sea.”

The mighty Cadair Idris fades into the clouds as the weather shifts. The tide is going down, and Scout rushes to see how the receding water has left her pattern of stones on the sand. Traveling with her is not about viewing the problems associated with holidays and autism; instead, we see the world together from a different viewpoint—a unique geography, an alternative way to navigate through time and space.