I had been living in England for a few years when I decided to take my father on a trip. He wasn’t doing well alone at home, and I wanted us to connect in a way we never had before. I had just returned from Tenerife and was blown away by its beauty—it hit me that I wanted my family to experience this too. My father had never traveled far, not during the communist era, and even afterward, we never had the money to go anywhere special. Now, with my first real job, I had the chance to change that.

Without hesitation, I booked two weeks in Tenerife at the same hostel I had stayed in before. It was strange going on this adventure with my father, but I knew he would enjoy it. We arrived around midday, had a small ride after landing, and shared a beer to acclimatize. My father still couldn’t speak English well, so I knew I’d be navigating most situations. That first night, he was quietly taking in everything—new people, new surroundings, the ocean he had never seen before. For me, it was familiar; for him, it was a pure marvel. Already, I could feel the warmth of this shared experience, just standing outside the airport.

The next days were a mix of adventure and wonder. My father was relaxed, as long as he had a smoke and a beer, he was ready to go anywhere. We explored the island by bus, visited natural pools, and hiked crazy distances—20 to 30 kilometers a day. I remember him standing two meters in front of me, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other, laughing at my slow pace. He, usually calm and reserved, had transformed into this energetic, playful adventurer.

One hike to Los Cristianos was particularly memorable. At the top of a hill, we couldn’t find the way down. After searching for ages, my father suggested we climb down the mountain face. I was shocked—he was older, but fearless, and there was no turning back. We descended together, and people in the city below were laughing and taking photos of “these crazy Estonians” on the mountain. It was ridiculous, exhilarating, and unforgettable.

To add a touch of romance to the trip, I booked four nights on a sailing ship for the price of one. The host and crew were amazing—a lady living on the ship with her young child, another English lady helping out—and it was magical. We slept in small cabins, rocked by the sea, drank wine on the deck, and just enjoyed each other’s presence. My father’s joy was palpable; he was living something straight out of a storybook.

Through it all, my father never seemed scared or uncomfortable. He embraced every hike, every challenge, every adventure. And I realized that this trip, while brief, was a lifetime of bonding compressed into two weeks. Seeing him laughing, exploring, and enjoying himself was empowering for me, and bittersweet too—I wished we could have shared more moments like this over the decades. But this adventure, our adventure, revealed a side of him I had never seen, and perhaps a side of myself I inherited from him—the adventurous, curious, unstoppable spirit.

It was, without a doubt, the best “date” with my father I had ever experienced. And even though it came late in life, it was perfect.