Every morning, at 8:25 AM, we need to drive a little under twenty minutes to get our kids to school. “So, what’s the big deal?”, all Americans will say, and I guess there’s plenty of Spanish who would react pretty much the same way. However, for the average Dutch person, a trip like that, merely to drop your kids off at school, borders on the outrageous. In Amsterdam, the elementary school our children attend is within walking distance, and the journey to school never exceeds five minutes. But it still feels like we have to hurry to make it in time. Now that we have to take the car to drive almost twenty minutes, we never feel rushed. And we’re rarely late. How come?

Well, this school starts twenty-five minutes later, which might have something to do with it. But when you take the increased commuting time into consideration it really equals out any advantage the extra time in the morning would provide. Here, we leave home no more than ten minutes later than we would in Amsterdam.

But it’s in precisely that drive, taking up such a substantial amount of the pre-school morning, where the answer lies to the zen-disposition we are blessed with when we get to leave our kids in the capable hands of their English speaking teachers. First of all, the time spent in the car takes care of any hurried feelings that might be present at the moment of embarking. Usually, everything that needs to be in the car is, so that vexing thought can be released at the moment the key is in the ignition. Secondly, the car is comfortable. It’s warm (yes, it does get cold here as well) and dry, as opposed to the often bleak trips we made by bicycle in Amsterdam, facing freezing wind and rain. All of us get to relax into a little daydream. Well, the driver not as much, of course.

However, the most important element in making the day start off right is the landscape we get to traverse and the absence of other vehicles. The time schools start is rush hour in all cities in the world, which means it doesn’t matter whether you travel by car or by bike, the journey to school or work is stressful by definition. Here, we get to take a deserted country road to school. The only point in our Ibiza commute that might be regarded as a wee bit taxing, would be the moment parents from all over the island arrive at the Morna International College with their Range Rovers and Jeep Cherokees, needing to squeeze through the narrow entrance to park their car in the crowded parking lot. That parking lot, by the way, is as lush as a parking lot can possibly get, with lots of pine trees and gravel and pieces of tree-bark to park on.

The island itself is the biggest treat in the early morning. It does rain and it does get clouded sometimes, but in general, the sun greets us in a crystal clear sky. And even when the weather isn’t that great, the skies and the horizon and the sunrise join to make such a pretty picture. Our drive takes us through the back-country of Ibiza, if you can speak of a such a small island having that, which means we pass small agricultural plots, vineyards, olive and orange groves, and lots of pine forests. This is the time of year the oranges ripen, and the trees are laden with fruit, adding a dash of color to the abundance of green. Because of the rain, in summertime all but absent, the hills and meadows are greener than I’ve ever seen them before, and they’re covered in tiny white and yellow flowers. The carob tree grove we pass welcomes us with its heavily sweet scent, instead of the exhaust fumes we so often get to inhale in the big city. When we set out for school, the sun has just come up, and its optimistic rays spotlight the natural beauty of the island, reflecting off the dewdrops on the grass. It’s enough to take your breath away. By the time we reach school, the light and scenery have worked their magic, calming any bickering or lingering distress. Could a commute be any better? Every once in a while, we get stuck behind a tractor or other slow-moving agricultural vehicle, but even that cannot wreak havoc on our mood.

There’s only one downside to our daily commute that we don’t have to deal with (or not nearly as much) in Amsterdam. Roadkill. My kids’ road to education is strewn with untimely snuffed out lives of residents that belong here as much as we do, in fact even more so. A parade of poor, witless hedgehogs, rabbits and cats that are more or less disfigured by the onrushing car they only see the split second before it rips open their skull.

A while ago, on the way back home, the kids safely in the car after a day filled with various educational exercises, my throat tightened as we neared what turned out to be a tortoiseshell cat, still alive, while its brains were scattered across the concrete. Its hind leg was hovering a bit in the air before it landed softly in surrender to the inevitable. I screeched to a halt, jumped out of the car, holding onto a desperate sliver of hope that I could still get this animal to the vet to be saved. But when I approached it, I saw only death in its eyes.

This was the only afternoon the drive home failed to make me happy.