An education vacation becomes a real-world learning adventure

A recent trip to Vietnam gave Rylae-Ann a new kind of classroom

Written by Richard E. Poulin III |

banner image for

In the past, I’ve written about our family’s “therapy vacations.” Trips where every activity had a purpose, and every moment was designed to build strength, coordination, or communication. Our recent vacation felt different.

Our daughter, Rylae-Ann, was born with aromatic l-amino acid decarboxylase (AADC) deficiency, a rare genetic disorder that affects the body’s ability to produce key neurotransmitters like dopamine and serotonin. In the early years, our focus was on survival and development. Each milestone felt like a mountain.

Everything changed when she received gene therapy at just 18 months old. It gave us something we hadn’t fully allowed ourselves to feel before: hope. But hope came with responsibility. My wife, Judy, and I reshaped our lives around Rylae-Ann. We became students of her condition, therapists in our home, and educators in everything we did.

For years, that meant therapy. Now, it means something new.

Recommended Reading
A robot and a doctor talk to each other.

New ‘zero-shot’ AI approach aims to jumpstart rare disease treatments

Our classroom: Real-world exploration

With Rylae-Ann’s growth in physical ability and speech, we are entering a new phase. Academics can finally take a more intentional role. When Judy stepped away from her teaching career to open her own center and homeschool Rylae-Ann and other children, education became the center of our lives.

We now see vacations as an extension of learning. Not through desks and worksheets, but through experiences that feel alive and connected to the world around her.

Our recent trip to Vietnam was our first true learning vacation.

We arrived in Da Nang late in the evening, well past Rylae-Ann’s bedtime. Even on holidays, we try to protect her routine, but sometimes you make exceptions. That night, it was room service and a round of beef pho noodles.

The next morning, we returned to the structure. After breakfast, Judy opened Rylae-Ann’s homeschooling books by a window that looked over the river. The lessons were intentional. Adventure stories. Nature topics. Telling time in math. Everything aligned with what she would experience.

Rylae-Ann finished her work without complaint. Then came the transition to the pool. Swimsuit on. Goggles snapped into place. She was in the pool before I could join.

Watching her swim still catches me off guard. Not long ago, we were working on basic movement. Now she’s laughing and confidently moving through the water. I stayed at the edge, equal parts lifeguard and proud dad.

Of course, we turned it into a lesson. We practiced techniques with dive toys and floating targets. We raced. We counted. We built endurance. After an hour, our fingers looked like prunes, which felt like a sign we had done something right.

That became our rhythm. Morning academics. Physical activity. Then real-world exploration.

Farm life

A young girl rides on the back of a water buffalo.

Rylae-Ann rides a water buffalo that is being led around a farm she visited during a recent trip to Vietnam. (Photo by Richard E. Poulin III)

One of the most impactful experiences was farm life.

Rylae-Ann got her hands dirty learning about organic farming. She tilled the soil, planted seedlings, and helped compost vegetation from the river.

At one point, I took on the task of carrying two heavy watering cans balanced on a wooden slat across my shoulders. She found it much more entertaining than I did.

We harvested vegetables from the fields and brought them to a rural school at the top of a nearby mountain. The views were incredible, but watching Rylae-Ann interact with the other children was the real highlight.

Judy stepped into teacher mode, leading games and songs that brought everyone together. We shared a meal that included the vegetables we had harvested. It was simple, meaningful, and unforgettable.

River life

Two adults and a child are shown in bright yellow and red outfits sitting in a boat in a river.

The Poulin family — Richard, Rylae-Ann, and Judy — wear traditional garb during a riverboat adventure in Vietnam. (Courtesy of Richard E. Poulin III)

Another standout moment came on the river.

We joined a local fisherman whose family had lived there for generations. One of Judy’s lessons focused on river ecosystems, and this was as real as it gets. Rylae-Ann climbed into a small circular basket boat and tried the same techniques used to catch fish.

I joined her, paddling through palm-lined waterways that serve as shelter during storms. As we navigated through the vegetation, we talked about plant and animal life and how everything connects.

Back on the main boat, the lesson shifted to culture.

The fisherman introduced traditional clothing, music, and rituals used to bring good fortune. At one point, he picked up Rylae-Ann, declared her the captain, and handed her the moment. She shouted what we can only assume was Vietnamese, and we responded as her crew. It was chaotic. It was loud. It was perfect.

We may not have checked off every destination in the travel pamphlets, but that was never the goal. Every experience was intentional. Every moment was a lesson. The best classrooms don’t have walls. They have purpose.


Note: AADC News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of AADC News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to aromatic l-amino acid decarboxylase deficiency.

Leave a comment

Fill in the required fields to post. Your email address will not be published.