My vacations aren’t vacation. They’re Trips. They include museums, sightseeing, ancient monuments, foreign languages and little to no rest. I usually come back exhausted, not to mention jet-lagged. And since I’ve been freelance writing, they’ve not been true vacations. I’ve written in Morocco, Slovakia and France. I leave my day job behind but not my writing commitments. Even weekends aren’t for relaxing, they’re for catching up on all the writing work I don’t get to during weekday evenings.
My parents, on the other hand, know how to kick back and soak up the sun when they leave work behind. Tropical drinks, sandy beaches, and the hotter the better is their style. The day Brian and I were flying back from frigid Prague last winter my folks were headed south for fun in the sun. I had to wonder who was wiser, the girl who froze her way through Central Europe or the suntan-lotion toting parents.
I haven’t been on a beach vacation since my honeymoon 13 years ago. I guess I haven’t been on a real vacation since then. But I’m about to.
Under strict orders from my travel partner and mom to Do No Work, I’m bound for Jamaica, mon! My first time to the Caribbean, I’m going in the company of a woman who knows that you start the day at the swim-up bar with a Mudslide, because it tastes like coffee. I think I’m in good hands.
For five days we’ll lounge about in beach chairs, venturing out only for a pedicure, languorous dip in the pool or a bit of snorkeling. We’re staying at one of those places that includes everything in the price, so I foresee many mojitos as I re-introduce my office-worker-pale skin to the glories of the sun (with appropriate SPF of course). There are many magazines and cheesy books to be read, and I can do all the catching up with my mom that I need (despite our near-daily phone calls, there’s always more to talk about with your mom!).
Real vacation, here I come!