Travel & Hotspots

and then it was vacation in our own country again

by Adeline Mans

When this screeching heat is on its way back (I now think I will never be cold again), then I will really enjoy it for a bit. I mean in the coconut-sand-cocktail kind of way. Last year I had the same plan, super relaxed booking a last-minute trip to the sunny side. My flip-flops and I were ready, all summer outfits in beach mode and the closet was full of Lancaster factor thirty. But then, then autumn showed up in August and all those sunny destinations were snatched away from my white nose. If I found something, I would send it for his second opinion, it was approved, I clicked to book: GONE. Or a thousand more expensive in five minutes, yeah right. And do you know where I was on vacation? On a sailboat in the North Sea, the sailing suit zipped up to my crown. It was about fifteen degrees and the heating had to be on at night. Hey, I had time off and a tan that the Riviera can't compete with, but where did my lazy beach vacation go?

I say somewhat quasi that I find it delightful to book at the very last minute, but is that really the case? I recently found out that I am becoming famous for my vacation antics. Our Annick from sales asked where the trip was going. I think I looked a bit caught, because she said: ‘Oh, not booked yet, right?’ And then you have to start scratching behind your ear softly. May books after the Christmas dinner for the summer, because that anticipation is so nice. You should have seen my face, the bottom half of my mouth dropped open to my knee. With k-k-Christmas? Ooh my, I’m doing something wrong. And do you know why? I suffer from cognitive dissonance when it comes to my vacation.

May books after the Christmas dinner for the summer, because that anticipation is so nice

September. Just after the big migration to the south, when the coast was literally safe, we were going to roll ourselves into the Sicilian life. But it was actually quite handy if I could still be at work that day. And that project of his, well. What a luck that we hadn’t booked yet, then we’ll postpone it. No problemo under the sun. October. Those first two weeks were ours, I could already taste the basil and olive oil on the mozzarella. But is it still a bit warm at the beginning of October in Sicily? At least fifteen degrees. The maximum temperature became an acute blur, because imagine if there were again only fifteen degrees on my pale skin. Yes, but last year it was thirty in the autumn. I am a clingy swan for bad weather, so the line went through the Italian island. Lanzarote. That’s nice, right? A bit touristy, but then we book through Eliza and you’re far from the crowd and go left where the rest goes right. Wouldn’t it be eerily quiet there? I want to chill on the terrace and occasionally try another restaurant. And you have to see something on such an island. Right? Then let’s have a vacation where I can legally import fifteen books and it’s okay that your Insta feed bursts at the seams with blue water and white sand. Curaçao, the Caribbean, of course. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? The online tips poured in and it had to be Jan Thiel Bay, because that’s where it’s happening. The search engine sighed under my search terms and puffed out our dream vacation. Aiii. Sweet, did you really want to visit our friends in Dubai this winter? Yes? And back to Lanzarote or maybe Malta, I also want to go there.

I am a clingy swan for bad weather, so the line went through the Italian island

It’s official, I have the biggest luxury problem on earth. If I book one, I’m terrified that the other will be much sunnier, happier, or more joyful. And then my vacation is to the moon. Not that they send me a card saying that there’s much more sun, peace, and tranquility there. But that feeling only goes away when I awkwardly laugh at a coconut at my destination. It’s a struggle, that choosing. And where is your trip going? Because maybe I’ll book that after my Christmas dinner this year. I can also try that anticipation.