The last trip I took to really relax was back in 2004. I went diving in Roatan, an island off of Honduras. We stayed in a little cabin overhanging the sea in a small natural bay. Every morning and afternoon we would take an hour and ride out to one reef or another, dive, then spend all those in-between hours lazing about, snorkeling, jumping on the water-borne trampoline (actually that was harder than it looked).
Anyways, the idea is that we stayed in what would qualify, despite being small, a “resort.” We were served 3 meals a day by staff, everything was prepaid, and we were free to let the caretakers take care of us.
Remarkably, that was 5 years ago, and it seems the trips I’ve taken since then have all been a blur of running for transportation, adventuring with my dietary choices, sleeping sans air conditioning, engaging in new, occasionally risky cultural experiences, and bargaining prices. Enriching, but not necessarily calming. For a citizen of NYC, it felt like more of the same.
For this year’s vacation I decided to eschew all of that for 10 days of plump, lazy, sun-warmed, water-cooled, ice-cream & butterflies relaxation. For these 10 days I chose Spain, because its a 1st world country, its beautiful, and I know someone who lives there, which means I can rely even less on my own effort – merely traipsing behind my host & guide, taking in the sights. If only I had a posse of Egyptian servants to hoist my chair high above the harsh, unforgiving sidewalk, then my self-indulgence could be complete.
Mallorca, Ibiza, Barcelona. All these places ring of long ocean-breeze scooter rides, afternoon champagne, and emotional delousing. I will take part in all these things. I will return refreshed, jovial. Stress will have drained so completely from my extremities that I will be able to flap my wings and fly over the chaos below. Pigeons will sing my name in harmony.
I leave in September.
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