You know what’s a great feeling? Thinking you won’t like doing something, but doing it anyway only to discover that you were right all along.
Not that I have anything against being satisfyingly wrong. But when I realized a long time ago that going to a tropical resort was just not appealing, someone said, “You can’t say you don’t like it if you’ve never gone.”
I’m usually not the sort who will dismiss something because I think I won’t like it. I used to hate olives, then I made myself try them after a long time of staying away and now I love them. I never thought I’d like SpongeBob SquarePants and Matt practically begged me to watch it with him — now it’s one of the only scripted comedies that makes me laugh.
Food and television are easy fixes. You try it and don’t like it? Spit it out. You watch it and don’t like it? Bitch about how unfunny it is and switch the channel. A resort is a much more costly experiment.
Then, just days after Christmas, we had a good excuse: Matt’s friends were getting married.
On a resort.
In Panama.
My love of travel temporarily snuffed out the two major strikes of this trip — one being the resort factor, and the second being the proximity to the equator. (Being the freak of nature I obviously am, I’d pick snowy mountains over sandy beaches any day.)
Now I love R&R just as much as the next person. There are some nights when I can think of nothing better to do than curl up on the couch with a blanket and my new favourite games (currently LittleBigPlanet 2, for those keeping count). Paying money to fly to another continent, only to sit and sweat instead of exploring is not exactly my idea of a fun vacation.
But. But! Here was my chance to try something new, something different, and perhaps even prove myself wrong. Plus, there was an opportunity for day trips.
The first day or two of relaxation was fine and dandy. But the days quickly began to blur and you fall into an almost robotic resort routine that’s eerily reminiscent of the routine at home and work that so many people claim they want to escape. (Minus the work, of course.)
Sit. Relax. Eat. Sit. Relax some more. Read. Swim. Eat. Bake in the sun. Eat. Back to your room to relax from all the relaxing. Eat again. Drink. Party. Sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Matt commented one day: “Do you think the people who like going to resorts are people who hate their jobs?”
Maybe that’s not fair. I have plenty of friends (sans families of their own) who think resorts equal paradise. But I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t think of some people who probably fit Matt’s assumption.
Maybe we’re lucky. Lucky not to be stressed or harbour strong feelings of dislike for our jobs and hope that an all-inclusive resort will make everything go away, at least for a little while.
So, resorts aren’t for me and now I can say that with absolute certainty. But of course I have stories and pictures that will soon find a home here.
I still found my own way to have fun. But even if I hate the heat, even if I can’t swim and beaches hold no appeal, I couldn’t ignore the cool ocean waves lapping at my ankles, almost as if to say, “It’s not so bad here.”
And you know what? It really wasn’t.
