Posted by Micol Ostow on Thursday, December 2, 2010
Try saying that out loud ten times fast! Or, er, I suppose you don't have to. But it might be less painful than dealing with all of the hassle that comes with hitting the road.
Don't get me wrong, I like to travel. Or rather, I like being in new and exciting places. But despite the thrill of heading for parts unknown (or sometimes, known, tried and true places), I'm a girl who loves her routines. Not only do I hate being disrupted from my deeply-ingrained habits, but I also physically dislike packing up my belongings and moving from point A to point B. I get nauseous in long car rides, and flights tend to give me migraines. You get the picture.
In part, I've got travel on the brain because the holiday season is just around the corner, and all of the jet-setting that it can entail. But actually, this evening my husband and I leave for a week-long Parisian vacation in honor of our one-year wedding anniversary!
I can't wait to be there, in France, with The Mister. But in my case, getting there is most definitely not half the fun. To that end, I thought I'd share a "too-real" tale of recent travel woe.
March, 2010. We were on our honeymoon. We took an extended walkabout, five weeks in Australia, Fiji, and Hawaii. And even with all of the planes, trains, and automobiles, I had a blast.
Except for that one day, eating, beachside, on glamorous Lizard Island in the Barrier Reef. The Mister and I were talking about possibly going for a hike the next morning, before the heat became too intense. The Barrier Reef, it gets hot.
So how, then, could we not partake in the fresh ice cream, homemade daily by the island chef?
It. Was. Hot.
(Also: ice cream. Come on.)
We couldn't resist.
I should have.
Believe it or not, I managed to chomp down on an especially icy clump of sorbet at exactly the wrong angle...re-chipping a bonded front tooth.
Okay, fine - it didn't hurt. And it wasn't some kind of ultra-dramatic break. But don't think I didn't smile close-mouthed only, until two days later, when we were back on the mainland, and in driving distance of a dentist.
Who breaks a tooth on their honeymoon, halfway around the world?
I do. I do. I. Freakin'. Do.
Like I say, it didn't hurt. But my ego was bruised, because the whole incident was so ridiculous. And who wants to spend a day of their honeymoon in the dentist's chair?
So please, indulge me, and spill your travel horror stories here! Misery loves company, and I'll be checking in remotely...from abroad!