(inspired by Breakfast TV seen whilst sweating at the gym)
I have a romantic view of travelling with family and friends. I regularly get excited and throw into conversation “we should do that together!” I even have this fantasy that if I won millions of dollars in the lottery I would pay for family and friends to travel somewhere exotic (it used to be a chateau in France or a villa in Italy, but more recently it is Ulusaba in South Africa), and we’d all have a wonderful time together. My sister and her husband like to sail, and they have plans to someday sail around the coast of Croatia. “Take us, that would be fantastic!” I cry, forgetting that my sister and I, after a few days, need to have space between us so that we can remain good friends and loving siblings, forgetting that I’m a bit of a wimp and the idea of sailing in big waves terrifies me, forgetting that I would find a small yacht claustrophobic, and forgetting that I have been prone to seasickness. I’ve made rash suggestions of travelling together with a friend who, after only an evening together usually leaves me working hard to resist the urge to scream. And I’ve frequently suggested leisurely, extended-family Christmas holidays with families who would surely drive me nuts in about one day flat.
It is only when the initial enthusiasm wears off that rationality sets in, and I shake my head at the lucky escape we’ve all had. Travelling can be stressful, and if someone annoys you at home, then they’re going to annoy you in parts exotic. But I do recommend having a travelling companion if you can. I’ve travelled a lot on my own. Whilst the solitude can be wonderful, it can be lonely, especially when you want to laugh, cry, or share your wonder with another human being. Or need someone with you if something goes wrong. After over ten years of business travel on my own though, I do like solo air travel. There’s something about going into a little bubble on the plane or in the lounge, and having 12 or 30 hours completely and utterly to myself.
But choosing a travel companion is not easy. Travelling for work with other people is usually not too difficult. There are scheduled meetings and hotels and few decisions need to be made, other than whether to have a drink after work or not. Relaxing with colleagues can also show a very different (and usually more interesting) side than when we’re all official in the office or on email. But that business relationship also means that there is usually a degree of consideration and appropriate level of formality or distance that makes a travel experience easier.
Travelling for pleasure can be however be very different, and paradoxically can be very stressful. I’ve seen women, who would never go shopping with their husbands at home, drag their husbands endlessly around the clothes and shoe stores in Florence or Sydney, and I know men who insist on dragging their wives around WWII battlefields, when said wife would rather be in a nearby vineyard or reading a book. I’ve been with someone who spends an interminable time at museums or galleries, oblivious to the frustration of those who are patiently – or not so patiently – waiting. I’ve heard horror stories of travel companions who either refuse to stop at all for food, or who insist on stopping too frequently. Travelling with someone on a very different budget, very different interests or tastes, or very different fitness levels, can also be difficult. And then there are those who never have an opinion, only to end up complaining about the decision they forced their companion to make. And don’t get me started on obsessively-compulsively-tidy travel companions.
My husband is my main travel companion. Our first long trip together was a lesson in compromise, as we found that our basic travel instincts are in fact quite different. He is a morning person, I most decidedly am NOT. He likes to be active, I like to wander, or relax and soak up the atmosphere. He’ll pick any restaurant, the quieter the better. I feel self-conscious if we’re not surrounded by other diners. He likes practical stuff, I like the aesthetics. But over the last twenty years or so, he has learned to enjoy people-watching, and sleeping in occasionally on holiday. I have learned to get up early occasionally, or to set off sight-seeing when I’m tired and just want to sit in a cafe with a glass of wine or a coffee. We compromise. I loved the history and story of Pompeii; he loved the details (such as the tethering holes in the ancient stone curbs). I saw a Picasso exhibition in the National Gallery in Washington DC; he went to a military exhibition on the Mall. I shopped in London; he went to a science museum. I loved Baux de Provence for the views and beautiful village; he loved it because of the caves and armaments.
Complementary skills are also useful. I’m a good navigator; my husband is a good driver – even on the wrong side of the road. He has an excellent spatial memory, and can always find his way back to the hotel even without a map. I turn the wrong way out of the lift. He’s hopeless at languages, but I like them, and usually teach myself a smattering of the local language so that we can get a hotel, a table at a restaurant, and avoid ordering something hideous from the menu. I’m the researcher, because I obsess over it before we leave. He helps plan where to go and what to do each day. When we travel, we make sure there something for both of us to love. We know too that we don’t have to be joined at the hip all the time. Compromise is the name of the game. In fact, we now travel so well together that most of the time we don’t even realise we are compromising.
In the last few years I haven’t done nearly as much business travel, but have branched out and enjoyed some European adventures with first my sister-in-law, and then another friend. We had never spent so long in each other’s company before, but found that we relaxed and shared and compromised. W introduced me to the joys of walking on the Cinque Terre; I introduced F to art galleries and Michelin-recommended restaurants. W and I shared the driving and the navigating, and we both enjoyed pottering through the jewellery shops; F drove superbly and I navigated superbly, and we both enjoyed the daily treat from the chocolateries. They know the art of compromise and pleasure, and I’d travel with both of them again. In fact, I will soon.
I fantasize about traveling with other folks, too, people I like. But I know I shouldn’t. I need to be in charge.
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This is utterly wise. Traveling IS stressful (and wonderful)—but compatibility is rare. And it’s good to think about certain things in advance, as you’ve pointed out.
My favorite line: “In fact, we now travel so well together that most of the time we don’t even realise we are compromising.”
A wonderful post.
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Yes indeed, a wonderful post. And in case you ever do win the lottery, I would like to state that I am a wonderful travelling companion. Really.
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Great advice — and so true. I’m not a very good travel companion. I like to be in charge too much. (Bridgett — we would not travel together well — but maybe I’d sit back and let you be in charge on our New Zealand trip)
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Helen, I believe you. And I’ll call you WHEN I win the lottery!
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