My husband Isaac and I have gone on a lot of vacations recently. Last week we cozied down in a cabin in upstate New York, hearing the chickadees flit through the fir trees, drinking cheap beers at decrepit dive bars and noting the luxury of perfectly visible green horizons. On Saturday, I announced we would be going for a private viewing of the Savage Beauty exhibition in London followed by afternoon tea at The Berkeley. Last night, citing a craving for spicy noodles, jewel-toned trees and air as wet and hot as bath water, we spent a blissful evening in Indonesia.
Of course we haven’t actually gone there. Not physically. But we definitely did in our heads.
Like many good and clever things, it all started out as a bit of a joke, a lazy bedtime conversation in that peaceful hollowed out moment between wake and sleep. “Let’s go on vacation” I had said, “where shall we go, you pick”. “Maine” he replied (I never knew he wanted to go to Maine). “We’re eating lobsters for lunch. We’ll buy more for dinner. You’re going to take them home to our cabin on the lake and make amazing lobster rolls and we’ll drink whiskey and I’ll read and you can watch reruns of those horrible Lifetime Shows you love. I’ll build a giant fire and refuse to move until it’s time to go home”. Wonderfully, we didn’t have to go home, though, because we both fell asleep. That night, I dreamt about running through countryside meadows where long grasses waved to the wind.
As embarrassingly new age/infantile/fully delusional as it sounds, I’ve come to really love our fantasy vacations. They are a lovely interlude to any day, and most welcome when, like most people in their 20s/early 30s/ actually just almost everyone in New York, you’re pretty much out of disposable cash after rent and have a monthly travel budget that will get you as far as a cab to Gowanus.
Of course, it would certainly be nice one day to be able to take a whole lot of proper luxurious holidays when the urge strikes us- I sense most vividly that the real Pina Coladas are a lot more refreshing than the imagined ones. But I’d still like to keep our fantasy trips going. They are so inexpensive, so immediate and so terribly convenient (that wonderful British oxymoron). Mainly, though, they remind me of how much I adore my favorite travel partner, whose companionship on journeys both real and imagined is always the most beautiful.
So this week, darling readers, as Winter’s grip loosens and daylight savings time summons us sleepily into the light, I'm recommending that you also take some time to take a fantasy vacation. Paris? Papua New Guinea? Peru? Immerse yourself completely. No passport required. Oh, the places you’ll go.