I quit! Belatedly, I’ve decided to join the “great resignation” and the “lie-flat” movement, dropping out, refusing to participate in petty bourgeois capitalism. No, I haven’t quit my job or quit washing my clothes. I have simply quit . . . going on vacation.
Before COVID-19 hit in March 2020, I was a workaholic about my vacations. In 2019, I went to London, Paris, Lyon, Turin, Milan and London again.
If you told me back then that I wouldn’t get on a plane for going on three years now, I would’ve been disbelieving. Spend three sticky summers in Manhattan? Spend Christmas at the foldout kitchen-slash-living-room table? No Eurostar, no Louvre, no snacks on the balcony at Aperol Spritz world headquarters overlooking the Duomo (definitely worth doing, by the way)?
Theoretically, we could have gone somewhere this August. Other people appear to be doing it. But . . .
It’s expensive. The pandemic made me into a miser. We used to spend how much? Nah, we can stick to sitting in the kitchen-slash-living-room. It doesn’t help that everything costs more.
It’s a hassle. I don’t long to be among the people searching fruitlessly for their luggage or waiting in a nine-hour-long line at Heathrow after paying a third more for a ticket than I would’ve paid three years ago.
There’s always that moment when you wake up at 4 a.m. the day you’re starting your long trip after packing ’til 1 a.m. and briefly think, hmm, wouldn’t it be a nicer vacation to sleep in today instead? Just pretend you have to race for that plane today — and enjoy not doing it.
It’s hard work, even for lazy been-there-done-that sit-at-the-hotel-bar-instead-of-going-out tourists like me. Tourists are