Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Happier Valentine’s Day than this!

By Moristotle

Unhappy Valentines: romantic holiday disasters” [various, Guardian, February 11]. Few things conjure up the idea of romance like an exotic trip with a partner, though the reality can be excruciatingly different, as these writers discovered....:
Hitting rock bottom. In 2004 I went on a two-week group holiday with some friends to Sidari in Greece. They were all couples and I was the only singleton so felt a bit left out. When I met a hot Greek waiter called Spiros (you couldn’t make this stereotype up!) on the third night, I fell for his charms and muscly arms. He was blonde, blue-eyed and very cute....

There were three in the bed. I proposed in Angkor Wat at dawn on my girlfriend’s birthday. We decided to celebrate by going on an early – pre-marriage – honeymoon to Luang Prabang. We’d save on the airfares if we did it now, I argued....

Sicily with the wrong bra. My new husband and I flew to Palermo for our long-saved-for, eagerly anticipated honeymoon. I had packed extra carefully, with specially purchased box-fresh clothes and all those treasured and irreplaceable items (best bra, effortlessly flattering dress, most reliable shoes).
    You guessed it: my suitcase never arrived....

Grim death in Tuscany. We wanted to get away from it all on our first trip abroad, so booked what looked like an idyllic cottage near a national park in Tuscany. We drove up tiny roads into the mountains, where the views were sensational, the evening lit by fireflies. Then we spotted our hideaway....

Blame the queen of hearts. It was 1997, the year Princess Diana died. I know that because her death was the reason for a big row on the first night of our “romantic” island holiday....

You’ve heard of Nordic noir. As a honeymoon destination, Bergen, gateway to the fjords, sounded idyllic. We imagined a place where trolls frolicked in waterfalls, and we would feast on cinnamon buns. The reality was more like a wet week(end) in Wigan....

Whatever happened to baby Jane?. June. It was hot and we’d just left school, so a gang of us bussed and hitched to Anglesey, invaded a Benllech campsite and spent two joyous weeks jumping off sea cliffs, boozing and chasing girls. I was particularly smitten with a local lass called Jane; my mate liked her friend Julia. I was in love....

Miles apart in Portugal. My fiance Michele and I met up in Lisbon to get over a rocky year living apart, but the holiday felt doomed from the start. On our first evening, we wandered in a daze of mutual misunderstanding through the city’s Barrio Alto. We stumbled into a Casa do Fado, where a black-shawled singer was performing fado, Portugal’s heartbreaking folk music. It was probably a bad omen....

Great ‘crack’ in the Caribbean. Picture a young couple, high on love, life and the adventure of eloping. That was my wife and me as we arrived at our beach bungalow under the Caribbean sun in Grenada. So far, so magical until, one evening, walking back to our bungalow, yours truly remembered that he still hadn’t carried his bride across the threshold. To much giggling from my lovely bride, I threw her over my shoulder. Harrison Ford has nothing on me. The thing about throwing people over your shoulder, though, is that....

A fine Rome-ance. Rome could not have looked more romantic: the roads were quiet, the Colosseum and the Forum were illuminated on our bus ride from airport to hotel in the early hours. The half-a-day’s wait in the departure lounge was behind us. It would be the perfect weekend for me to propose. Romance would reign....

A sting in the tale. Sicily, 2010. A swimming holiday. I had been misty-eyed over a slightly sporty colleague. We had moved on to flirting, and summer plans. His joining me on my holiday filled me with quiet hope....

La dolce vita with a sour taste. A Roman holiday. It was supposed to be a surprise 40th birthday present for my boyfriend, but....

An ill-advised ‘joint’ venture. My boyfriend and I booked an 11-night make-or-break holiday in Agadir, intending to base ourselves at the hotel but travel around to see Marrakech and Essaouira....

Death on the Nile. A cruise on the Nile sounded romantic and exciting. My new partner was separated and I was his first girlfriend since the split. His nine-year-old daughter back at home was not impressed, nor was the ex-wife, particularly when he told them of our impending trip. All started well as we pulled out of Luxor and began steaming down the river....

Greek tragedy. I was 19 and head over heels in love with my university boyfriend, who was 21. We got a last-minute holiday to Greece. Just the two of us, in the hot Greek sun, no one and nothing to invade the bubble of our mutual obsession. Until the first day....

A weekend with a kleptomaniac. I met James when he was in my home town visiting friends. We hit it off and he invited me to come and visit him for the weekend in Auckland. On the first day he stole a postcard from a gift shop. Then we had lunch at a fish market and two glasses of wine mysteriously appeared on our tray. It got progressively worse. We went grocery shopping and afterwards he opened his coat and stuffed inside were brie cheese, gourmet chocolates, grapes and other items....

A ‘short cut’ back to Avignon. Avignon, 2011, our first holiday. We peered at the map from the bicycle-hire shop. Even a low-skilled map reader like me could see there was insufficient detail. I gazed at A, admiring his confident sense of direction. We wobbled on ill-fitting bicycles to Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Free samples of it. Everywhere. It grew dark. Time to go back....[read more]
Moristotle appreciates receiving the link to The Guardian

1 comment:

  1. Thanks to my correspondent who brought the Guardian article to my attention!

    ReplyDelete