Friday, October 8, 2010

Goin' on a summer 'olliday



This whole ‘getting paid by the hour’ thing is fucking with my travelling chi. What it means, for those of you who get paid leave, is that I not only have to save up for my holiday, I have to save up enough to cover the amount I’m losing by taking the leave. That’s a lot of saving for a simple week away in Moz or summink.

Truthfully, I’m aware that a lot of people don’t take holidays. They may take leave, but wont necessarily go away. Either because they don’t want to flood the coast with the rest of Joburg, or simply because they can’t afford it. Not that you have to. I am a hard advocate for some well-earned couch-potato time. I don’t think there’s much that’s more relaxing than being able to get up, shower, get back into pjs and spend the rest of the day reading. Or watching tele.


(Rhino Butt)

Other than getting away, of course. ‘Cause face it – we could do the lounging about thing on a weekend if we wanted to. Nothing’s quite as invigorating as leaving the city you’re in and completely displacing yourself. No work to take up your time or your mind space. No bills filling up your mailbox. Yet. No friends pushing you to get pissed every Friday and Saturday. Slash every night of said holiday. It’s just relaxing and detaching.

Which explains why people who shouldn’t really go on holiday (I.e. me) still make a point of doing it. Plus I really don’t want to become a jaded city person. It’s not like Jozi’s New York City with it’s “all you need” access, but it’s bustling and smelly and the same. And I need time in the bush. (Insert stupid joke here.)



I was raised going on “safari” holidays. We went to game lodges more than we went to the beach as a family. And I love it. I love that dry, midday heat and the smell of sage a lot more than the humid, clammy heat and sand sticking to my arse and finding its way into every orifice. I don’t dislike the sea by any means – love it – I just have my preferences. Call it a curse of familiarity. But I immediately power-down and zen out when my car enters big five territory. I don’t even mind waking up at 5am to catch a beautiful morning drive. (And you should know how I feel about sleep…) There’s always a yummy breakfast when you get back and plenty of nap time in the hot afternoons. There’s no TV, which I love. It’s another way of distancing yourself beautifully from your everyday hobbits. You just veg out. Literally sit on a day bed under some shade and stare at a dam or river bed. And if you really need amusement, you can read yourself into Nobel recognition. What more could you possibly want from a holiday?

I do like my ‘olliday’s, not necessarily in Majorcaaaaa.


(This is Majorcaaaaa)

The next issue is of course WHEN to go, WHEN. ‘Cause I really don’t feel like being taken for a ride by one of these:


(This is what accommodation and holiday people look like under their human-masks)

Scolding puppy says you will not judge me for putting up a face-dildo.

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