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| This will make more sense shortly |
But within
that broad church that is the gathering together of every available relation to
drink, and dance, and drink, and eat, and drink, there’re some niche
groupings. There’s the Family Holiday
Gathering, where no one goes anywhere exotic, they just converge on someone’s
home and start indiscriminately breaking things and fighting over bedding. There’s the Resort Family Crashing, where
everyone does go somewhere exotic to work on their cancer-baiting sunburn and
non-existent surfing skills, and 1 in 3 members decide what they really need is to do something stupidly
drastic to their hair. And let’s not
forget the Family Road Trip – 1 hour renditions of The Song That Never Ends, a
gradual tour of Australia’s ‘Big’ things and (on very special trips) a dog
vomiting in the back of the car.
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| I don't remember road trips looking like this |
After the
recent return of Mother and Father Painefull from a trip to Vanuatu with two of
their grandkids, I was reminded of another niche category that will always be
very close to my heart – the Parental Holiday.
The Parental Holiday comes with a Used By Date, it only really occurs
during the era when your age leads to discounted prices, or your poverty leads
to pity invitations. It’s just you, your
parents and the deep blue sea.
With no one
else to dilute the situation, all the potentially awkward encounters one could
hope for are amplified. Then
squared. Then made even more
entertaining. As with everything in
life, I have a personal top 3 for the purpose of illustration:
3. Backpacking
through New Zealand
It was 1997. I was too young and mum was too mature to
fully understand what backpacking really actually meant. It meant bunk beds with strangers, people
smoking pot out the back, and mum (as the only licensed person in the building,
and proud driver of a rental vehicle) being begged for lifts by the kind of individuals
that probably spent their spare time attending beat poetry revivals. To be fair, it only took one hostel for mum
to get the drift – we booked into B&B’s for the rest of the jaunt.
2. Lindeman
Island Club Med
2003. There was sun, surf, activities… and
compulsory communal meals with everyone staying at the resort on enforced group
tables. Fortunately, as a sullen
teenager who had only just tipped over the 18 mark, I wasn’t too picky with my
wines. I overcame my daily hangovers by
taking up archery. Because at Club Med
holding a weapon just makes things feel better.
Sample Highlight: Instead of befriending the only other teen my age, she
actually became my resort-based nemesis.
I don’t know why.
1. Croatia
In 2007 I
fully appreciated just how cool my parents are.
I think you need to be old enough to see them as more than just
purveyors of authority, punishment and snacks to understand that they really do
know how to have fun. When Mother and
Father Painefull caught up with me during my wandering year in the northern hemisphere
they were flexible, adventurous and hilarious (sometimes even on purpose). Sample Moment: Mum spent a great deal of time
discussing and negotiating over 2 glass paintings of roosters with a local man
in Rovinj. Except his English was
limited and the conversation went along the lines of:
Mother
Painefull: These are lovely – are paintings of roosters quite common around
here?
Man: (brief
quizzical look) Ah yes, the cock. The
cock is very common.
MP: There
seems to be quite a range…
Man: Yes,
the cock comes in many sizes and colours.
Sometimes it’s red, sometimes orange, sometimes there are 2 cocks. The cock is very popular.
MP: I want
one for me, and I wanted to get one for my daughter, perhaps a smaller one?
Man: We have
many sizes. Lots of cocks. Here’s a nice one. Would you like a larger one?
I don’t feel
like I really have to say anything else on the subject.
Painefull
Out
Cock a doodle does
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