Summer Holidays.
The time of year we all crave. A chance to finally break free from the daily grind. Where having a pint at 5 in the morning suddenly becomes socially acceptable, as long as you can find a table at the always-packed airport Spoons.
Drinking cocktails all day? Totally expected. In fact, it would be rude not to. It’s all-inclusive after all. You might as well get your money’s worth.
There’s nothing quite like a poolside drink while baking in the sun, convincing yourself this is finally the week you’ll get through those books you’ve been “meaning to read” for the past five years.
If you’re anything like me, the planning starts months in advance. The minute I walk out of the travel agents, yes they still exist, I’m already thinking about outfits and searching for the latest travel hacks like it’s a competitive sport.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m one of those people who actively avoids children on holiday. I don’t have any, and while most of them are absolutely fine, I do like my peace and quiet.
One day, if I ever have a few little rugrats of my own, I’m sure I’ll look back and miss the adult-only holidays. I’ll probably dream of the days when I didn’t have to negotiate with a toddler about why pool water isn’t for drinking. But for now, I’m soaking up the bliss of a child-free environment.
The bonus? I get more flexibility with when I travel. I usually book once the schools are back, and honestly, that’s a blessing when it comes to prices. It also means fewer children at the airport and on the plane, which I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate.
That said, I’m not opposed to a little peek-a-boo with a toddler through the seat gaps. Sometimes it's nice to give the parents a tiny break from the endless “why” game. We all do our part.
Believe me, I really do have sympathy for the parents trying to herd their hyper children through the airport. It is probably akin to an Olympic sport, and definitely something I am not looking forward to attempting in the future. Hopefully, by the time I have to do it, time travel will be a thing.
Zap me up Scotty!
Airports. Eugh. Airports in general fill me with dread. A whole new level of anxiety kicks in the moment I step through the doors. Honestly, I think badges should be handed out at each stage.
Bag under the weight limit? That’s a win.
Boarding pass and passport still in hand? Small miracle.
You’ve made it past the entrance gates, where some poor elderly couple are arguing with the clearly marked “No Entry” sign. Classic.
Next up… security.
There’s no sugarcoating it. I hate security.
This is where my anxiety truly peaks.
I’m suddenly obsessed with following all the ridiculous rules. Electrics out, but not out out — just the bag open. Take off all metal, but leave your watch on until someone barks at you. Sometimes shoes come off, sometimes they don’t. Not too much in the tray, but fill it up anyway. As if the X-ray machine isn’t going to spot every single thing no matter what.
And don’t even think about asking a question. Absolutely not. One wrong move and you’ll be glared at like you’ve tried to smuggle a goat through customs.
Now I’m panicking.
Have I accidentally packed contraband? Impossible, considering I’m an overthinker who has checked everything a thousand times.
Will I be pulled aside?
What if my bones turned to metal in my sleep?
Oh no, they’re looking. It’s my turn.
Don’t look guilty. Don’t look guilty.
NEXT!
Really? That’s it? I’m done?
Now comes the Olympic sprint to get dressed again and collect the carefully packed belongings that are now scattered across three trays and half the conveyor belt. And good luck trying to get everything to fit back nicely like when you first packed it — it’s basically impossible.
Duty free next. Now, I have a rule — don’t go overboard. I allow myself a couple of things and that’s it.
First, one new perfume. I never bring any with me, so I get to choose a fresh holiday scent each time. Something that says relaxation and cocktails at 10am.
Next, the basics. Shampoo, conditioner and body wash. All travel-sized, of course, to avoid any unfortunate leaks onto my carefully packed holiday clothes.
And finally, a small bag of sweeties. Essential for take-off. Helps with the ear popping and gives you something to focus on other than the fact you’re about to be launched into the sky in a giant metal tube.
Then there’s the rush to the gate. You’ve been hanging around for ages, nibbled on some overpriced snacks, maybe nearly nodded off in an uncomfortable chair — and then suddenly, the stampede begins. Pushing and shoving, everyone desperate to get to the front of the line.
The irony? It doesn’t actually matter where you are in the queue. The plane isn’t leaving until every last person is on board. Still, chaos must ensue.
Of course, your boarding pass gets checked for the hundredth time. Never mind that it was already scanned at security and again at duty free. I’d genuinely love to meet the person who somehow managed to sneak past every checkpoint, buy a massive Toblerone from duty free, and casually stroll onto the plane with no pass. That’s the real travel influencer right there.
And with that, we’re off. Our final destination awaits. The holiday we’ve been craving.
All the stress, all the anxiety, all the build-up — totally worth it for the next week and a half in the sun.
Because believe me, as much as I hate airports and everything that comes with them, you just can’t beat a good holiday. New adventures. New sights to see. New cultures to immerse yourself in. And hey, it’s not all bad.
Oh wait. I forgot about passport control...
NOOOOOOO.
How do you handle airport craziness? Got any funny holiday memories? Let us know in the comments below!
Sincerely,
Catherine
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