Abigail’s and Judd’s inclination (compulsion?) to carefully and minutely plan vacations is one I share to some degree. I have done my time as Fun Manager on family vacations with young children, and indeed, fun was had. But some of my most memorable trips have been those over which I had almost no control.
One was a trip to a wedding on Venezuela’s Margarita Island. This was in the 2010s, a time when the country was falling apart but it was still possible, with careful planning — by someone else, in this case the Venezuelan groom — for Americans and other tourists to visit. The groom provided my family with an escort for safety. In Caracas, where we spent one night in each direction, we were told we could not leave our hotel; all we saw of the city was what rushed by the windows of our hired van from the airport. On the island, reached by a short flight, we could walk to and from the beach — but not after dark. We were advised to dine at the hotel, and the lack of choice in the matter was in itself a little vacation. Our escort/tour guide drove us around the island to see the sights. It was glorious to be told what to do — “Be ready at 9 a.m. for a tour of the mountains” — and have our decisions made for us. A peculiar thing for a bossy perfectionist to say? Not really, when you think about it.
Another was a trip to California’s Wine Country with my in-law family. The hotel, the meals, the chauffeured trips to wineries — everything was planned by someone other than me. Not having to make decisions in sunlit, wine-drenched Sonoma: that was luxury.
But the pinnacle of unplanned-by-me vacations is a benefit of having adult children who live in beautiful places — and like to show their parents around. Our older son has shepherded us around Israel, taking us to falafel joints in Tel Aviv, down alleys in Jerusalem’s Old City, through ruins in the Galilee, and up to the Golan Heights. “You’ll love this [village/view/hummus place/food truck by the side of the road],” he says, and we believe him, and happily follow his lead. Our younger son lives in Portland, Ore. “Where are you taking us today?” is how the vacations go. He’s driven us into the Columbia River Gorge, up Mount Hood, and along the spectacular coast. I savor the rewards of parenting as the abdication of the parental role, as our child steers us, literally, to stunning spots.
“Where are we having dinner tonight?” we ask. No research required. That’s what I call fun.