The Optimistic Traveller

I used to be vehemently opposed to girls’ and couples’ trips. I was dubious they could be fun and predicted the eventuality of whispering at night about the other couple’s annoying ways or the bitch that couldn’t pay for her eggs without complaining that they hadn’t been cooked properly. Oh wait, that bitch is actually me.

But the older I get, the idea of travelling with other people becomes more appealing because I’ve gotten closer in my relationships, refusing to let go (sometimes to my detriment) of the comfort of known entities — or, more accurately, entities that ostensibly know me. There’s less necessity nowadays to explain or subvert my quirks. As for the idiosyncrasies of others, I have always been drawn to them. And I tend to think (irrationally) that my oddities will be equally appealing to those around me.

My first real “girls’ trip” (women’s wander? femmes-foray? ladies’ long weekend? I digress.) didn’t come to be until a few years ago when I was in my mid-forties. We chose Vegas, because, hey, what could possibly go wrong? It was October, honestly the perfect time to travel there, after the WSOP folks have mostly gone and the temperature is still nice enough to lay out by the pool. We were a hodgepodge of women who’d been expats simultaneously in Italy. One of the ladies was only an acquaintance through the others, but from what I could tell, all of them loved her, especially my closest friend in the group. Those two seemed like besties. Do we use that word after high school? I find that we do.

My husband located the apartment online for us, right next to the Bellagio, where I wanted to play poker and drink watermelon juice ‘til the cows came home. Manageably small, with occasional sightings of well-known players and significantly less grime than most casinos, both on the cards and the people, the Bellagio is my favorite place to play in the world – and I’ve played in many places in the world. If you’re not aware, it is also a beautiful hotel, with an entire space dedicated to fresh flower sculptures, myriad Dale Chihuly glass art, an incredible fountain show timed at intervals throughout the day, many compelling luxury stores (I’ve found Chanel on sale!), and incomparable dining and entertainment experiences.

The condo was very affordable and came with rooftop pool access nearby at the Cosmopolitan, another lovely high-end hotel.  It had three queen beds and a pull-out double sofa in the living room, so for six ladies, we had more than enough space. I was pleased with it, though some of the others seemed to find it bare-bones, and I imagined them expecting fluffed pillows and personal valets. It had a full kitchen, which I guess reads “make your own food” as opposed to “let someone else max out their card while you pretend to want to pay.” Anyway, I ignored the little sighs and grumbles and used my room savings to win big at poker and then buy expensive gelato (totally worth it!) and shoes at the Sarah Jessica Parker store that had recently opened (and, with all the others, has since shuttered).

We had some lovely meals and a great experience with the MJ Cirque du Soleil show at the also-gorgeous Mandalay Bay (the spectacle is, well, spectacular, regardless of how you should feel about pedophilia), my second time seeing it – though right before the show, as drinks flowed, one friend mentioned casually that she would forgive me if I had slept with her ex while they were married. For the record, I hadn’t and would never do that to a friend, regardless of how charming the guy was. I’ve made some mistakes in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever come close to making that kind of mistake. I value my friendships (male or female) above my limbs. I long ago took a silent vow to honor those friendships, hold trust — and — it must be noted — also to forgive silly drunken miscommunications. I couldn’t tell if this was just one of those, or if she was paranoid, trying to induce a confession so she could murder me in my sleep. Perhaps she was legitimately giving grace to anyone that would behave like such a C U Next Tuesday.

Earlier in the long weekend, several of the ladies came to cheer me on/observe me playing poker, even going so far as to take my picture like I was some kind of star. It felt good. But on this, our final night, the perceived assumption that I was a husband-stealing whore did wonders in diminishing the earlier good vibes. Still, I played well. After Cirque, apparently, drinks continued to flow as my poker chips did. Upon returning to the apartment, I came upon crying people, shut doors, and broken loose Hell. Best I could ascertain, previous friends were now enemies, current besties were well on their way to becoming worsties. I was somewhat implicated because I had relayed a couple of comments that I thought were innocent enough. The lesson learned was: keep Will Smith’s wife’s name out my fckin mouth. Or something like that.

But is that really the point of a female adventure? Surely we are supposed to reveal ourselves fully and be embraced for our imperfections, forgiven for our sins (at least those below “husband-stealing” on the internationally-recognized Sin Scale). Another lesson learned – choose them girls on your girls’ trip wisely. Please hear me. As subsequent experiences have reinforced this, location, interests, yes, obviously all are important. But don’t go on girls’ trips with girls you don’t actually want to spend time with. Of course, it may take a couple of girls’ trips to find that you don’t want to spend time with them. Sorry, but that’s the way the poker chip stack tumbles.

My first attempt at travel with another couple or family also happened when I was already well past my sell-by date, in my 40s. Okay, maybe I could still be sold, but at a clearance price only. The point is, this is education that perhaps should happen earlier in life, perhaps merely by reading a stellar travel blog like this one. Two couples and our young children shopping for ceramics in Vietri Sul Mare (better prices than in Deruta, and product just as timeless), then heading down to the ancient cave dwellings of Matera and other captivating parts of Puglia – on paper, it seemed ideal. And most of it was. We enjoyed our dinners and everflowing wine, as one does in Italy, and the conversations were easy and comfortable. We did notice some discrepancies in the husband’s explanations of phone distraction, discussing it in hushed tones in our room next door later that night, and maybe there were a couple of tense moments between the couple, but otherwise, everything was smooth like unfiltered extra virgin olive oil. (Ok, the best evoo should make your throat itch at first, so that’s arguably unsmooth. But I digress again.)

Just a few days after that trip, the husband’s affair was laid bare, the couple separated, and the two young daughters were forevermore torn between households on holidays. Should we have seen it coming and not travelled with them, thus preventing some of the anguish of witnessing the breakup nearly firsthand? Impossible to have foretold, and also, I wouldn’t have the beautiful platter and matching pasta bowls, and a funny line to reference when I think my husband’s spending too much time on his phone. It was definitely a better first try than the girls’ trip, and it gave us the confidence to take a few more couples’ trips in the 10 years since. Nothing record-breaking in length, everything done tentatively and with big smiles and the assumption that at least one bad thing will happen – that’s the trick. Keep your expectations low, and perhaps your friendships with the couples (even after they break up) and the girls (when they understand and forgive each other better) will benefit and blossom. 

They don’t call me the Optimistic Traveller for nothing.