Holidays are for losers.

Holiday.

The word rolls off the tongue in a somewhat odd accent conjuring up images of overweight English people in Spain eating greasy food while their open pores scream dehydration and sunburn.

I haven't been on holiday in a long time. I've been travelling or visiting friends abroad. How utterly pretentious of me.

I took a holiday this time. Ten days where I intended to do nothing but think about my next meal and talk to people about all things that have nothing to do with teaching.
It worked. I done it!
I was terrified of going away and realising that not only had my favourite places in said holidaying country had changed but that the short time I was going to spend there would mean that I wouldn't just be flying and sleeping alone but that I would spend all of my time in a single-girl-travelling bubble that involved no one but the Turkish author who's book I'm reading.

I was wrong. I know, me wrong. That nearly never happens.

I went here for six days.

My ugly feet...

I met people there, a French guy that lives there for four months a year and walks up and down the beach finding shells without even really looking, a French Canadian couple that kicked ass at answering trivia questions. An Israeli couple so kind it made me nearly close to uncomfortable..

I headed to the city, I won't lie, I was not happy to leave my hammock.  

I got to Bangkok in a haze of beach thoughts, and slightly scaly from the sunburn endured. A rush of communication and miscommunication ensued and I arrived at the building that my cousin's friend lives in. 

The building. 

Not the flat, just the building. 

Half an hour later and I've talked my way in (G-d knows how). The small blonde girl turns out to be about 5'10 and my small sandy feet collapse as I see the luxury of a Bangkok volunteer's flat. They had a bar, a bar!

Before I knew what happened there were scandalous earlobe jokes and a pink plastic French bulldog and squishy plastic poo and a watch that doesn't just tell you it's party time, but actually makes the party and vodka with lime and a cab driver who thinks the prime minister is "handsome, smart, polite, and nice" and a dance festival and a lot of dancing, a lot.

The night ended with a repeat of earlobe jokes, and a hijacking of someone else's bed, and Slash quotes(?!) (apparently everything that's in the book is stuff that he thinks is true.) That was fun, a little too much fun. Who the hell wants to go home after that?

So that's the problem with holidaying. It's just not as long as travelling.

I am never going on holiday again.

D