[A repeat from March 2, 2014] I like vacations. I just returned home from 10 days in the Caribbean (St. Barth’s to be precise). Every morning, I slept until 8:00. Or later. Got up. Sat on a recliner overlooking the ocean. Sipping coffee and lingering over my cereal and fruit. Some work on my laptop. Then, more coffee. A book. More coffee. A little exercise. Yawn. Stretch. And think about lunch. Lunch was around 1:30 to 2:00 pm. Usually a salad or something light. Bread and olive oil. Oh – and a large bowl of pommes frites. Looking out on the emerald waters and golden sands. Then back to the home we rented. To rest. Read. Some bridge. A little wine. And then we’d start thinking about dinner. Yawn.
That vacation was pretty special. It was not a “trip.” I’ve been on trips. And let me tell you. They are different. Where you have to get up at 6:00 a.m. Wolf down some breakfast and be at the bus at 7:30 a.m. Sharp. And then you drive on a bus with no bathroom for two hours to a place where you hike what seems like 20 miles to see a historical site. Then hike 20 miles back to the bus. Drive another hour where it’s time for lunch. “We have to finish lunch in half hour. We’re running late!” Lunch is lettuce, olives, grey meat and bread. We’re like Navy Seals in the “Crucible” in Coronado — devouring food on the fly and racing back to the boats. “Go go go go!!” More bus. Late dinner. Collapse. Alarm goes off at six a.m. Groundhog Day. . . . .
I like “trips.” There is a time and a place. And I’ve enjoyed most of the “trips” I’ve been on. But let me tell you something. “Vacations” are special. I’m always ready for another. Maybe next time with my Calloway X-20’s. . . . .