“So did you swim in the pool?’ my friend asked with narrowed eyes, as if trying to catch me out, on my return from a recent holiday.
“Yep” I said, airily. I was lying.
“And the sea?”
“Yes,” (that was true – I went in. Once). “It was heaven”.
I may have been smiling but what I was thinking was: who are you, the holiday police? And yes, indeed she is. At this time of year I’m surrounded by them.
When it comes to holidays, so many people seem to have a view on the way I spend my time.
Here’s an admission that no one will have any sympathy for at all but which is my – genuine – struggle nonetheless; I really do not enjoy holidays that revolve around sunshine, beaches, swimming, boats, and seafood.
Perhaps you are already feeling slight pity at such a sad admission, almost certainly mingled with some judgment. You may even be part of the holiday police too.
Because for reasons I don’t quite understand, it seems that when it comes to certain pursuits – namely, those which are commonly assumed to be universally enjoyable – the people that do enjoy them often feel morally superior to those who don’t. In fact they think, I have come to understand, that they are right. And that the poor saddos who don’t enjoy the same things are wrong.
square LIFESTYLE Five indoor activities everyone should do over summer (without feeling guilty)
Read More
Before I go on: yes, I know that I must check my privilege in having tested this intolerance of mine so many times over many summers and countless holidays on Greek islands and other parts of the Med.
But, after returning from a recent week in Mallorca, where the 35 degree sunshine beat down relentlessly, the ocean was as warm as a bath, the bikini-clad island vibes could not have been more care-free – and my struggle was real – I have been reflecting on all the reasons that I find some holidays difficult.
The nub of the issue is that I have extremely pale skin that burns to a blistered frazzle within minutes of sun exposure and also tends toward unsightly heat rash. Over time this has made me cautious and risk-averse – quite the opposite of care-free island vibes.
But also I dislike the feeling – and hours-long legacy – of salty, sandy skin way more than I enjoy the short sea swim that produces it. Swimming pools make my hair dry and frizzy and, if the water is chlorinated, green, OK? That is why I avoid them.
There’s yet another buzz-kill affliction: I am prone to motion sickness which makes fun boat trips more of an endurance test.
And, while I am at it, a confession: I’m slightly squeamish about seafood – especially served whole and intact (I sound like a child, I know, but I don’t like the bones, the dead eyes looking at me, or the smell on my fingers). My heart slightly sinks when fellow holiday makers enthuse about the local seafood restaurant we must visit. Must we?
I am also, I have concluded, at a fundamental disadvantage having grown up literally never going on holiday to anywhere other than frigid British beaches or the Yorkshire moors, apart from Jersey (once) and Brittany (once). So stripping all my clothes off and wandering freely around in a pair of pants, or boldly changing into a bikini on the beach with only a beach towel to protect the modesty (Who cares?! Me! I care!), the whole… exposure aspect of holidaying somewhere hot simply does not come naturally to me.
Meanwhile, the friends I am often on holiday with are cut from different cloth: free-spirited, olive-skinned and tan-prone exhibitionists who don’t care about nudity and grew up island-hopping in the Med. Obviously, they simply cannot get enough of all of the above. And, they – along with the rest of the world – are agog that anyone might feel differently.
This contrast often induces the double-down effect of making me feel prim and slightly uptight; a divide that tends to become more pronounced as the week goes on and they sink even more into their “holiday hair, don’t care!’ persona.
Over the years I have tried to be more like them by ignoring my various afflictions. The results are always bad: third degree sunburns (several times). Pounding, violent sea sickness. Once – and never again – I went for a pre-holiday spray tan that left me looking like a baked bean, while the tan slowly and very patchily disappeared each day as I sat beside Lake Garda too scared to go into the water for fear of being stared at for what looked like a nasty skin condition.
Slowly, with the passage of time, I have had no choice but to accept my lot. And – obviously – it could be worse. Still, what tends to happen on holidays is that I have more time than I would like to sit on the sidelines, under an umbrella (if I’m lucky; sometimes it’s just a sun hat and an unwanted-attention-grabbing scarf draped over my whole body) watching others cavort happily as their tans deepen and I slowly realise, no matter how many measures I have put in place to avoid this feeling, that I am “bad at holidays”. There is nothing like sitting alone in the shade watching other people have all the fun to make you really, fervently, wish that you were just a bit more relaxed. And less pale.
Getting burned so easily also makes me the inevitable Debbie Downer of the group: “No, sorry I can’t go jet-skiing or snorkelling or play beach volleyball or scoot around the island on a Vespa because I’ll have to check in to A&E this evening or just lie slathered with cooling moisturiser for two days”.
You are probably wondering why I continue to go on hot holidays abroad when it’s all so… hard (I know I know: poor me).
The answer is that as well as having a sun-focused friend group, my husband is part-lizard when it comes to sun worship, and tans like a Greek fisherman within seconds. And my son loves nothing more than snorkelling in the sea, swimming in the pool and generally scuffing about on beaches, barefoot in the sun.
Also if I want to go away with my friends, which I do, my desire to see them always eclipses my awareness of this inevitable predicament on arrival. Plus, their fanatical insistence on sun, sea and sand has overridden my more sensible suggestions over the years of Iceland, Switzerland or Prague. After all, who on earth in their right mind would choose to go there in the summer when you can roam around barefoot in a kaftan instead?
But while, after several decades of holiday experimentation, I have more or less accepted the reality of my limitations, my biggest revelation from my recent post-holiday reflection is that – as if my burden was not heavy enough – there is this additional layer to my holiday struggle that makes it even harder. And that is the fact that so many people feel wholly justified in openly scorning the way I choose to spend my time abroad.
And actually that is the real burden: the blow of realising that I’m missing out on things that more or less the entire world considers to be heaven on earth is bad, yes. But being roundly condemned and even pitied for what lots of people clearly view as a character flaw is so much worse!
Hence then, the article about i secretly hate my sunny family holidays was published today ( ) and is available on inews ( Middle East ) The editorial team at PressBee has edited and verified it, and it may have been modified, fully republished, or quoted. You can read and follow the updates of this news or article from its original source.
Read More Details
Finally We wish PressBee provided you with enough information of ( I secretly hate my sunny family holidays )
Also on site :
- Timothee Chalamet Shows Subtle Support for Girlfriend Kylie Jenner
- From collapse fears to resilience: How Russia reshaped its economy by the end of 2025
- Russian MOD shows map of Ukrainian drone attack on Putin’s residence