As loyal readers know, DH and I are up to our eyeballs in debt renovating and retrofitting the Money Pit. We figure we have about $10,000 more to do over the next year and then we’ll be “done”. Until the kitchen addition. And digging down the basement. And refinishing the driveway. I don’t even want to talk about the roof.
But you get the picture. We have spent a lot of money this past year.
Normally we take a big trip to a fairly exotic destination every year and we alternate years when choosing a destination. Well, Europe wasn’t so exotic in my mind but we had to visit DH’s family (surprise) so in 2007 he got to pick. In 2008 we bought the Money Pit so our vacation consisted of going to, as my favourite cousin-in-law says, Puerto Backyardo. This year, we’ve both taken days here and there for reno-related things and I have a week left of vacation.
I’ve been badgering DH pretty much all year about going somewhere….somewhere in North America given that we’re renovating and in a lot of debt. He repeated his mantra of “we’re renovating, we have no money to travel, I don’t know what I’ll be doing work-wise yet” (he works for a major consulting company and is currently finishing off a project). So I let it go. Secretly I checked out Fibre Festival websites and was hoping to go to the one in Taos as I love New Mexico. Even Rhinebeck would be awesome. Ideally I’d love to go to South Africa as it’s my turn to pick a vacation destination and given the fact that it’s highly likely I’ll be knocked up next year and let’s face it, going on safari with a baby (or anyone under 10 at the very least) just isn’t going to happen. But I’m trying to be sensible and save money and be an adult so I’m only dreaming about Africa and South America and Asia. And diligently ignoring all the awesome deal emails the adventure travel companies are sending me!
So imagine my surprise when DH dropped a bomb on me last weekend and told me he wanted to go away for the month of August. He said he had no place in particular he wanted to see, he just wanted to get away. I should have been on my guard then but hindsight is always 20/20. We talked about going to South Africa or Peru or Argentina or Vietnam…somewhere cheap in the developing world where we’d get good value for our money. Especially since I’d have to take two of those weeks without pay. He shot down Morrocco and Mongolia. I said no to anywhere in Europe.
Last night I pressed him to pick a place, since August will be here before we know it and some of the places we are thinking about going to require shots and/or visas. He looked at me and suddenly, clear as day I knew what was coming. He suggested we go to his parents’ village in Greece for a week or so and then go to Turkey for the rest of the time. My jaw, figuratively, hit the floor.
So DH wants me to take unpaid leave to go to a village (for at least a week but probably two) where most people (including the relatives we’d be staying with) speak little or no english. The village where his family are farmers and thus tied to the farm and won’t be around to see us. The village where within 46 seconds after I set foot in it, all the crazy Greek ladies will descend and start hasselling me as to why I’m not pregnant (not that they would believe the truth even if I told them). The village where there is quite literally NOTHING to do. The village where there is no African wildlife, no Serengetti, no Buddhist temples, no markets where I can get custom made suits for next to nothing, no Maya ruins, no llamas and no yarn. The village where the most interesting thing to do is go to the Greek Orthodox church in the mountains – either by being hand raised up in a basket or by hiking up the ridiculously steep, vertigo inducing steps carved into the rocks ( DH knows I am terrified of heights and have poor depth perception). The village where I will want to poke my eyes out 47 seconds after I get there. Yes my friends, THAT is the village he wants me to go to. Sure I want to go to Turkey. And Athens. But not the village. And we can’t do one without the other.
So I told him no. No I’m not going. No he can’t make me. No I won’t go. No I’m not going to cave. No no no no NO! He’s trying to change my mind. I refuse to give in. I will meet him in Athens or I will meet him in Buenos Aires or Lima or Hannoi or Johannesburg. But I will not go to the village.