I Go On Holiday Without My Husband And That's Just Fine With Us

One man's holiday is his wife's nightmare, so why not take a solo vacay?

Let me start by saying: Hello darling, I love you. Here's a fridge magnet I got you in Turin.

Okay good.

I go on holiday without my husband quite often. Like once a year.

He and I go on holiday together too, don't get me wrong. But I also really like heading somewhere by myself.

Without him.

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Whenever I announce my intention to go somewhere -- most recently Italy and Switzerland to eat some truffles and write some travel stories -- friends will ask if my husband is coming along too. And I will say no. And then they will look at me like, "what the?"

Like this.

Errrry. Single. Time.

Guess what,  I go to the cinema alone a lot, too. Does that make me a bad person? I'm saving him from many a rom-com so I think it's more an act of charity, personally.

Look, I get that some people don't understand why I like heading off alone, but I have long written about travel, and for years I've jetted around solo because of that. I've kind of gotten used to what that gives me -- just a little break from everything. Good and bad. Work. Chores. Cat. Aldi. Sydney buses.

And my solo adventures give him the chance to have a break. We both get a whole bed. And full access to the remote.

Sometimes he goes on holiday without me, too. He went to Norway last year and hiked up a glacier. To me that sounds like torture, but hey, I got a postcard and a fridge magnet. I often go to the Eurovision Song Contest. The thought of that can make him physically ill. Swings and roundabouts, right?

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Look, don't get me wrong. When we go on holidays together we have an amazing time. And we look forward to those trips together. It's a chance for us to go somewhere we're both interested in, see things we both want to see, hang out together and have fun. In February we went to Russia, we saw amazing art, drank vodka, tried on ridiculous hats.

But we also have some VERY different interests that can't really gel in the one vacation.

This trip, for example,  I can guarantee he wouldn't have been as focussed on the truffles as I was  -- he's far less of a pig than I am.

As I said, he likes to hike. I can barely climb up a hill. Recently on a trip to Tasmania, I agreed to go on a walk with him. He thought he had misheard me. Hilarity ensued.

He skis. I apres only.

He likes the wilderness. I like shops. Of which there are none in the wilderness so, like, why would you even bother?

I like to lie down. He is a doer.  I like a buffet breakfast. He can take or leave it.

I can wander through a city's "emerging retail district" for a day. He'd rather stick a fork in his eye.

I like a very specific kind of European pop music from time to time. He, I think we can safely say, thinks of listening to that as akin to water torture.

When it comes to our holidays, we're pretty happy with our arrangement. I don't want to walk up any hills. He doesn't want to dress in gold lame and dance to bad pop while eating the national dish of whichever country is holding Eurovision that year. Totally makes sense.

If we simply tried to keep one of us happy on a joint vacay, chances are the other one would end up pretty, well, bored. Or angry. Or hungry. Or both.