The Unforgettable Trip
Sometimes, you prepare for a holiday as if it were a grand celebration: a group of friends, a sunny destination, promises of endless fun. Yet in reality, its one mishap after another. And still, its these very adventures that become the memories you cherish most.
Emily clenched her cocktail straw between her teeth, nearly snapping it in half out of sheer frustration. “Shouldve ordered something strongerdouble, straight away,” she thought bitterly, trying to tune out her friends endless complaints.
It had all started so perfectly. A silver wedding anniversary gift to herself and her husband: an exotic getaway, the ocean, luxury hotels, fine dining, leisurely strolls. Emily had already imagined herself picking out outfits and packing her bags when her husband, slightly tipsy among friends, suddenly suggested, “Why dont you join us? The more, the merrierand well split the costs for the car and guide.” Just like that, the tickets were booked, and there was no turning back.
Her husbands friend, Charles, a well-known art historian, was pleasant company. But his wife, Penelopethat was another matter. A woman raised in privilege, accustomed to restaurant terraces and resort life. After moving abroad, shed swiftly divorced, and her life since had become the stuff of legend. No one really knew how she earned her living, but she spun tales so captivating you couldnt help but listen.
Emily had met her nearly a decade ago. Penelope had taken her under her wing, dragging her to boutiques, insisting that no true Englishwomans life was complete without aged balsamic vinegar and Parma ham (“The magpies flock to my balcony every morningonly the finest ham will do”). Shed hauled Emily to the symphony, to Amsterdam for exhibitions, called daily, always “happening” to be nearby. But the longer Emily knew her, the more the inconsistencies piled up.
And nowtwo whole weeks together.
“I asked for still water, warm, and theyve brought me fizzy and cold again! I cant drink this!” Penelope wailed.
Emily gritted her teeth, silently apologising to her dentist.
The entire trip unfolded like this.
Their final hotel, overlooking the ocean, seemed like paradise. That morning, theyd set off cheerfully to visit the waterfalls. The path wound through dense woodland, across rickety rope bridges, with heavy walking sticks provided for balance.
“Oh, how could I wear white linen trousers? No one told me!” Penelope shrieked.
Emily marched ahead, refusing to look back. But the beauty of the lake beneath the falls made up for everything: misty mountains, birdsong, sapphire-winged butterflies. Emily plunged into the icy, crystal-clear water and, for a fleeting moment, found peace.
“Its impossible to swim here! The rocks are slippery!” Penelope declared loudly, scrambling out almost instantly. Yet moments later, she was posing in a bikini that left little to the imagination, demanding, “Take my picture! I need to send these to everyone.” Charles obliged, clicking away with resigned weariness.
The hot springs? Penelope wouldnt even undress. The zoo? “Ugh, the animals stink.”
But the restaurantthat was a spectacle unto itself. Ordering became an interrogation of the poor waitress: ribs without sauce? Grilled fish, but not that one, and not like that? Emily translated, her patience thinning. In the end, Penelope ordered meat, only to grimace and complain it was “too salty, too tough,” while simultaneously devouring everyone elses chips.
“Darling, maybe thats enough?” Charles ventured. “Youll want to look good in your swimsuit later.”
The withering glare she shot him was answer enough, followed by another handful of stolen fries.
The last day passed in a blur: Penelope suddenly announced she “couldnt stand potatoes” (after two weeks of chips), lunch was a symphony of grievances, and yet, the moment they landed, she was on the phone, announcing to half of London:
“Yes, were back in England. The luggage is delayed. Everyones cluelessonly Im sorting it all out!”
Emily tried not to react. Home awaited her with its own demands: her 92-year-old father, who would accept nothing but a thick, hearty stew “just like Gran used to make,” the laundry, work.
Their bags finally appeared after an hour and a half. They caught the train (though it was late), then a cab through the rain. But by then, Emily felt like a battle-hardened veteranpetty annoyances couldnt touch her.
The important thing was, they were home. Tomorrow would bring the dog, her father, the comforting rhythm of routine. And, blessedly, silenceno Penelope.
At least for a few days.
And here was the oddest part: now, Penelope and Charles raved to everyone about how it had been the holiday of a lifetime. How they dreamed of going back.
Emily smiled faintly, listening to their stories, and thought, “Well maybe it was worth enduring, if it brought someone so much joy.”
