Spring Break

Our holidays are usually spent in Australia. It was the whole point of the beach house, somewhere to return to, somewhere to plant roots and gain a sense of belonging. Our own little piece of Australia. We spent our first couple of years in Doha having staycations for Spring Break, there wasn’t enough time nor money to head home. For the past couple of years, thanks to G’s travel, we’ve grouped frequent flyer points and set off to foreign lands.  We chose iconic cities. Little travellers were photographed under towering landmarks, bedrooms now house $2 statues of The Eiffel Tower and Big Ben. And while we had a fabulous time, the pace was a little intense. When you’re on a one shot we won’t be doing this again kids holiday you tend to try and do it all, see everything.

Last year after a week of jackets, gloves and scarves. A week which involved miles of walking with little travellers who poked us in the eye just one too many times after insisting they hold the umbrella. Little travellers who stopped at every public toilet in the city of Paris. It was at the end of that week that G looked in my direction as we stood in the pouring rain and said “next year we’re going to beach, I don’t care where, but next year it’s the beach”.

We’ve teamed together with friends, a result of a few drinks at lunch and the joint desire to have a complete “do nothing” holiday. A new baby had them dreaming of afternoon naps, no cooking, and just staying put. For us it was the idea of a beach holiday where we didn’t cook a meal, or go through the dreaded pack up at the end. We’ve both found ourselves in the glorious scenario of a house which is even better than the website suggested. “I didn’t think it was possible” I said to G last night “But this is even better than I thought it would be.”

A staff of 5 including a chef who asks each evening what we think we might like to eat tomorrow. Fish is plucked from the ocean that morning and served with an accompanying sauce for lunch. The freshest of tropical fruits are peeled and cut, curries devoured, and I hear tonight there’s a chocolate soufflé coming our way – that’s after the evening beachside massage.

The children are in and out of the pool, there’s been cricket. This afternoon there may be badminton, or perhaps we’ll just continue to laze around with a book and a fresh lime juice.

That’s right. I have somehow walked into that dreamworld that appears in our minds somewhere between wiping up the breakfast crumbs and negotiating math homework. The moment that comes as  you’re picking up the dog poo in the backyard, the bubble appears above your head with the words take me away to a tropical paradise. 

Sri Lanka, you are just beautiful.

Re-entry could be very difficult.