TWO INTO TWO DOES GO
Travelling families come in all shapes and sizes,
It’s human nature to want what other people have, to imagine that everyone else is having a better, easier, happier time. Although of course that’s just not true. But one thing I do know is that many people in long-term relationships romanticise about the fun their single friends are having, just as all the single ladies (and lads) look across at their couple contemporaries and imagine that their lives are an endless (not to mention perfect) first date.
And there’s something about travel that emphasises the divide between singles and couples which is why, during the holidays, I feel significantly more conscious that Theo and I are a family of two. When I watch more traditional family units on the move, two parents, a handful of kids, I sometimes feel wistful.
Am I missing out by not having another adult with whom to share the fun? To share the responsibility? To split the costs? And is Theo missing out by not having readymade playmates/ siblings to accompany us on our adventures?
Admittedly, with domestic travel, we often rustle up an extra child, a cousin or a friend but mostly it’s just me and him. Him and me. The two of us. Table pour deux, s’il vous plait.
Last January, Theo and I went to Vietnam for the summer holidays — I know, we’re very fortunate — and while making our preparations I felt that familiar nagging sensation that perhaps we’d have more fun in a bigger group. While investigating our options, my eye was caught by a company that offered tours for single parents. I started looking at itineraries — although I definitely did not want it to be like Tinder with kinder, which would just be totally wrong.
The more I thought about it, the more I thought it could be just the ticket, because every trip starts with a certain amount of trepidation. Will I be up to the job of navigating us safely through unfamiliar countries and protecting us from harm? But with a group and a guide, all those worries would melt away. I made a booking in heavy pencil for a 10-day tour, but decided to wait till the next day before paying the deposit. And thank goodness I didn’t cough up because, the following morning, refreshed, I realised that my self-consciousness about being a single mum on the move was about to see me splash out a large sum of money for a 10-day tour of Asia. Hello? If you can’t get by on a modest budget in that neck of the woods, and still have a fabulous time, you’re just not trying. As I cancelled the booking — apologising profusely to the consultant — I embraced the fact that there would just be two of us in Vietnam, as per usual.
The next thing I did, I made a same-same but different (infinitely better if you ask me) version of the trip, taking out the dreary stuff and inserting a few extras for experts, including an excellent trek in the mountains of Sapa and all for a fraction of the price of the tour.
Admittedly, I did wonder occasionally how our tour party was getting along without us when, one day we actually spotted the group we’d have been a part of in the lantern town of Hoi An. I’m convinced it was them as they all had matching bags with the tour company’s name emblazoned on them.
Oh the relief I felt as Theo and I zipped past them on our bicycles. Having just spent the morning in our most excellent pool, following our most fabulous breakfast, we were at that very moment riding through town in search of snakes. A charming young local chap was taking us on an adventure, he said he knew where there was a python we could admire and boy, it was a beauty. And all my previous jealousy dissipated as it dawned on me how much groovier it is to be a party of two when one of them is Theo and the other one is me.
Mostly it’s just me and him. Him and me. The two of us. Table pour deux, s’il vous plait.