My partner and I have travel vows
Wanderlust, not marriage, is the basis of relationship
Our first trip was planned while we laid in bed reading. We were dating for only about nine months, but I was itching to get on a plane.
“Do you want to go to Norway?” I said to him, eager for a yes.
Wanderlust is my ultimate relationship requirement. Not marriage, not kids, but travel. If we can survive for two to three weeks abroad without killing each other, I believe we can survive almost anything.
My partner, Alex, and I, now in our late 20s, aren’t planning to get married any time soon, much to the dismay of my very Catholic, Hispanic family. And while I’m supporting my friends at their nuptials, I don’t want to follow the same path.
For me, waking up and saying yes to another day with the person next to me — even better if it’s in a new place — means more than an overpriced white dress, a ceremony and a big party.
We don’t take our commitment to each other lightly. We’ve formed a family with our two dogs and a mostly angry cat. And ever since that first trip together to Norway in 2012, we’ve made “travel vows,” pledging to travel abroad at least once a year.
We’ve been together for five years now and have been to 10 countries together. Throughout our travels, we’ve become closer as a couple and stronger as individuals. We’ve held our noses amid the overwhelming fish smells at Tokyo’s Tsukiji Market; we’ve cherished each other during better meals and through worse food poisoning; we’ve bargained for Moroccan rugs in Fez and been swindled on cab rides in Marrakesh; we’ve navigated pharmacies in Oslo and been stranded at a train station in Kyoto.
It hasn’t all been excitement and adventure: travel has a way of putting relationships to the test. The first time we got in an airplane together, we were giddy about landing in London. But once we arrived, our bags were nowhere to be found and our jackets — much needed on a cold fall afternoon — were in them. Alex, a smoker at the time, was restless after spending eight hours without a cigarette. (His nicotine patches were in our lost luggage.) Hunkered down at baggage claim, we yelled at each other and at airline workers.
But when you’re in an unfamiliar place and the only person you know is your travel companion, you lean on each other in unexpected ways. As we walked down the streets of London, holding hands, cold and without anything but each other to shelter us from the rain, part of me was glad that we were thrown headfirst into a challenge on our first stop. It forced honesty and problemsolving together, rather than just walking away.
We both hold full-time jobs with decent salaries and rent a house in downtown Atlanta. We are both on equal financial footing when it comes to our everyday budget and travelling. We try to keep our everyday costs low when we’re at home so we can put a significant amount toward our travel goal.
Friends and family often ask why we put travel above other, more “adult” goals, but each time we buy a plane ticket, we are renewing our vows to each other.