One of the true pleasures in life is that point during one’s vacation when nothingness becomes not only a reality, but something for which to strive. By nothingness I’m speaking strictly in the scheduling sense. That is, assuming the objective of one’s vacation is some good old R&R, it is not just OK but probably encouraged for that vacationer to keep the schedule as blank a slate as possible. And so I awoke bright and early today – 4 AM to be exact, thank you jetlag – and took a moment to revel in the notion that I had absolutely nothing to do today. Knowing that my biggest decisions would revolve around where to set up our leisurely camp for the day and what to order from the cheery wait staff is an incredibly liberating experience. And now, as I sit with my laptop looking out onto the ocean from the comfy confines of the Sala Resort in Phuket, I’m grappling with the question of how early is too early to begin imbibing when on vacation. It’s 9 AM local time, which sounds about right for a Bloody Mary. It’ll probably come with an extra kick, this being Thailand and all, which is just fine by me. The bottom line is I want a drink. And because I’m American, make it fast since we all know that patience isn’t necessarily a national virtue.
Speaking of national character, I like to observe the behavior of folks from different countries when on vacations like this one. There must be a saying somewhere that ties the way one relaxes to their truest selves. If there isn’t such a saying, let the record show that there should be one. I’ve noticed that Western Europeans are pretty laid back. In addition to making Lizzi and me feel paler than Casper the Friendly Ghost, they do a wonderful job of enjoying their vacation. You can just see it. They like to eat, drink, swim, and be merry. Maybe they’re so good at vacation because they get lots of practice, to which I say good on them. Plus, they’re very secure with their bodies and happily don the most unflattering of swimwear as proof. Again I say good on them. They enjoy downtime the way it should be enjoyed, and we can all learn a little something from that. In fact, I’ve found their approach to leisure somewhat infectious. A guy was enjoying a cigar at a table behind us last night while sipping on champagne with his wife. Rather than getting annoyed at the stench wafting our way, I instead smiled at the realization that he was European, which made it all OK. At least in my book it did. And Lizzi was actually compelled to say that she enjoyed the smell of his cigar, which is an olfactory impossibility as far as she’s concerned. Thusly, I can only conclude that she too had her senses manipulated by the fact that it was a European smoking that cigar and no one else.
I’ve also had occasion to observe my fair share of Russians. This is a stoic lot, rarely exhibiting any form of emotion or sound. Conversations seem to be largely comprised of long moments of silence punctuated by periodic grunts and piercing stares of indifference. And these people can put down food with the best of them, evidenced by the gorgefest I witnessed this morning at breakfast as well as the beach ball some Russian men carry in their stomachs. No he’s not dressing his toast with a glop of butter the size of a trifold wallet! Yes, yes he is. And he’s got an extra three plates of lard that await his expert hand. I’ve heard that some cultures in the world place a social premium on the chub. In China, for example, a round belly signifies wealth. And the wife of a skinny man in Italy is shunned as a bad cook. There must be a similar phenomenon at work in Russia.
With all this talk about weight, I must say that the Europeans wear their fat well. Back home in the U.S., fat tends to roll off in various parts – over the waist, under the arms, beneath the chin. But Europeans appear to be much better proportioned. The fat simply appears to be more evenly distributed. And their skin looks more inelastic than ours, making it less accommodating to the fat itself, offering it little place to go. So instead of the skin giving way to the excess lard, the skin of Europeans seems to be pulled tighter as if it is designed specifically to keep the fat from breaking loose. It’s kind of like an armor that keeps the fat in.
I had this romantic notion to jog on the beach this morning. And I did just that…as the sun came up no less. I’ve heard that jogging on sand is much more challenging than on solid ground, something with which I’m now in total agreement. It’s particularly hard to gain traction as the sand melts away beneath each step, which no doubt requires more exertion from the muscles. And the fact that our beach lies at a bit of an angle makes things even more awkward for the joints. Nonetheless, I enjoyed my early-morning jaunt. I had fun dancing to avoid the water as it washed up the shore (after all, there are fish in that there ocean), and the sound of the waves crashing behind me sometimes made it feel like I was being chased by some intimidating force of nature. Every little bit of motivation helps when on the jogging trail to be sure.
As usual, my thoughts wandered as I ran. Among the things I pondered was the fact that non-Americans refer to vacation as holiday. Around this time of year, I’m peppered with questions from associates of the international variety asking if I’ll be taking any holiday. I resisted the urge to adopt the vernacular at first, insisting in my mind that a holiday must exist to celebrate something. But I now realize that this leisurely activity we call vacation is indeed a celebration of sorts. It’s celebrating our ability to take a step back from the day-to-day grind and slow things down a bit. It’s a time to stop and appreciate the little things, a time to reward one’s hard work with a well-earned respite, a time to put away the Blackberry (though I confess to the occasional peek) and reconnect with all that is dear.
I just saw a woman pass by performing the slowest form of running I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think it was possible to create a happy medium between fast walking and jogging, but she’s apparently managed such a feat. Ahhh…the joys of holiday.
