I Want To Go To Real Lands
Recently it was suggested that we take all four kids on an all-inclusive, resort-style holiday. You know the type … as much food and drink as you can consume, water parks that operate at the decibel level of a rock concert, kids’ clubs promising hours of “free time” for parents, and evening entertainment involving a lot of sequins and enthusiasm.
Families love them. Truly. Friends come back glowing, clutching wristbands like war medals, raving about how brilliant it was not to think about a thing. Just sun loungers, cocktails on tap, and the happy chaos of children being entertained by people in polo shirts.
And yet I cannot bring myself to want it.
Disneyland, Legoland, “InsertLandHere” … none of it holds the slightest appeal for me. I don’t want a land manufactured to look like fun. I want to go to real lands. Places where the pavements are cracked, the bread is fresh, and the air smells of something you can’t quite place. I want the kids to hear another language, see another culture, taste something they can’t pronounce.
At the risk of sounding ungrateful, ten thousand pounds for a week of poolside bingo and buffet pasta feels less like a holiday and more like a hostage situation. For that same amount, I can imagine a series of mini breaks … little adventures in cities and towns where we’d soak up history, people-watch in cafés, and discover parks where children play not because they’re paid to, but because that’s just what children do.
But there’s a question that nags at me … am I depriving my kids? Are they missing out on a rite of passage? Should they have the experience of unlimited slushies and foam parties, so they can compare notes with their classmates and declare that the cheese and tomato pizza “wasn’t as good as home”?
Maybe … Or maybe what they’ll remember instead are the trips where we got lost in winding streets, where they tasted gelato that melted too fast in the sun, where we stayed somewhere small and family-run and watched local life unfold from our window.
I want my children to see that travel isn’t just consumption with a wristband, it’s culture, connection, and curiosity.
Of course, there are moments when the idea of lying still by a pool with zero responsibilities does sound heavenly. But then I think of the bill, and the plastic bracelets, and the fact I’d end up trapped at karaoke night listening to ‘Sweet Caroline’ for the 14th time … and I know, we’re not an all-inclusive family.
We’re a real lands family.
And if one day the kids want the other version, they’ll go and discover it for themselves. Hopefully they’ll come home grateful for both kinds of holidays … the easy ones, and the ones where they saw something real.
What about you?
Are you a “sun lounger and slushie” person or a “get lost in the back streets” type? …. I’d love to know.
Karen xx