We went a long, long way to relax, Nicole and I—halfway around the world. It was worth every one of the 12,038 outbound miles we flew. What did we do?
Almost nothing.
How did we decide?
“Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer,” advises author William S. Burroughs. We tested that hypothesis many times on our three-week odyssey into almost nothing. When to have dinner ... well, how about 20 minutes from now? Twenty-five? OK. Hunky-dory.
What to have? Let’s choose after the salad course.
What kind of body treatment?
“Surprise me.”
It was a real, honest-to-goodness ... vacation.
We had many nice dinners and a half-dozen sensational ones. I read three books. We viewed penguins bobbling about a South African beach. Had a dozen body treatments, went for judicious fresh-air walks (not hikes), and dallied in saunas, steam rooms, soaking tubs, and plunge pools.
Met some very cute English pygmy goats.
Lingered over really, really fine breakfasts.
Sat on a shaded veranda admiring scenic mountains.
Created a relaxation vacation-themed meme: “Is it nap time yet?”
It was so blissful that, ever since, I’ve been postulating fancy philosophical constructs in which to frame our memories so we can claim a metaphysical value proposition to go with the fiscal analysis.
It cost a lot, but let’s act like hedge fund managers and calculate ROI: We flew from San Francisco to London to Cape Town, near where we spent 10 days in the Franschhoek Valley. Then we reversed course to London for eight days, most of them spent at a historic spa resort in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Our long journey yielded three minutes of sheer relaxation for each mile traveled. Every relaxed minute cost about 30 cents. This includes sleep time, a much overlooked modern amenity despite heartfelt attempts to convince 21st-century humans that, to quote an old axiom, sleep is good medicine. Lack of it causes heart disease, depression, low immunity, and dementia, and probably dandruff, too, but that’s not why we left our little island farm north of Seattle and trekked all the way to the Franschhoek Valley, South Africa’s answer to Napa.
We just, well, did. That’s why.
It was a direct counter to today’s show-off “active” trips in which the expert digitized traveler spends hours doing yoga on a small rock in the middle of a waterfall on a vanishing glacier hoisting an India pale ale and documenting every downward dog on TikTok.
Nicole and I have spent much of our adult lives, separately and together, seeing the world in exotic circumstances. I’ve been to 68 countries; she has lost count. I’ve visited every single EU member country; Nicole is one of the few humans who has set foot on Pitcairn Island. She worked in the cruise industry for years; I’ve been a journalist for half a century. She rode a horse for four days across the slopes of Mount Etna; I drove a pickup truck 32 hours from Denver to Acapulco, resting just four hours along the way. I ate fried scorpions in Beijing; she plunged 20 feet into a pit of hot tropical mud in Colombia.
All of those adventures were by design. Our relaxing vacation was happenstance.
Our original plans were grandly expeditionary: Visit an ultra-luxe resort in Morocco’s Atlas Mountains, cruise the Nile River on a traditional dahabiya, spend a week at a health spa outside Tbilisi, Georgia, and wind up at a Dead Sea resort in Jordan. None of that happened. An earthquake leveled parts of Morocco; Nile cruises were sold out eight months in advance; the Georgia resort decided to close for three months of renovations; and Hamas turned the Middle East into a war zone.
So, as Mark Twain urged, “Do not put off till tomorrow what can just as easily be put off until day-after-tomorrow.” Who knows when we'll get to Morocco, Georgia, Jordan, and Egypt? Meanwhile, our Big Vacation may turn out to be the best of all.
Along the way, we learned that billionaires and aristocrats tend to do spiffy things with their money. Our Franschhoek lodging was at Mont Rochelle Estate, owned and operated by Richard Branson of Virgin Airlines fame. It’s a gloriously elegant 26-room lodge tucked into historic stucco winery buildings perched on a slope overlooking the town and valley. It has impeccable but comfy décor, first-class food, attentively professional staff, and no television or beer can in sight. Vines shade breeze-washed verandas. Dining room attendants took just one day to learn our breakfast order, which, in my case, qualifies as the best ever anywhere: eggs hollandaise with local farm-raised smoked trout. I had that eight days in a row. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Signature spa treatment: “Soul of Africa” body journey with marula oil.
Outside London, in Buckinghamshire not far from Windsor, the 18th century’s Duke of Marlborough built a deluxe hunting lodge, extensively landscaped the surrounding parkland, and rode for stags. It’s all now a suave hotel called the Langley. Our week here consisted of late afternoon suppers by the oak fire in the library/bar; numerous visits to the imperial-size spa, especially the sauna; quiet walks around the pond and through the oak woodlands; and consultations with the Langley’s two very quizzical pygmy goats. Again, the superlative staff quickly memorized our breakfast orders. First-class food. Signature spa treatment: Akwaterra massage, using heated ceramics rather than hot stones.
Many Americans seek relaxation in a staycation, but Nicole and I have a small farm—horses, dogs, a 10-acre hay meadow, and a half-acre garden and orchard. If we relax, it’s for minutes, not days, in between feeding beasts, mucking stalls, mowing grass, and pulling weeds. Hanging out by our private plunge pool at Mont Rochelle was an experience not remotely available at home.
Our one real vacation excursion, to the famous Betty’s Bay penguin beach southeast of Cape Town, was a pleasant day trip made ideal by the fact that we hired a driver and tour guide. We did not attempt to navigate the left-side-drive roads of South Africa. We never consulted a map or a GPS; the driver did. He told us charming phrases in Afrikaans and took us to the best seafood restaurant in Hermanus.
As for the penguins, they are cute as buttons; the meerkats of the avian world. They endearingly cock their heads into life, peering about as if they, too, are on a sightseeing trip, even though this is their home. We have a video to prove it, but it’s not posted online and never will be.
So you’ve waited a thousand words for my philosophical framework. Let’s pick teleology, explaining phenomena in terms of their purpose rather than their cause. The cause of our relaxation, do-nothing vacation was the collapse of our high-octane adventure plans. And the purpose was clear, in retrospect:
Almost nothing is worth almost everything. Give it a try someday.
