Refreshed doesn’t begin to describe how I feel after the weekend away. But I cannot tell you about it, unless I make a little confession.
I didn’t really deserve the break I had.
Because I’ve been bad. Haven’t lived up to my word. Slipped up for an entire week.
For pretty much all of last week was spent doing nothing. But. Vegetate.
Nothing. No work. No spectacular cooking. No blogging, even.
It was a strange week, and in retrospect, I think maybe I was temporarily abducted by aliens or something. Because I can’t seem to find a logical reason to explain how I went from Ms-Enthu-Cutlet one week to Ms-Leave-Me-Alone the next. All of last week was spent waking up every day with the utmost intention to finish work in the morning, so I have the day to chill as I please. Except somewhere between thought and action I’d get the order mixed up. Proceed with chilling — basically not getting out of bed for large spans of time, watching Grey’s Anatomy and Modern Family, sometimes reading, but otherwise staying online and mindlessly refreshing Twitter. Every 4 seconds — and effectively thwarting all plans to get any work done.
The internet, is an evil thing. And I need to cut back. Disconnect and stop being wired so much.
The only thing I did continue with utmost resolve, was exercise. And thank god for it, or I might have completely lost it. When Friday evening rolled by I had well and truly hit the doldrums as far as energy and motivation goes. I didn’t want to do anything, see anyone, cook anything, talk, watch, listen or be. I just wanted to sit my ass in bed and mope. For no particular reason (and it wasn’t even PMS!). Which is what I would have done, had the husband not come up with the genius plan of going away.
I was hesitant at first. Its a bit ludicrous for an unemployed person (who has just told you how she spent a whole week sitting at home, at that) to need a holiday. Plus I had a ton of work piled up thanks to aforementioned illegal amounts of procrastination and sitting-on-ass-ery. Going away would mean pushing my luck on my assignments. Some weekend chores needed to be looked into. The maid was on holiday and her substitute has no telephone — how would I inform her? Mundane, irrelevant concerns, as you can see. So I decided to forget it all, and for a change, just go without a plan. And boy am I glad I did.
Because I came back last evening, with a backpack full of laundry to be done, a ton of work that miraculously didn’t grow while I was away, and a house that missed a maid three days in a row and desperately needed cleaning. But more importantly, I came back four shades darker, sozzled on sun-sea-sand-and-sussegad and with a brand new pair of cobalt wayfarers. Cheapy ones off the beach course.
I came back refreshed.
We drove southward, found a shack, had a long relaxed lunch and decided to stay in the adjoining beach huts, instead of finding another place to stay. I must say that the huts here were very basic. I used to be able to really rough things out, but I’ve noticed this change in recent times, and these huts were even more basic than I would have opted for. Literally a rickety hut, with a bed, attached loo with a dinky shower and a pot. I also realised that our lets-not-plan-anything mode had put us in a bit of a pickle. Because I had neatly packed 4 towels (what, it was a beach trip and you can never have too many towels!), extra scrunchies (for if I wet the one in my hair), clips and kajal (for if we were to suddenly go out clubbing), undies and clothes, but promptly forgotten our toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap and other such essentials. Of course the hut didn’t come with a little toilet kit consisting of shower gel, a comb, a spare toothbrush and what not. I was lucky we had some hot water! So we began by going out to buy some basics and then spent the evening walking on the beach, stopping every now and then to sit and watch the sun go down.
Closer to dinner time we chanced upon a new Greek shack, and were lured in by the sound of cocktails. We might have had one too many LongIsland Iced Teas and Mojitos, because by the time dinner (souvlaki with herbed potatoes, salad and tzatziki!) was done and we were hatching plans to go party, the husband began to yawn and wilt beside me. So while he went head and crashed, I sat up reading in our little hut to the sound of some surprisingly good (and obscure) electronica from our shack. There was a football match on, and a bunch of boisterous old topless English men were bringing the roof down. The next morning we woke up with a plan to have a late breakfast and head home.
Staying right on the beach has numerous advantages, many of which I have forgotten since it has been years since I holidayed in Goa. You get to wake up early and hit the beach before the crowds do. And you get to see pristine sands, the waves swelling high and not a soul in sight. Except for the odd health conscious tourist jogging by.
Bliss. Really. Cue: more staring out to sea.
After a massive breakfast that consisted of pancakes, fresh fruit and honey for the husband and a mushroom and ham omelet for me, chased with three cups of adrak chai, a couple of hours of extended staring into space, punctuated by refreshingly cool dips in the sea, our plans to head out before lunch faded away into nothingness. The beach was slowly but surely coming to life and I was as excited to be staring the hell out of bare-bottomed babies splashing around in the sea, as I was to be leching at some surfer boys flaunting their washboard abs. Of course we didn’t leave as planned.
A late lunch was had, and we were finally compelled to say good bye and head home closer to 4 pm, to make it back home with time to spare to have dinner and get a long nights sleep before the week began. I now have a theory that the awesome-est getaways are those that are unplanned, have no agenda, set itinerary and where decisions get made without much contemplation. Because what that gave us was two days of extreme relaxation. So relaxed I didn’t even read as much as I planned to. All I did was sit back, stretch my feet out and stare at the sea. For hours on end. When I wasn’t doing that, I was swimming, or talking to the husband a-dime-a-dozen, making him wish I had my nose embedded in my book, like he did.
So yes, the weekend seems to have shaken things up for me. It made me realise that I need to get out of the house more often. I tend to get so comfortable and happy in my own space that sometimes weeks pass before I venture out and do something. Many days of that had sort of pushed me into a jaded corner, and the weekend away has changed that.
I woke up earlier than usual, with the intent to work. And work, I did. In fifth gear, doing much more than I planned to get done. Also got the house back in order, and chores done. It seems all I needed was a slight change of scene.
Much fun was had. Much chilling was experienced. Much laughter was indulged in. Much vivid conversation was had. And many big plans were hatched. But most of all, much repose, relaxation and amusement later, I decided to stop wondering about the future, and do this at least once every couple of months.
There are times when you need a nice long break, cut off from the world, take off to a different continent maybe. And then there are times when you don’t need anything more than a quick short painless getaway. Throw a bunch of things in a bag, drive away, come back in day. It doesn’t take much. But lord, it sometimes hits the spot harder than an elaborate and extravagant holiday can.