And so it ends. The Guest Series and our tour of Morocco. However, having learned our lesson on many other action/attraction- packed trips, we have scheduled three relaxing days in a luxury riad before we return to the inevitable crap weather than has descended over London.
To be honest, it will take me three days to make sense of our luggage after two weeks of quickly stuffing clothes and shopping into backpacks with no chance to take stock. I wouldn’t be surprised if I find I have left a pair of undies air-drying in a bathroom somewhere. These three days will also allow me to panic about our return without the distraction of incredible vistas and unmissable experiences.
While Emily likes to stay home and Petite plans for every scenario, I panic about the return. Not in a I-don’t-want-to-leave way, although that is part of it. But in a there-is-so-much-to-do-when-I-get-home way. I tend to check out of holiday about three days to the end. I don’t sweat the leaving for the vacation too much (oaky that’s a blatant lie, I’ll blow past it). I expect the flight to be hell on earth and am pleasantly surprised when it is anything else. But as the return approaches, Reluctant Housewife begins to fret about the to-do list that will spontaneously manifest by the simple act of returning home.
Pete is the complete opposite. He lives in the moment. He doesn’t get excited to leave until we are on the plane. He goes through the motions of ordering money and gathering documents, but the act of packing seems almost an afterthought to him. I, of course, have had lists and intricate laundry schedules going for two weeks leading up to the holiday.
However, Pete’s aloofness is enviably while we are actually on holiday. He goes with it. His influence has allowed me to let go a bit and go with it as well. Until three days to the end. He has yet to figure out a way to get me from thinking about the return. He doesn’t worry about the return until the moment we hoist our bags onto our backs at the baggage carousel and are heading for the train/tube/bus/cab that will take us home. I stand by my claim that we are our best team while travelling, and part of that may be that we know our roles and play them well.
So, while I pack and repack for the next three days and Pete roams the streets of Marrakesh un-accosted (if we are anywhere in the vicinity of ‘swarthy’ populations, Pete is mistaken as a local. This has served us well in the past) I will be thinking of the lovely ladies (and gentleman) that kept you entertained these past two weeks.
Much thanks to all my guest writers and readers. I hope you will stick around.