I went out for a meal with friends last week and knew exactly what I was going to order before I even got to the restaurant. Not because I had been before, but because I had already studied the menu online before I left work. When it came to ordering, there was much dithering from three of my friends, but a fourth knew immediately that she’d have the cauliflower shawarma. “I looked at the menu earlier today,” she said proudly, “I couldn’t resist.” I felt a warm wave of complicity. A fellow planner.
We are in the peak booking months for the summer holidays, yet many of you won’t even have turned your thoughts to Easter. I, however, am already wondering if the booking period for sleeper trains to Scotland on December 23 is open. And mulling over February half-term 2021.
It’s not so much about prices escalating — but boy, do they escalate. I get genuine pleasure from researching every element of my trip, right down to the last cappuccino. And thanks to the recent proliferation of travel-booking and travel-inspo websites, not to mention my Instagram feed, my desire for a meticulously planned holiday is constantly refuelled.
To me, a large part of the wonder of travel is imagining it all in advance — projecting yourself into that piazza, a steaming bowl of Rome’s best cacio e pepe in front of you. In fact, avoiding disappointment is what it is all about. On my first trip to the eternal city, I took a chance on a touristy restaurant next to the Trevi Fountain. Rookie error: the spaghetti napoli definitely came out of a tin. That was it, I decided at the time, leaving things to chance was henceforth a thing of the past.
Some of you will be nodding in approval. The rest will either be thinking that I’m a total control freak or killjoy, because where is the fun in knowing exactly where you are staying or eating or visiting? Surely it is better to wander down that narrow alley, following that unctuous oniony smell until you reach that perfect pavement trattoria that turns out to make its own spaghetti. But how often does that actually happen?
In any relationship, there is usually a planner and a non-planner. I am married to a confirmed non-planner. This inevitably leads to a lot of those “can we just discuss dates for moment?” discussions, which I usually attempt on long car journeys, where the non-planner is captive. After 15 years together, I have given up trying to lure my husband into my camp. I know that I will do the booking of flights, ferries and hotels. But with that, I am also inevitably the one who gets to curate our trips — which has its perks. I know now not to over-plan, as that is just stressful for everyone: “We need to get out of the pool now and get to the cathedral crypt before midday, kids, as our lunch reservation is at 12.30 and the restaurant closes at two”. And of course planning can go wrong — (“Scusa signore, but on your menu three months ago, it said you had cacio e pepe . . . ”).
It is not necessarily a gendered divide. I know several couples where the man is the keeper of the holiday plans, and the woman is quite happy to leave him to it. Somehow I always warm to the planners — kindred spirits — and I have never been more delighted than when I found out that my new deputy on FT Globetrotter was assembling a Google doc of every element of her road-trip to Scotland. Confirmation of a very good hire.
At the other end of the scale are French friends of ours from Normandy, who literally do not plan their holidays. The two of them and their three children pack for a week of warm weather, get into their car, and point it wherever the mood takes them. This could mean a long drive to the south of France, or it could mean the Alps, or perhaps a lake somewhere in la France profonde. No hotels are booked in advance — they just turn up, analogue-style, and ask if there is any room at the inn.
For every 10 plates of tinned spaghetti, there’s a perfect flat white. It’s a difficult ratio to swallow
This is, of course, easier if you live in a country with easy access to good weather. Yet their open-mindedness never ceases to amaze me.
My husband recently took a business trip to Utah. The day before, I asked him where he was staying. He didn’t know. I suggested that he search some blogs about cool places to eat, or nice cocktail bars. But instead, he took the Normandy approach. Waking early, he stumbled out of his hotel and walked down Main Street, and eventually came across a hipster café that wasn’t open yet. He knocked on the door and they unlocked it for him. In the dawn light, he had the best flat white and granola he has ever had in his life.
For every 10 tinned spaghetti napolis, there must be a perfect flat white. It is a difficult ratio to swallow. Nevertheless, this year I am going to try to leave things a little more to serendipity. Although I might just book that December sleeper train first.
Are you a planner or an improviser? Tell us your stories below
Rebecca Rose is editor of FT Globetrotter, the FT’s new series of insider city guides launched recently. To celebrate, all FT Globetrotter is free to read until February 26. ft.com/globetrotter
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