I read some stats recently that said women make nearly 80% of the holiday decisions, regardless of whom they are travelling with; that more than one in four women travel exclusively with other women; and that these two factors are driving the current boom in women-only tourism. Where travel is concerned, women hold the floor – which may explain why I am writing this in a holiday villa bedroom, wearing earplugs that claim to be suitable for working around aircraft engines, but are doing very little to drown out the sound of the drunk young women singing next door. It is 4pm.
I should probably mention that these young women are actually my friends from secondary school, and that this is our first “girls’ trip”. This hasn’t happened before, because we were either a) too broke, or b) so newly in a romance that we were still at the “holiday with him” rather than “holiday from him” stage. But this year we all turn 30, and we are determined to fulfil this sacred rite of passage.
Except it’s not quite a rite of passage when you’re doing it at this age… not really. It’s probably not as character-forming as, say, a gap year at 18, or the first holiday fling you had to leave behind. It’s not that you’re less adventurous; it’s just that the risks are now calculated, and better organised. If the ladies want an impromptu party it will still happen, but nibbles will be provided. No one is cancelling the spontaneous skinny dip in the lake, but we will agree to stay in for only 10 minutes in case someone catches a cold. Everyone will bring a first-aid kit.
I’m not saying there’s nothing significant to be gained from an adult girls’ trip. It is nice, very nice, to go somewhere far from your roles of employee, wife, mother, carer, and remember who you are. And there is something magical about being surrounded by women you trust: you feel safe, powerful, a little bit invincible.
This, I think, is why some women seem possessed on a hen do: it’s carnivalesque – the dressing-up, the costuming. For one night, you get to set aside your everyday circumstances and be someone else. A someone else of many. That might seem like an over-analysis of what is essentially Pam from accounts wearing a novelty dildo around her neck and puking in the bin, but what can I say? The universe moves in mysterious ways. As for me, I’m hoping this girls’ trip becomes something of a tradition. Where else will I practise my JLo rendition?
