The vacation that wasn’t

When you are in a relationship you learn to compromise. There are, of course, different levels of compromise. Some compromises are tiny, like where you go out for dinner or who cleans the hamster cage, other compromises are a bit bigger, e.g. who pays what bills and who cleans the bathroom. For A and me, one of the biggest compromises we had to make, was vacation.

A’s perfect vacation includes eating and sleeping and sleeping and eating and that is about it. It doesn’t even include sitting at the beach and sunbathing, or sight seeing or anything else, that I view as normal. A literally just wants to sleep and eat and eat and sleep. An eat-cation and a sleep.cation. It’s nerve wrecking, for me anyways. Because my vacation always have an element of surprise and activity and as A bluntly puts it “an element of death”.

So we learned to compromise. Every year A and I plan two kinds of vacations. I plan the trips that include as many as adrenaline rising and cold sweat on your back moments as possible (A also refers as my vacations as neck-breaking and fearing-for-your-life vacations), while A plans trips that end up in belly rubbing and as many being-too-full-to-move-moments as he possibly can (often also followed by a much needed shopping spree because we cannot fit in our pants anymore).

Don’t believe me? Last year we went to Italy, for our wedding, eating and sleeping and sleeping and eating on our terrace in Sorrento (and who planned that one? And yes, A was the wedding planner…).  A little bit later last year we went to Iceland swimming beneath two tectonic plates (guess whose idea that was). But sometimes our planned vacations don’t go as expected. In an attempt of planning a trip together, we planned our honeymoon in Lijiang where anything that could go wrong, would go horribly wrong. We barely survived that one (foodwise and activitywise).

But after a much needed vacation break, we went to Stavanger back in May, where I got my fill of crazy vacation. After hiking up Preikestolen A refused to speak to me until he got enough to eat to make him like me again. I know, that seems ridiculous, but love does travel through the stomach. So, since he went along with my trip, I had to go along with his trip, and eat until I can’t eat anymore. So a couple weeks ago we headed to Vilnius in Lithuania.

Weeks before A had worked out a plan, that did not include a workout in any way. Here is what the actual schedule looked like (I know! Who schedules his meals?):

Vilnius schedule

Vilnius schedule

So, I knew that that weekend was going to be a whole lot of eating and not doing anything else. A’s enthusiasm was astonishing. I have never in my life seen a single person being so excited about planning a trip that included so many different food options. Leading up to the trip, every day he would send me countless emails about all different kinds of places that he wanted to try out, all the while I was thinking to myself: better bring my comfy pants, I mean the extra large comfy pants that only come out during Thanksgiving.

Early on Friday morning we were good spirits and super excited (also, I feel obligated to tell you, that I just had gotten my new GoPro previous to this trip and was playing around with my camera, which didn’t always result in the best pictures):

At the airport, waiting for take-off

At the airport, waiting for take-off

A couple hours later we landed safely in Vilnius and were greeted by the best weather a tourist could wish for. It was warm and sunny and lovely. We took a minibus to the city center and walked the few hundred meters to our Airbnb (if you need a recommendation, our host was the greatest ever and her place was amazing!).

After settling in, A was ready to go and get his eating on:

A at the first restaurant!

A at the first restaurant!

After the first food-stop we did a bit of sightseeing in Vilnius (not too much though, because that was not on the plan!)

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A beautiful church, inside and out!

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No selfiesticks here.

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And the beautiful city center

After walking around for about 15 minutes, A rushed me to the next restaurant, which was actually a bar in a cellar. And this is where everything went horribly wrong, well, for me anyways.

Me, pre-incident

Me, pre-incident

So A ordered some real Lithuanian live-beer and a snack on the side (because we didn’t eat enough at the first restaurant, apparently), while I had a strawberry beer. We sat down at a table in the back and waited for the snack and on the table there was this bowl of seeds. And for what ever reason, I figured I try one. Now bear in mind, I am used to having peanuts served at bars, not that those are any better, just think about how many people put their hands in those bowls without washing their hands. But for some odd reason, my brain just stopped working and I figured, I just try one and see what the seeds tasted like.

My brainfart moment.

My brainfart moment.

I just had to follow my curiousity and follow my instincts. My mom always said, one day this will come back to haunt me… A shot this lovely picture of me trying ONE single seed. After I swallowed it (it didn’t taste like anything, in case you were wondering), A casually mentioned that he thought that these seeds were either decoration or an ashtray. By the horror in my eyes he realized that I had eaten one of them. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m sure you’re fine”.

About 90 minutes later everything went down south. At that moment we were at a different restaurant (surprise!) and A had ordered three gigantic plates of Lithuanian food. We waited for quite some time before we received our meals. But as soon as the very nice and friendly waitress put down our orders, my face went white. I had troubles keeping down “what little” I have indulged in earlier.

This meal seemed to last forever and quite honestly, this is exactly what I think torture feels like, although undeniably much more pleasant, I guess. Thankfully, after that meal, A felt like we had eaten enough that day and he allowed us to stroll home slowly.

A stopping to take a touristy selfie

A stopping to take a touristy selfie

That night I woke up about 14 times with a hangover feeling and an extremely painful stomach. Additionally I was fearing the morning, when A was ready to go eat breakfast. The cold sweat was forming on my forehead. All night long I was feverishly talking to myself, hoping A would not ask me to eat anything. The sheer thought of food sent my body off in shivers. Even regular water tasted horrible to me. I just could not bear the thought of eating anything.

But, being on vacation, I forced myself to get ready the next morning and to have an enjoyable meal with A, but I found quickly out, that I could not leave the house or the bed for that matter. So I stayed in, all day, and I slept (after all that was the second part of A’s vacation, right?) Poor A had to go out by himself and eat by himself, something he does all the time when he is on business and something he hates doing, especially when we are together. And believe me, I would have rather had tea with him than being sick in bed:

A cup of  coffee

A cup of coffee

Needless to say, that I did not leave the apartment for the entire day, I simply couldn’t. I wanted to, but any time I tried to get up, my entire being just refused. All I ate that day were 3 pieces of pasta that send me into a state of delirium. The worst part, however, was that A couldn’t do any of the things he desperately wanted to do: eat (I did enough sleeping for two people). Well, he could, obviously, because he is not so stupid and follows every stupid impulse one might have, but eating alone, is just not the same, I am sure you can agree.

Thankfully later on that day I felt better, not well enough to eat though. The thought of food didn’t feel that repulsive anymore, but honestly, food wasn’t a pleasant thought either. After some good night’s sleep I felt better the next morning, but that was also the day that we were supposed to go back home. Although I still wasn’t feeling perfect, I managed to down half of this deliciousness:

My lovely breakfast

My lovely breakfast, chocolate crepes.

I hate having to say this, but I had to struggle with every supposedly delicious bite. After breakfast we took the bus to the airport where I sat breaking out in cold sweats ever so often. The flight home was horrible, but only because I felt like I was going to pass out because of the pain. Eventually we made it back home and I had never, in my life, felt happier returning home.

Honestly, I feel horrible about A’s not-vacation. I wish I would have been able to enjoy Vilnius the way he enjoyed Stavanger. Well, almost, I guess minus the unhappiness after I put him through hell and back on Preikestolen. But I just physically couldn’t. No worries though, A will get his do-over eat-cation and sleep-cation, eventually and then hopefully, I won’t follow my instincts…

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2 thoughts on “The vacation that wasn’t

  1. Pingback: The three magic words | A bird loves a fish

  2. Pingback: Eat-cation 2.0 | A bird loves a fish

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