Note: This was written on a train between Luxembourg City and Munich in the middle of a weeklong family trip to Europe.
Traveling with family past the age of 18 is a pretty bizarre experience.
I guess it all starts when you turn 18 though. This is around the age that you discover that your parents are actually people and your siblings (if they are of a similar age) also each have their own identity outside of the family unit. So now, when you travel, it’s not a family unit traveling together anymore; it’s a group of individuals with a shared history of love and resentment, and that’s weird.
Case in point: I am currently traveling around Europe with my family, which is something I did before seven years ago. I remember the trip seven years ago very fondly—we all bonded as a family and blah blah blah. Now? Not so happy-go-lucky.
[Redacted for being bitchy]
Not that I’m any picnic either, I’m sure.
We all have differing opinions of what we want to do, but we feel the obligation to do things together anyway: my sister passionately hates art museums, but my dad takes too long in them. My sister agrees to go out to a bar with me, but chooses the most low-key, non-social bar in the city of Amsterdam. No one wants to smoke pot. It’s just a clusterfuck of people who really wish that they were here with people with similar sensibilities and interests.
[Ending redacted for being bitchy]