I’m sorry, are we related?

There’s something very special about traveling with your family. I use ‘special’ here to mean, ‘unexpected’, ‘slightly disappointing’ and ‘downright disgusting’. I had a special family moment when I had to share a tiny apartment with my father in Sao Paolo, Brazil. At 4am I realised I had slept an average of three hours a night, over the last week because I couldn’t escape my father’s snoring. Don’t underestimate the word ‘snore’ – it was more of an almighty roar dragged from the depths of hell and released into the night like a cursed soul.

Something had to be done if my father was to stay alive. I moved into the lounge room, a good two meters away from his bed. Nope. I rammed the headphones of my mp3 player right into my ears. Nope. The hawking, heaving, guttural noise coming from my father was still challenging the wake of a fighter jet. It was when I wedged together two kitchen chairs on the one meter square balcony to fashion a makeshift bed in the slightly drizzly night that I had my true epiphany – maybe it wasn’t a good idea traveling with family.  

Don’t get me wrong, family members can be great; even an advantage. My very attractive cousin managed to get us a lot of ‘free’ stuff in Rome. But gorgeous cousins can still be trouble. On one trip to Canada I developed an allergic reaction which turned my face into a nasty, angry red mess. My cousin inspected the damage very carefully and thoughtfully before looking me in the eye and poking me on the cheek with a very sharp pencil. ‘Did that hurt?’ she asked sincerely. YES!

Of course, I’m sure family members equally don’t like traveling with me. Certainly I can think of one particular family in rural Italy that might be glad to never set eyes on me again. They kindly drove me to my next destination, two hours away. The price of petrol was scandalous, their financial status humble. I repaid them by leaving a plastic bag of unwashed clothing in the back of the car that they rarely used, at the height of summer. I dread to think of the scene next time they opened the boot...

Unfortunately for me, I find family members really hard to tell off. I’ve no problem arguing with a friend over the price of a box of tea (we were on a budget!), and I’ve got no objections refusing to karaoke when I don’t feel like shaking my tail feather. But I couldn’t tell my father that he’d have to stop snoring or I’d kill him. (Actually, I did quietly whisper this in his ear while he was still sleeping but it had absolutely no effect). I could not bring myself to tell him off or yell at him, merited or not. He’s my dad! I couldn’t offend him like that! I love him!

Besides, he was paying for the hotel.