There's No Accounting For Taste

Corn fields: preferred vacation spot of sexual deviants the world over

Some people figure it out early, knowing right off the bat their preferences. For others it takes years of angst-filled searching, arguments with the family, and a series of self-reflective moments that challenge the very core of their being. In either case people tend to fall off the wagon now and then, straying from their chosen path to test out the other waters, check out to see if just maybe their pre-conceived notions of propriety and right in their choice was as correct as they thought. Debate rages whether its a matter of nature or nurture, and the priests and scientists may be fighting it out for decades to come without any real answers.

I'm talking of course about one's taste in vacations. People tend to just enjoy the happiness associated with just being on vacation, so we don't always look back to figure out how we'd like to spend our hard earned days off / extended unemployment. Now thirty plus years wise, I think it's time I made some decisions in my life about how I like to spend my leisure time and be honest with the world about who I am.

The most major distinction I see amongst vacationers is of course Mountain versus Beach. Sure, we can all love the beach when it's cold out and getting up to the hills when you want some bbq and a breeze in summer time, but when faced with the option of one or the other, apples or oranges, which one is the winner? In a none-too-shocking vote of 1 to 0, I voted myself a Mountain man. Sure, a small native chieftan in the jungles of Peru once laughingly told me, "you are not meant to survive in the wild," but I'm not talking about survival skills. I'm talking about a little cabin thing, a grill of some kind, a 30 rack, and the ability to sit on a deck and watch the sun do stuff in the sky. Rise, set, whatever, as long as my feet are up and it's breezy outside. You can do that all at the beach too, but there people expect you to go in and out of the ocean and it's hot out there. I wasn't built for heat, so Mountain wins.

However, my desire to watch leaves grow from the safety of my well-stocked chalet often loses out to a taste for adventure...hence my repeated visits to Asia. The beach does hold some extra appeal to me when it happens to be located at the end of an unmarked path carved lazily through the underbrush of the Malaysian coast. And thanks to a childhood spent on the Jersey Shore, I'm used to my beaches being somewhat crashed out and full of unknowns. So this past weekend when I was down in St. Thomas for the wedding of my good friend Nick I of course was overwhelmed by how goddamn nice everything was.

The potable water didn't make me sick. Paths were clearly marked and the people understood everything I said to them. And the bathrooms, oh the bathrooms! You could sip a pina colada off the floor, I tells ya! Amazingly though, I half prefer the adventure of diseased, convoluted, bathroom-free beach going. Call it what you will, but I think my masochistic drive for challenging vacations are just a part of who I am...why question it? Maybe I'll end up spending a few extra days holed up in a cheap hostel, afraid to stray too far from the facilities, but it's exciting. Most likely I'll bitch about it the entire time, and then afterwards I'll end up with better stories out of the whole ordeal.

When it comes to the wedding last weekend, I must readily admit that I enjoyed the ever-loving crap out of my shmancy hotel room, swim-up bar, and picture perfect dining room experience. Big ups to Nick and the resort, Marriott Frenchman's Reef, and a full admission that as far as the sweet life goes, they pulled it off big time. Still, you give me some street curry and a bat-filled fan room for 8 bucks a day and I will lose it with joy. What can I say, I know what I like.