It was perfect. An all-inclusive resort offering daily yoga, adventure excursions, vegetarian food, and a Caribbean beach. We had our budget in place, built our Honeyfund.com registry, and had been working out extra hard at bootcamp to prep for the swimwear. Our honeymoon was all but booked when we realized that we had planned it during the peak of hurricane season.
Since we couldn’t postpone the honeymoon, we were left with two options:
1. Risk it and deal with a rainout or worse
2. Start searching for our new perfect honeymoon
I don’t like spending money on anything (the apple doesn’t fall far from the Scottish father tree), so I especially couldn’t justify spending thousands of dollars on a beach vacation that might get rained out. Sure, getting caught in the rain can be romantic, but we’ll be on our honeymoon and likely gagging on all the romance already included. No, we would have to start from scratch.
Luckily, we have a baby bucket list full of adventures and vacations in the queue. Just pick one and off we go right?
Because honeymoons are designed to make you lose what little wedding related sanity you have left. “But Kelly,” you rebut, “I thought a honeymoon was the fun, relaxing kick-off to your lifelong happiness.” Well, you’re wrong.
After searching for another small, all inclusive, cheap, adventure filled, adult resort at all of our previously determined bucket list locations, we came up with nothing. We couldn’t justify traveling to one of our A list locations and only seeing one town. Nor could we justify spending most of our honeymoon in a car trying to get to the next site. We were talking about spending thousands of dollars, and I didn’t want to compromise.
For a week we went back and forth between an excessively expensive trip to Patagonia (seriously, check out that resort and then go there) or a road trip through the Alaskan wilderness. And for a week, neither of us could lean toward one or the other.
It was too much pressure. You only get one honeymoon and it’s supposed to be this great big, meaningful, romantic, amazing adventure and we just couldn’t decide.
Finally, after a weekend of rest and reflection (and maybe a meltdown), Mr. Rathroy made a discovery that saved my sanity.
It was still in Patagonia (which had quickly moved to an A list spot on our travel list), all inclusive, bursting with adventure, and we could afford it. Done and done! Except for…what does that say under the accommodation tab? Composting toilets? You mean like an outhouse that you dump cedar chips on? Yep.
Despite my reservations about the lack of a flushing toilet on our honeymoon, Mr. Rathroy thinks it’s quite fitting. After all, we started dating in Africa with nothing but a pit toilet behind a brick wall, so why not start our marriage without a real toilet too?