The Power of Making Memories with Your Partner
An ode to the phrase “remember that one time…” while on borrowed time in our little home in Austin.
On our last morning in Jaipur, India, R. and I spent hours walking to a brunch spot on the other side of the Muslim city where we’d spent the past few days. After a yoga retreat in Nepal, we’d opted to extend our trip by another week to explore the Golden Triangle—a tri-city journey that includes New Delhi (the country’s capital), Agra (home to the Taj Mahal) and Jaipur (the so-called Pink City).
No one in India knows what the Golden Triangle is, by the way. Most people I’ve spoken to find the fancy term somewhat hilarious, nothing more than a bit of good marketing for the white people who come to visit. And make no mistake: Indians know how to hustle. They’ll tell you as much. They’re truly the masters of the gig economy.
But when R. and I set out to find the Peacock Hotel where we’d have a decadent rooftop brunch for less than $10 USD, we decided to leave the gentleman who had been driving us from city to city for the past several days behind. R. downloaded a map that was almost entirely in Hindi. We had zero phone data to spare on this jaunt. We packed some water and set out in the direction of our destination.
Forty minutes into our trek, I was 1,000 percent sure we’d never find this opulent hotel that may not even exist (that happens a lot in southeast Asia—just ask me about the mysterious “Meat Noodles” that was supposedly located in a field near our long-term Airbnb on the outskirts of Chang Mai, Thailand), and we’d almost assuredly never make it back to our original hotel either. We would die of hunger, if not from exhaustion and heat stroke.
Back then, I was not the bright light of positive thinking that I am today. R. was confident we would get there. I was hangry and convinced of certain doom. And that’s when he found it. We turned a corner, and the Peacock Hotel greeted us in all her glory. I remember being so impressed. Following a regular map is wild enough in the era of smart navigation. But my husband’s inner Magellan was able to do it when every street sign looked something like this…
मिर्जा इस्माइल रोड
The funniest part is that we made it almost all the way back before we had to pay an autorickshaw driver to drive us two blocks to our hotel. We could literally see the hotel, but no matter which way we wandered through the labyrinth of streets that didn’t quite operate like a grid system, we never got any closer. Somehow, we kept getting slightly (infuriatingly) farther away. It was surreal, but we didn’t have all day. Our driver was waiting to take us back to New Delhi, where we would stay the night and catch our flights back home the following day.
And that’s where this trip down memory lane might end if the air conditioner in our driver’s car didn’t give up the ghost shortly into our four-hour-and-forty-minute ride. If you’ve been to India, you know that driving that long in the late-spring heat is untenable. The company sent another driver to take over. This was…less than ideal. For one, the second driver had a, shall we say, interesting taste in music, one that he enjoyed at a hefty volume.
He also spoke significantly less English. Now, to be clear, I’m not a person who travels abroad and expects everyone to be fluent in my mother tongue. Our first driver spoke just enough that between the three of us and a lot of pointing, we mostly understood one another. Driver number two seemed very confused by us, regardless of how we tried to translate or illustrate things using the maps function on our phone.
This became fully apparent when we approached the outskirts of New Delhi, and he needed to know where we were going. “Waves,” we told him. “It’s a hotel near the airport.” We showed him on Google Maps. We offered for him our phones to put in the address of the hotel. But he was stumped.
“Hotel airport,” he kept whispering into his phone, expecting the location to pop up and clearly frustrated when nothing showed up. “No, no,” I tried. “The hotel is called Waves. We are going to Waves. It is a hotel near the airport.” This did not make sense to him. And to be fair, who the hell names a hotel Waves? “Hotel Airport” is honestly a better name for it.
This continued for a long time. We tried to explain and show the map. He brushed us off and tried to subtly ask Siri for help, which he could not conceal from us when we were seated less than a foot away. R. was getting more and more frustrated. It had been a long day, most of which was spent aimlessly touring the streets of Jaipur or in the confines of a car trip punctuated by the sounds of our driver’s unhinged playlist. R. just wanted to get there.
But I couldn’t keep it together. It was such a weird situation. Every time this poor man whispered “hotel airport” into his phone, I would nearly pop a blood vessel in my brain trying to hold back the laughter. R. would roll his eyes, and I would explode into giggles. It was kind of a hysterical conundrum. We couldn’t articulate what we needed, and he was just so confused. The language barrier was insurmountable.
When we got a stone’s throw away from the airport, our exasperated driver pulled over to ask someone on the street for directions. We welcomed a fourth person into the miscommunication mix. “Hotel airport,” the driver said, while asking for directions in Hindi. The bystander looked confused. The driver pointed to us. “The hotel is called Waves,” I told the bystander. “It’s an airport hotel called Waves.” The bystander knew it. He responded to the driver in Hindi, and we saw what we had been trying to tell him click in real time. “Waves,” said the driver and laughed, finally clear about what the hell we’d been going on about. The three of us had a good chuckle together and parted on good terms.
…And that would probably be the end of the story if we were anywhere other than India. Alas, as soon as we got to the hotel, we checked in, and the bellboy immediately picked up every piece of my husband’s luggage, leaving R. to carry a single pair of shoes…and me to carry literally all my suitcases and remaining bags. That’s when I really lost it. I had no ability to keep myself together. R. put together this collage of photos to illustrate how ridiculous this was. Every time I look at this image, I die laughing all over again.
The silliness actually doesn’t even end there. At the airport, the security agent accused me of having tools in my suitcase, which I denied. I don’t own tools. I’m really not trying to learn how to be handy. That’s when I found out he was referring to the tiniest set of IKEA Allen wrenches I’d ever seen and had no recollection of owning. I happily parted with them. I’m not sure if he was worried that I might try to disassemble the plane one screw at a time or something else, but it was fun to imagine.
So, why did I just spend 1,200 words telling you about a random, albeit colorful, trip abroad? Because I firmly believe that making shared memories is one of the best ways to keep a couple going through the inevitable bumps that arise over the course of a long-term relationship. R. and I have done a lot of fun/insane/unforgettable shit.
We’ve moved to Thailand on a whim, yes, but we also took a multi-day motorcycle road trip from Portland to San Francisco two weeks after R. earned his motorcycle license, visited a park entirely dedicated to water fountains in Lima, Peru, and consumed so many marijuana edibles before a long-haul flight to China that we barely made it through security before sleeping 12 straight hours of the 13-hour flight.
These adventures (and misadventures) are just a select few from our past eight-plus years together. It’s amazing to think about all the things we’ve seen and experienced during this time. And we like to reminisce. “Hey, remember that one time…” is a common phrase in our household. A lot of time it results in a lot of cracking up and new revelations about old times. It also provided a lifeline when we were mostly isolated during COVID or when a new addition to the family kept us close to home.
I genuinely feel that couples that can continue to make beautiful memories together have a fighting chance of staying together when the shit hits the fan. When you stop being able to travel together or laugh at inside jokes, you start to lose the sparkle of what brought you together in the first place. Now, people can (and do) soldier on like this, sometimes for decades, but it’s sad to see, especially when one person is actively preventing the other from living a full life.
I don’t say this lightly. We’re all in charge of our own happiness, and we should be able to make lovely memories without our partners. That’s certainly true. But there’s something to the idea of shared fun, too. Some chaos is best experienced in conjunction. The Waves hotel airport debacle of 2016 is a testament to that. Can you imagine if I was trying to manage that nonsense alone? I’d have died of a panic attack long before I got a chance to see the humor.
So, may we all find new ways to fall in love in new settings while making new memories with the same people who we’re proud to call “my person.” You don’t have to travel across the globe, of course. I’m sure there are plenty of weird situations you and your partner can get yourselves into wherever you already are ;)
With pleasure,
Yes, Misstrix
P.S. One more thing before I let you go: I’m hosting my first-ever group tarot reading on the evening of June 16th. It will likely be my last reading in my home office in Austin, and I’m really excited for this event.
If you’ve never had your cards read, this is a good starting point, as it’s going to be less intimidating than a full one-hour session where the focus is only on you. I hope you’ll join me. You can learn more about the group reading on my website under the workshops section.
Loved reading this! Life is definitely always gonna throw some wild cards, especially when you're traveling, but you're right, it can be such a bonding experience to find the humor in them with your partner.
Hey hey Queen!! I've decided to join you here on substack, even though my writing isn't to snuff. 🤣