People have some funny ideas these days about what a holiday entails. It used to be about having a break from the daily grind… didn’t it? Hey, maybe I’ve had it wrong all these years. Who’s to say?
All I know is that going overseas to get dental work, plastic surgery or a large tattoo does not count as having a holiday – even if you are lying on the beach for some of the time. How are you supposed to unwind your system if you’re putting it under a bunch of stress smack bang in the middle of your supposed break? There’s nothing wrong with doing that; just don’t call it a holiday.
I don’t really get the point, either. Surely this part of the world has plenty of perfectly good cosmetic surgeons and tattoo shops. Near Surfers Paradise, for example, there are both in abundance. So why fly to a far-away island to get your work done by someone you don’t even get to consult with in advance? I’m guessing it’s probably a price thing, and I can’t really argue with that. I don’t really know enough about it.
There could also be the ‘story’ factor. I can see how, for some people, getting a tattoo on Siargao, for instance, is way more interesting than getting one back home in Brisbane. I can understand that, especially if you’re already in Siargao and feel spontaneously inspired to commemorate something – the natural beauty of the island, say – with some locally sourced body art. But that’s different to going there specifically for purposes of picking up a story.
Who am I to talk, though? Arguably, I’ve gone to the Greek islands, the French riviera and a yurt in Mongolia for the story. That’s not how I would phrase it, but you could say that that’s what I’ve done. Maybe, at the end of the day, the stories are what recreational travel is all about.