We seem to be living in a man’s world when it comes to peaceful holiday spots in the countryside, writes single mom Liana Meadon, who is fed-up of being treated like a damsel-in-distress whenever she goes on holiday with her son.
Strike 1
The first time Liam and I went away for a little holiday in Gauteng, we booked a midweek near Hartebeespoort Dam on a game farm.
When we got there, we were instantly upgraded from permanent tent accommodation (that I booked due to budget constraints) to the only rondavel on the property. It was gorgeous, built around a living tree, with a huge cement bath, a fireplace and a veranda overlooking a watering hole. I thought to myself that we scored, because it was a midweek and the place was empty.
We were offered free breakfast, free game drives, and every evening, someone came to drop off firewood and lit our braai. Ah, bum-in-the-butter. Yes? I couldn’t believe our luck. The patrons checked in on us and I thought that their service was impeccable.
Strike 2
Then about a year later, I booked a “secluded fisherman’s cabin overlooking a dam” on a holiday farm in Magaliesburg -our second mini-holiday and long weekend.
Within minutes of arriving, the owner of the farm came up to our car and informed us that we’ve been upgraded. Half hoping for another chance to experience special treatment, I was told that our booking has been changed. We now have a room with neighbours on both sides and were closer to the main house.
Uhm, wait. What? I booked a secluded fisherman’s cabin. I was told that we were moved closer to people and the patron because “women often feel scared” and that it would be “more comfortable and secure” for us.
At that exact point, my blood started to boil. I protested, and assured, I cajoled and interjected.
But what was done was done.
See, the people we were swapped with, were already happily settled in their secluded fisherman’s cabin. The smiling, kind old man that was saying all these things to me had the most sincere look on his face because he was firmly convinced that he was doing the right thing.
Offers to help us with our luggage was rebuked. Offers to light our braai was refused. I was irritated beyond belief.
This was not special treatment. This was sexism with a smile and good intentions. I felt the same feeling of helplessness and frustration that I feel when my petrol light goes on a week before payday. It was horrible and there was nothing I could say or do except tolerate the fact that I was being treated as a damsel-in-distress for not being a man or having a man by my side.
The long weekend was long, and I silently endured comments to my son about being the man of the house, having to protect his mother, questions about me being lonely, offers of help (that damn braai that I obviously need help with only when I go away) and invitations for drinks “at the main house” to keep me occupied.
Throughout our time there, I inadvertently glared at the people who unknowingly got to stay our cabin. We spent a lot of time right in front of their cabin fishing in the dam. Before our holiday, Liam spent three days making a fishing rod with his dad for the occasion of fishing in “our own dam”, and there was no point in wasting the effort.
Our second holiday, and our second experience of special treatment.
Strike 3
Our third-time-unlucky holiday took the cake though. For a quick pre-Christmas break, Liam and I booked a self-catering cabin in Mpumalanga. I was determined to have a relaxing trip, and hopeful that we wouldn’t experience patronising patrons.
I’d like to warn the world that making a booking for a single mother with a 6-year old will only ever result in misery. Again, we were “upgraded”. This time though, we were treated as “house guests”. Yes, that’s right. We paid good money to be treated like long-lost family – the exact opposite of what I was after.
We were staying in the main house and got breakfast and supper. We ate with the owner and his son. We even got to spend time with the dominee when he made a house-call!
It was horrible. But the kind oom thought he was making us feel special.
I’ve learned that freebies and special treatment are not free and not special.
The moral of the story?
Well, I guess I’m still figuring that one out.
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