So here’s the thing: I’ve never been on a spring break vacation. At least not in the a fun-in-the-sun, party-til-dawn, MTV-hosted kind of way that people associate with the term. My history of March/April getaways is limited to an educational tour of Washington D.C.’s Holocaust Museum and a trip to Paris that, while very romantic, was also incredibly cold. None of my past trips during this time year have even been somewhere warm—let alone Las Vegas, Punta Cana or that holy mecca of all spring breakers, Cancun.
Not that I’m actually interested in visiting that particular Mexican city anytime soon. Not now, at age 26, when the period of my life when I might enjoy a week’s worth glorified frat parties is over. If I were to venture south of the border for a post-winter escape, I’d prefer to relax in a more remote part of the country—perhaps Tulum? Or Isla Mujeres? (Never heard of them? Good.) Really, any area filled with nearly-empty beaches and enough quiet to finally finish my brick-like copy of Anna Karenina would work just fine for me. (Because then, when I take a break to flip through the second two Fifty Shades installments I’ve been secretly dying to read for the last six months, no one will see—shhh.)
Besides lots of books, here’s what I’d pack.
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