Flea Market or Bust: The Family Vacation Dilemma

Ah, travel! The magical word that starts a family feud stronger than a game of Monopoly. Ever since I was a wee little rugrat, my family has had more love for travel than a squirrel at a nut convention. Thanks to my dad being an agricultural teacher (a title that sounds fancy, but really just means he’s great at growing vegetables and worse at growing puns), summers were packed with vacations that took us places where sandals meet flip-flops and the sun shines like it has a personal vendetta against sunscreen.

Now, like a fine wine or a well-aged cheese, our travel preferences have only matured over the years. This isn’t just any vacation we’re talking about! My mother and I have become the Flea Market Inspectors, complete with badges (well, in our heads). We’ve set some vacation requirements that, if unmet, will result in us opting to binge-watch our favorite shows instead of embarking on any so-called “fun adventures.”

Rule number one: A minimum of three flea market stops on the way to our destination and back. Yes, we take our flea markets seriously—so seriously, in fact, that we might as well be the CEOs of Flea Market Tourism. For mom and me, without renting a treasure chest of old junk, a trip is like going to a buffet and being told they’re only serving salads. Just… no.

Then there’s my sister, Kristen, and dear ol’ Dad, who play by a different set of rules—those who value things like “direct routes” and “not stopping every ten minutes.” They don’t understand our need for treasure hunting amidst a sea of used tools and expired knick-knacks. I mean, who wouldn’t want to wade through a pile of vintage tow truck calendars from 1972?

Case in point: our recent expedition to Tennessee, aka my happy place, where the only thing that could make it happier was solid flea market action. We booked a glorious six nights and seven days… and ended up hitting one flea market and one antique shop. ONE! Mom and I were practically pacing the hotel room, suffering from severe withdrawals akin to a caffeine junkie without their morning fix. Picture it: two mildly panicking ladies in a hotel room, whispering “What do we even do with our lives?” while staring blankly at standard hotel art.

Mom finally exclaimed, “I’m never going on vacation with them again!” To which I nodded vigorously, thinking of all the treasures we could have scored. That’s right—Dad and Kristen head off on their mini-vacations while Mom and I embark on our Flea Market Extravaganza.

Which one do you think is more fun? Let me just say: while Dad is taking his well-deserved relaxation breaks, Mom and I are practically living in Paradise, otherwise known as a flea market-and-estate-sale wonderland! We get to haggle like pros, discover bizarre items like life-sized yard flamingos wearing tutus, debates about whether or not that ancient item is a relic or just someone’s failed DIY project, and the thrill of finding a genuinely cool vintage dress that you can flaunt like it’s 1965 all over again.

So, while Dad and Kristen bask in their leisure time, all I can think is, “You can keep your direct routes! I’d rather find out who decided to glue googly eyes on everything in sight.”

In conclusion, whether you’re a flea market aficionado like us or someone who prefers the road trip with just coffee and snacks, there’s no right way to travel—unless, of course, you miss a flea market opportunity. Then there’s definitely a wrong way. Happy travels, folks! May your next adventure be filled with the sweet smell of fresh produce, the sound of haggling, and the joy of discovering a gem hidden beneath a pile of mismatched forks. Safe travels!