If I can’t travel with you, I can’t be with you. It’s that simple, darling. How do I feel about this relationship? Do I have any doubts? If so, let’s take a trip together. Preferably some place exotic and romantic. If we don’t fit together in a foreign context—before a backdrop of impressionist inspiration—we don’t fit together, period.

I know what you’re thinking: Why do you need a trip to confirm that someone isn’t right for you? Well, for one thing, a voyage strips you from your national defenses. If you act the same way on foreign soil as you do on native land, you’ll prove that you’re not fluid enough for my independent spirit. If I bring you to familiar ground, will you expect me to be your 24-hour tour guide? I always think it’s a grand idea to do some things solo when traveling with a lover; I mean, it’s not like we spend every second together when we’re home, so why should we do so while we’re away? If I want to go to a museum today, and you’d rather go to the beach, why argue? Let’s do what we want and meet later with renewed desire.

Last week I wrote about my relationship debacle during Cannes, but it wasn’t the first trip that ruined a relationship. I’ve been discontented and disconnected with lovers in some of the most beautiful places in the world. My longest relationship was framed within foreign places: from sulking Paris in the beginning to suffocating Barbados toward the end. I broke up with another guy on a beach in Belize, recalling our first intended romantic trip to Greece, where we slept in separate beds for a week before I realized I might be in love. 

I remember him saying something like, “It’s common for couples to fight on trips. I know married couples that tear each other up when they take vacations, but they’re fine when they’re home.” What is it about traveling that triggers the worst in couples? The most obvious reason is increased time together. There are no work obligations separating you during the day, no conflicting social calendars defining your autonomy. Unless you’re visiting friends or family, you’re stuck with each other’s company whether you want to be together or not.

Although, if two people are driving each other crazy in Lovers’ Paradise, wouldn’t the best solution be to cut the trip short? Ah, it’s not that easy. Why should I be the one to leave and miss out on undiscovered treasure? You both may be miserable, but neither of you wants to be kicked off the island. I’m here; I may as well make the best of it. There’s still time to see a ruin, taste an exotic dish, swim with sharks. Besides no one wants to deal with the expense and hassle of changing a plane ticket. So we go through the motions of being a curious tourist, trying to focus on the beauty of a goddess in stone or the roar of the timeless sea, instead of his bad breath or her sheltered American-ness.

Resentment builds up as each disillusioned lover insists on sticking it out. Meanwhile, their dream vacation is reduced to an episode of “Survivor.”

One pattern I’ve recognized about these failed honeymoons is the foreboding prologue. In each case, during the time leading up to the trip, I had the feeling that the relationship was imbalanced, that something was amiss. Before Belize, I had started seeing my ex on the sly. I was in love with two men, but the ex was more willing to share than the other. I think I knew which one I preferred, but I wasn’t sure enough to cancel the trip. It seemed set in stone. While the so-called boyfriend and I were stuck together on an island, the cloud of ambiguity cleared. While he read on a hammock, I walked alone, wishing the other was here in his place. 

The day before we left for Cannes, my lover called me in a panic and asked if it was too late to get a refund. “I think you’re anxious because you’ve never been out of the country before. It’s natural,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to back out because of fear.” Maybe that’s why I keep making the same mistake. I’m not afraid of relationships crumbling on a picture postcard. Nor am I afraid of dramatic scenes unfurling before an international audience. My fear is regretting, not plunging into an unknown place at a particular time. I’d rather face the ugly truth in paradise, than drag someone along in purgatory on the trails of my ambivalence.