Rescues, rows and burglaries sometimes vacations dont start according to proposal. Tell us your own vacation nightmares in the comments or via GuardianWitness

The Whitsundays: What sort of holiday necessitates teaches?

Our first holiday as husband and wife was a disaster. This is not counting the honeymoon clearly, because honeymoons must be resolutely recollected as joyou, otherwise the union is fated. But our first holiday thereafter, still newlyweds, still get to benefit from life in tandem: disaster.

No one actually mentioned the word divorce earlier today in the part but when youve got one sailing boat, five days of unseasonably appalling plights and two chieftains overinflating their voyage ordeal and underreporting their bossiness, thats security threats lurking behind every curt instruction.

What sort of holiday requires rules? Well precisely. A vacation in which one person shall be required to take charge in a bossy-boots various kinds of channel is no vacation at all. Lend to this disgruntlement the necessity to yell to listen to over roaring breezes while you turn dangerously off-course, and “youre starting” dreaming of a holiday to get over the holiday.

This is what we thoughts: the becalmed allure of the Whitsunday Passage, that breathtaking collecting of islands protectively nuzzled within the Great Barrier Reef, safe from prevailing winds; bright blue languid daylights gliding over turquoise waters, taking turns at the tiller in our togs; procuring our own private bay as the sunlight goes down; diving into heated pristine irrigates; the tinkling of intimate laugh; the fizz of champagne and the sizzle of prawns on the barbie.

This is what we got: driving horizontal rainwater( solidifying ); cyclonic winds( icing ); nasty, choppy, steel-grey liquid( freezing ). A heaving barge, the relentless slap, slap, blow of the hull , no relief in quiet inlets, and wailing from stern to submit. Ill look at the map, you steer! No, Ill steer, you look at the map! Exhaust the cleat, I said, the CLEAT.

Our compounded instants of voyaging event brought us ruin when we punched a reef on day two, with a repelling crunch and pitching onto that pale chip on the map that youre supposed to avoid. Cant you discover the blood-red threads? The Ruby-red LINES!

Ill save you the sorenes of dates three and four and take you straight to period five: a mayday bellow, a rescue duty, and a midwater move from careening ship to lurching boat.

A friend of mine formerly said he anticipated the best test for any brand-new affair is the camping errand, but the yachting in cyclonic provisions with next-to-no sailing suffer excursion will do the trick extremely. If you can make it through that, calmer liquids await. Lucy Clark

This is something we suspected: the becalmed knockout of the Whitsunday Passage. Photograph: Maureen Dettre/ AAP

Tokyo: Please do not be appalled by my appearance

Before I got on the plane from Barcelona to Tokyo I emailed the friend I was staying with. Please do not be outraged by my appearance. I examine a little different. Also, I wont have any fund when I arrive, so if you can help me sort it out appreciate.

My appearance was scandalizing. I gasped with repugnance whenever I accidentally viewed at myself in the reflect and that was before I even registered that it was me looking back. My face got worse on the plane journey to Tokyo whether it was just the cabin influence or the time that bruises required in order to bloom. But my friend, congregating me at a Hilton in Tokyo, blanched when he saw me. My attentions were pitch-black and swollen slam, one back of my face was also dilate and bruised and a long string of black, naughtily sewn thread passed down my right synagogue to my eyebrow. The stitching looked like someone had killed a extremely pitch-black spider on my face but left the corpse there.

I had been assaulted and robbed in Barcelona a few epoches before, which resulted in two black eyes, a swollen jaw and fractured skull , now dented and stitched together by an empty apprentice who would never acquire a pillage for the neatness of his craftwork.

My friend in Tokyo was a lawyer who dealt with the intricacies of transnational airline leases and wore immaculately tailored suits. We made an odd-looking duo as we proceeded from bank to bank with my passport, trying to get coin out or get money wired or merely access it somehow. In his flawless Japanese he negotiated on my behalf as I stood there my face a grotesque disguise. But each time we therefore rebuffed. In a chilled Starbucks my friend wreaked me an iced coffee, which I booze through a straw( my mouth still hurt) and said, The beings in the bank maybe ponder I hit you up and am trying to drain your bank account. Thats what it looks like.

In the working day, when I should have been exploring Tokyo( envisioned ), I lay on the couch in the chill, dark flat and watched reruns of Dawsons Creek. Picture: Steven Beijer/ Getty Images/ EyeEm

We tried one more bank, and when they said no, snaps burst with some difficulty from my swollen-headed sees, and the display might have been so weird and happy that they finally said yes.

The rest of the time in Tokyo I didnt leave my friends flat. I was anxious and depleted, and had started to dream of the assault in shattered and jumbled scraps. In the day, when I should have been exploring Tokyo, I lay on the sofa in the refrigerate, dark flat and watched reruns of Dawsons Creek. Brigid Delaney

New South Wales: Puking and a snowstorm

Holidays with children are wonderfully erratic. Our three-week international jaunt with a four-year-old and two-year-old, which included about 50 hours of winging era, was a fantasy, despite the repugnance stories implying toddlers and long-haul flights. It was a week-long trip-up to the snow that turned out to be the family holiday that would bring us to our knees.

We had it all scheduled. This would be a skiing holiday that would not breach the bank. We acquired gear, waited all time for Aldi specials on teenagers snowboots and booked a family room in the youth hostel.

The journey from Sydney to the snowfields takes about six hours, according to the report of Google, but by the time we had stopped multiple times to get involved in kids contends, change nappies and for plentiful snack smashes, seven hours had delivered and we were only in Canberra. We booked a last-minute area at enormous expenditure in a hotel where there was a assemble of taxation listeners or something, so the whole neighbourhood was full.

The next day, we realized it to our cosy chamber at the hostel. Then the projectile vomiting started. Our two-year-old had developed a high fever within minutes of us putting our pockets down and was quite ill. Instead of marvelling at the snow swirl across the mountains outside, we were stuck in a chamber about the size of a small automobile trying to administer Panadol to a writhing toddler.

I abode up the majority of members of the nighttime are concerned about how to drive in the snow to a hospital if happens got worse at one point he started convulsing. Vomit was on all of our robes, the bedsheets, everything. We couldnt turn the light on because it would wake our daughter so we had to use mobile phones to try to see what was happening( we hadnt parcelled a torch ). We couldnt open the window to get rid of the smell because there was a blizzard outside.

The next morning, the conditions on the mountain were perfect but the little bloke was still very ill. Fresh grey powdery snowfall was everywhere but we had to move the call to pack up and honcho dwelling, horror another night of temperatures in the 40 s and no access to medical doctors. While my bride packed up, I took our daughter to the snowfield to build a quick snowman and journey on a toboggan. In the end, we spent three days advancing, thousands of dollars perhaps( I didnt want to add it up) and about 30 minutes total at the snowfall. Patrick Keneally

Sicily: Even hollering, we couldnt hear one another

Id pre-booked most of the adaptation for our driving expedition around Sicily because with a five-year old-time the working day of tells just see where we be brought to an end were well behind us. But there was one day when I wasnt sure how far across the southern coast wed drive so I figured wed merely find something that night. How bad could it be? I felt. As it is about to change, very bad.

Everything was full when we started appearing in the late afternoon. Hours afterward, as the Im starving bitch from the back seat turned into a meltdown, the tourism office in Sciacca said they had a private rental. We followed a bloke on a bicycle to a nifty little terrace home near the port, paid him, promised to leave the keys on the living-room counter, and walked across the road to a trattoria for dinner, feeling quite pleased.

But as we returned we saw the terrace next to ours was setting up chairs and tables on the sidewalk outside its front opening and ours. Well-dressed young Italians were get out of cars and a very loud chime check seemed to be arising as a result of our living room.

The terrace next door was a night club. The music began around nine, shaking the walls and vibrating through the floor. The sidewalk outside our front opening was packed with screaming, dancing revellers. The beer garden included our back courtyard. Even screaming, we couldnt discover one another. We boozed some beers and tried to entertain our son who was hysterical with fatigue. Eventually, at 4am, the music stopped, but then the clean-up staff smashed bottles and sing football chants until dawn.

We left as elderly neighbours arrived dwelling on the back of scooters, having clearly fled to sleep somewhere quieter. My partner may have thrown the keys into the shelter. Lenore Taylor

Sydney: A normal weekend daytime( in a bad way )

Our previous expensive clas vacation had ended in tragedy, so we decided to be smart and holiday at home this time. It would be cheap! It would be fun! We would save era wandering to our end and exactly … be.

We acquired it to the peach farm and successfully picked two bags of fruit! It was to be the foreground of the holiday. Picture: Attila Balazs/ EPA

I would like to write that things went well initially, but they didnt. On the eve of our staycation my daughter got a temperature and was up all darknes saying her tummy hurt. Wearied, we scrapped plans to go fruit picking the next day and bided neighbourhood. It was like a normal weekend date. We even went to the supermarket.

The following epoch we constructed it to the peach farm and successfully picked two bags of return! It was to be the spotlight of the holiday. Gastro struck the rest of their own families down in the following days. Oh, it was a staycation all right in the bathroom.

When we finally emerged, thinner, paler and jaded, we had one day left of vacation. We went to the supermarket. The vehicle broke down on the way dwelling. Bonnie Malkin

The Netherlands: Car hassle

At one point on this vacation we called the Vaalserberg, a home where the borders of Netherlands, Belgium and Germany meet. So you are able to standing in three countries at the same time. That did not make it the worst holiday in itself, but I say that as a prologue for a item about this story. Which is that when we my pa driving, my mum alongside, a 16 – or 17 -year-old fractious me in the backseat, my younger sister and friend manager down a remote country road, I cant recollect what conversation the road signal saying DO NOT ENTER was actually in. Or perhaps it was just a signal with no messages. Regardless, the intend was fairly obvious, in retrospect.

I remember the next fleck, which was about 100 m away: the rotations of the Nurofen-coloured Talbot spinning round in the dirt, countryside flying everywhere like an outtake from Carry on Camping. Us getting out of the car while the local farmers Dutch? Lets say they were Dutch watched entertained and distrustful. My dad in his cords, out of the car, attracting hunks from tyres. I imagine then a tractor, and a lasso. And exchange experiences with the Dutch farmers about that signal back there, you know the one saying DO NOT ENTER in one( or possibly two, or none) of four conversations. It wasnt raining; I guess that was a silver lining.

We visualized not so much of Milans Piazza del Duomo( envisioned) but a lot of the Talbot dealer in the less-fashionable outskirts. Picture: Giuseppe Cacace/ AFP/ Getty Images

And it also means that when I became a driver myself I had learned my lesson. Ive exclusively so far since had to be pulled out twice by a tractor, when I was a reporter in east England, both hours within weeks of each other. No one “ve told me” there was a gully there. Or there.

Everything was wrong with that vacation. Night fears. Family dynamics. Me. Flat as a flannel-cake the tract and the environment. It was the family holiday you commit not to go on again and you dont until you get older, when you find that your mothers are just the sort of beings you want to spend time with like that. Strangely enough it produced one of the best all-family pictures we ever had taken, us all smiling. It included a broader truth but in that week was a grisly lie. My father had a very dry fun and was not great with automobiles.

A year later, or before, we got off the motor-rail in Milan and slam the exhaust gases fell from. So we determined not so much better of the Piazza del Duomo, a lot of the Talbot dealer in the little fashionable outskirts. And he had a line about inventing a brand-new Olympic sport: Battery-carrying on the Pembrokeshire coast. We didnt think it was much of a goer, but that was before they countenanced synchronised dive, and golf. Will Woodward

The Whitsundays II: Sea rescue in failing illuminate

Tears of fright reeling down their own children cheeks are the most enduring remembering of my worst vacation ever a sail trip-up in the Whitsundays in April 2014 that turned into a ocean rescue in fading light.

We likely should have twigged that something was wrong when the outboard machine on the dinghy failed on day one. An technologist was dispatched to repair it and we voyaged north towards Hayman Island in a blustering 40 -knot easterly.

After lunch the catamarans port-side engine failed. Potent gusts or missiles as they are known locally researched our anchor overnight as we waited for another operator. Surely epoch three would be better.

The appease before the tornado: Alison Rourke and her daughter Ella sailing towards Hayman Island, before the engine set on fire, they breached the reef and “mustve been” rescued. Picture: Alison Rourke

In the late afternoon we set off for a sheltered overnight mooring. After 10 minutes, the starboard engines gauge function hot. My son came up from the compartment saying he could smell inhaled as pitch-black cloud billowed out of the stern hull.

If a craft is on fire, you get off they tend to go up( or down) very quickly.

I deployed the shoot extinguisher as my husband lower the dinghy into the irrigate. The kids, aged eight and nine, baby-sit quietly, frozen with fear. I dont think they had ever seen their parents in emergency mode.

I asked them to find their treasured couch teddies parts I knew we could not live without. They say thats when they knew we were really in difficulty. The rubbing seem that followed was unmistakeable. We had floated onto the reef in a falling tide with no hypothesi how much detriment had been done … by the attack or the coral.

Eventually the harbourmaster at Hayman Island came to our assistance as darknes fell but catamarans were permanently struck off our holiday register the working day. Alison Rourke

Corsica: It is forbidden to pissing in your wetsuit

Corsica, Zonza in particular, was, according to every person I knew whod been( two people ), a brilliant orientation for canyoning. You couldnt go to Corsica and not canyon.

Our tour was jam-packed with outdoorsy types, the real category not the manner who only do outdoorsy for one day on one vacation per year. They searched fit, had hiking gear and, unlike us, had raised lunch. As the only non-French orators, we felt alone and outcast. We went off to find a sandwich, entertaining for the first time that we may have got ourselves into a semi-dangerous statu. Or worse. A just plain dangerous statu.

When our steer told us to try on our abseiling paraphernalium and that he would check it for safety, I weighed up in my thought the pros and cons of the day as I now realized it.

Pros: Zonza was a great place to try canyoning. And the templates were cute!

Cons: we look like absolute fools, or worse croak! And that would be in front of the cute guides.

Perhaps had I been a bit more careful while hiking down to the canyon, instead of practising in my leader all the words I knew in French that I could possibly grouped together to impress upon the guides and fellow traveller that I was not a complete gull after all, I would not have tripped on those stones, lost match, descended over and then reeled sideways down the rocky hiking path.

We hadnt even got to the dangerous side yet. I started to wonder if my 10 m travel insurance policy would treat a helicopter coming in to get me right about now when your best friend Helen enquired 😛 TAGEND

Why didnt we find out exactly what canyoning was?

I dont know.

A guide started giving instructions in French. He seemed to be saying pretty important stuff. Parties were watching him and seeming serious. Every now and then some nervous laugh have broken out. Eventually he looked at Helen and me and said: Mathieu will tell you in English.

Gabrielle Jackson on the day, but shortly before, she realised what canyoning was. Image: The Guardian

After roughly five to seven minutes of watching him talk, Mattieu did. So in canyoning you climb like this. You take one step forward and push off with the other paw, almost like loping. Use your forearms to get your counterbalance and then do this.

He intersected his arms across his chest. That was it. The other navigates pep talk restricted to three sentences.

Before we left, our guide shaped one more announcement in English: It is forbidden to urine in your wetsuit.

We reached our first lower pretty quickly, and were there met with a pick: a two-metre or four-metre leap. So this was canyoning: startle off rock-and-rolls into irrigate you cant identify and abseiling down rock-and-rolls at ever-greater heights.

My first jump turned out to be quite refreshing and I began to believe the hike may have been the scariest part of the day. Then Helen said there was no way she was hopping off a nine-metre high waterfall. I maybe should have thought that my anxiety of heights may have affected my they are able to do this, mulled Helen, as she swam through the canyons fresh torrent, face white and nature pounding.

Lets just say, the next five hours were long. Im glad Ive done it, but Ill not be canyoning again any time soon. On the plus side, we never had cause to call in that helicopter. Gabrielle Jackson

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