I spent $742 on a single dinner in Tulum back in 2018, and I still regret it more than my choice of first car (a used PT Cruiser). It was my honeymoon. I thought I was supposed to be doing the ‘top’ thing. The ceviche was lukewarm, the sand was getting into my expensive wine, and my wife and I spent forty minutes arguing about whether the waiter was ignoring us because we weren’t wearing enough linen. It was miserable.
Most honeymoon advice is written by people who are trying to sell you a dream or a commission-link for a resort that looks like a screensaver. It’s all ‘sparkling turquoise waters’ and ‘unparalleled luxury.’ What they don’t tell you is that ‘unparalleled luxury’ often means you’re trapped on a tiny island with thirty other couples who are also trying desperately to look like they’re having the time of their lives while paying $18 for a bottle of sparkling water. It’s a performance. And honestly? It’s exhausting.
The Maldives is a golden cage
I know people will disagree, and I’ll probably get emails about this, but I think the Maldives is a terrible honeymoon destination for anyone with a personality. I said it. I’ve been there—once—and by day three, I wanted to scream. You are stuck. If you don’t like the food at your specific resort, too bad. If the couple at the next overwater villa has a loud argument at 2:00 AM, you’re hearing it. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. It’s a prison for rich people.
I tracked our activity levels on that trip compared to a normal vacation. In the Maldives, we spent 85% of our time sitting down. By day four, my brain was turning into mush. There is no culture to absorb, no local grocery store to wander through, and no sense of place other than ‘expensive island.’ I refuse to recommend the Ritz-Carlton Maldives or any of those high-end spots even though the photos are stunning. It’s boring. Total lie.
If you go to a resort where you can’t see a local grocery store within a ten-minute walk, your marriage is starting on a lie. You’re not in a country; you’re in a simulation.
The part where I admit I was wrong about Italy
I used to think Italy was a cliché. I told everyone who would listen that the Amalfi Coast was for people who don’t have original thoughts. I was completely wrong. I was being a contrarian for the sake of it, which is a bad habit of mine. Anyway…
The reason Italy stays on the ‘honeymoon destination top’ lists isn’t because of the Instagram photos. It’s because you can actually do stuff. You can get lost. You can find a tiny bar in a back alley in Florence where the owner doesn’t speak English and serves you wine in a juice glass. That feels real. It’s the contrast that makes a honeymoon work. You need the fancy dinner, sure, but you also need the moment where you’re both frustrated trying to read a train schedule in a language you don’t understand. That’s where the actual bonding happens, not while you’re getting a synchronized couple’s massage.
But avoid Positano in July. It’s like being in a very beautiful, very vertical mosh pit. Go to Sicily instead. It’s grittier, the food is better, and people actually live there. I’ve bought the same $120 leather belt from a guy in Palermo twice now. I don’t care if it’s overpriced; I love that belt.
A few numbers to justify my madness
I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to tracking my travel experiences. Over the last five years, including my own honeymoon and three ‘anniversary’ trips (which are just honeymoons with less pressure), I’ve kept a spreadsheet of ‘Happiness per Dollar.’ Here’s what I found:
- Tulum, Mexico: $1.12 per happy hour. (Everything is a scam now.)
- Kyoto, Japan: $9.45 per happy hour. (High initial cost, but every meal is a religious experience.)
- San Sebastian, Spain: $14.20 per happy hour. (The tapas culture is unbeatable.)
- The Maldives: -$4.00 per happy hour. (I was literally paying to be bored.)
These aren’t scientific, obviously. They’re based on my mood and how much I felt like I was being ‘handled’ by staff. I hate being handled. I want to be a person, not a guest number.
Just go to Japan
If you want the best honeymoon, go to Japan. It’s the only place that manages to be incredibly romantic without being cheesy. You can stay in a Ryokan in Hakone, sit in a private hot spring, and feel like you’re the only two people on earth. Then you take a train to Tokyo and eat ramen at a counter next to a salaryman. It’s the perfect mix of ‘we are special’ and ‘we are just part of the world.’ No one is trying to sell you a ‘honeymoon package’ with rose petals on the bed that you just have to awkwardly brush onto the floor anyway.
Kyoto is the winner. Stay at the Sowaka. It’s expensive, but it’s the only place I’ve ever stayed where I felt like the architecture was actually making me a better person. That sounds pretentious. It probably is. But planning a honeymoon is like trying to build a sandwich while someone screams at you about napkins—it’s high stress and everyone has an opinion. Japan is the antidote to that noise.
Go to Kyoto. Worth every penny.
The uncomfortable truth about ‘Top’ lists
I might be wrong about this, but I think most people pick their honeymoon destination based on who they want to *be* rather than what they actually like doing. We pick the Maldives because we want to be the kind of people who go to the Maldives. We want the status. I did it. I wanted to tell my coworkers I was going to a private island. I felt like a fraud the whole time.
I actively tell my friends to avoid any place that describes itself as ‘exclusive.’ Exclusivity is just a polite word for ‘we’ve removed all the interesting local people so you don’t have to look at them.’ It’s sterile. It’s boring. And for the love of God, stay away from Santorini. The donkeys look sad, the tourists are rude, and you can get the same sunset view from a dozen other Greek islands for half the price and none of the ego.
At the end of the day, your honeymoon is just the first trip you take as a married couple. It’s not the peak of your life. If it is, you’re in trouble. We spent our third anniversary in a rainy cabin in Maine eating canned soup because we forgot to check if the local store was open on Sundays. Honestly? I had a better time there than I did in that $700 dinner in Tulum. We laughed more. We weren’t performing for anyone.
Why are we so afraid of just being bored together in a place that doesn’t have a hashtag?
